David Pelzer and Me

            I recently read the book A Child Called “It” and it royally pissed me off.  For any of you who aren’t familiar with it, it’s basically the author’s personal account of his own childhood of abuse.  His mother, at first, is the virtual paragon of motherhood.  At first, she’s just the kind of mother virtually anyone would love to have.  She’s loving, protective, supportive, but not coddling, clingy or suffocating.  This must have continued for at least a few years.  We can conclude from the book that this continued at least long enough for him to have memories of it.  Then the account leaves off and picks up again a couple years later and she has taken a turn for the downright sadistic.  She’s a completely different woman.  It’s as if she’s an impostor.

            Now personally, I have no objection to sadism per se.  As long as the sadists in society keep their inclinations directed against the masochists in society, I have no objection.  As long as those who enjoy dolling out suffering restrict themselves to those who enjoy receiving it, I have no objection.  I’m mystified, but content.  If that’s the sort of thing my neighbors are into, fine, as long as they don’t make too much noise when I am trying to sleep.

            But if someone who happens to be neither is left at the mercy of a sadist who doesn’t care that he or she is neither, then we have a problem.  This is the author’s situation here.

            The mother isn’t just physically abusive.  She plays mental games.  She deprives him of food.  She punishes him for obtaining food through other sources.  Sometimes, when he manages to get food through other sources, she actually goes so far as to force him to regurgitate it.  Once, after doing that, she forces him to consume it again.

            This much was alarming, of course, but the part that pissed me off was the father’s behavior.  For years, he knew this was happening and responded to it by trying to gingerly coax and cajole the mother into changing her MO.  For years, his way of dealing with this abusive, sadistic, blood-sucking harpy was by shaking his little finger at her for being naughty.

            Then, finally, the father reaches the point where he can’t take it anymore, and leaves.  This guy’s not even being abused.  This poor fellow has to put up with the suffering of another and he can’t take it anymore.  He finds himself unable to suffer the suffering of another.

            I found myself, with limited success, fighting down the urge to yell at the book.  What is wrong with you?!  Get that kid out of there!  When you realize that a child is in an abusive situation, the highest priority is to get the kid out of it!  Get that kid away from that abusive parent!  If you have to make noise and hurt feelings in the process, if you have to rock the boat, capsize it, or even leave it in pieces, then so be it!  If the boat in question keeps the child in question in the situation in question then such is a public service!  When it comes to removing an abused child from an abusive situation and putting an end to the abuse, every other concern is secondary!

            Ah, but wait a minute.  That’s easy for me to say.  I have never been that parent.

            That’s true.  I have been that child.  For me, it wasn’t just one parent who did the abusing.  It was both.  And it wasn’t just one parent who looked the other way.  It was all my aunts and uncles and all four grandparents.