One Week Left To Enter IWF's Essay Contest

Christiane Smith Johnson | November 26, 2007, 10:37pm | #

I came from a large family, five older brothers, and two older sisters. Unfortunately, many of my siblings did not do so well in school, excepted of two. On top of that, my second oldest brother was mentally disabled, which made the family situation very stressful for my parents. Not only was the family huge in number, the added stress had a major impact on the compassion my mother had for all of her children.
Imagine my mother, doing homework with all her children and having only two, do well in
school and the rest having major difficulties. My mother, on her last nerve, had to care for a
mentally needy child, and me, a child with dyslexia, who was the last in line that needed help with homework. My mom was worn out, helping me with my homework, ever though she had so many other tasks that needed to be done.
An easy thing like, reading often ended in yelling and screaming; especially when I wanted to read out allowed by myself and not just repeat what mom told me! I did not tell her that I wanted to try it by myself. She eventually lost patience, and hit me in the face.....Now I know that this had something to do with my poor education, and poor living conditions.
I began to relate that learning was something, to be afraid of. To have someone teach me meant, someone using physical force, to get the point across. Every time I had homework, I would not tell any one at home. As a matter of fact, I would get myself in trouble, so that I had to stay in school longer. That would give me time to get my homework done before I got home. After some time, the teacher mailed a letter home that I was not aware of. When I got home, I knew I was in deep trouble because of the way my dad looked at me when he arrived at home. He had already a couple liters of wine, and his eyes were glassy and red; his breath smelled like alcohol as he was trying to keep his balance. I knew what was coming when I saw the dog leash made out of leather. My pupils got very large as I watched every move my dad made, and my body tightened every muscle. This allowed me to soften the painful stings of the object as it came in contact with my skin. I had all my attention focused on my father. Although I was afraid, I learned over time how he reacted when he got mad, as well as how he behaved when he was drunk. That helped me to lessen the pain when my dad lost it and had one of his outbreaks of rage.

Firma | November 27, 2007, 7:20am | #

thx..