The Exception To The Rule

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The exception to the rule
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Does anyone want to know what child abuse or
bulling does to a human being? It’s strange; people
have dealt with its after effects, but not the person
who needed it most. The community can look at one
kid who committed suicide then try figure to things
out. “He was a good kid. He never bothered anyone.
He never seemed that unhappy. He always smiled.
“Never find one of his friends though, his friends, few
and far between, can tell of a horror of the way he
had been treated in life. Folks seem to expect the
worst from people who were bullied as kids. It
seems like the worst criminals our country has seen
has to fit a certain history to belong in their own
spot. People love to make things easy for
themselves. To others who have the benefit of
money, a person with worn clothes, odd dress, and
self-conscious of how they don’t fit in, is a signal for
kids or adults to poke fun at that one, sitting alone.
Sure when a person is bullied at any age other on
lookers will wait. The buses monitor being bullied
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Brought an avalanche of sympathy for her. Did
anyone ask how many kids were pushed around
before that?
There are some people who have a long history of
being oppressed. Sometimes it’s because family
members choose not to see what is happening. It’s
easier to pretend things never happened. People
think of themselves instead of the one who needs
help the most.
I hope my story can allow others to understand there
are exceptions to this assumption.
I hate bullies. I was bullied and abused since I can
remember. I was always called on if other people
needed someone to help. I did have a nasty
reputation I guess. I was known as the bully buster
in school.
I’m sorry but I did get ahead of myself. The
beginning might give a better insight of the 51 year
old lady who finally has found an avenue to speak
her mind.
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(Don’t feel bad for me. I abhor pity, sympathy is
different, and sometimes it can lead to friendship. My
Favorite phrase is,” Don’t walk in front of me; I may
not be able to follow. Don’t walk behind me; I may
not be able to lead. Walk beside me and be my
friend. )
Why put this in print? To show, life CAN be enjoyable
once you accept who you are and choose to live
beyond your past. That’s what it amounts to. A
human being’s choice to understand, their past is not
who they are, the future is who they can be.
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The life of a Korean War vet’s child.
(Horrendous as it might read, these are the
obstacles I have over came just to be able to tell
others,” It’s not your past which says who you are,
it’s your free will which can show you who can be it
the future. It is the legacy the Army phrase.” Reach
higher” can leave its mark on his child.)
Most people assume that a child of a veteran is
collolded and treasured for their live. I guess I am
one of the exceptions to the rule. My life has been
riddled with strife.
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. The child abuse
I guess these are the reasons why my last sponsor
called me his miracle kid. He learned of the child
abuse, the betrayals, and the cast away attitude I
grew up with. He knew me as a compassionate
person as an adult. He knew I kept my promises as
much as I could. George was the best man at our
wedding. I stood by his when the effects of Agent
Orange began his short fight with kidney cancer. At
the end my husband and I were his proxy so his last
wish could be kept. The most important words he
needed to be promised in his death were “do not
resuscitate.”
We received the call from the nursing home around
4:00 a.m They only called to tell us George had 5
minutes to live. “Don’t even bother to come.” We
went despite the freaky snow storms that March.
Hubby parked dropped me of, parked the car and
came in as quick as he could. “He died in his sleep
thank God.” He really didn’t I was there to give him
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The orders he needed the most. I was told exactly
what to say. “Go home soldier your tour is done.”
I understand this sounds melodramatic, fact it
weirder than fiction. (Borrowed phrase)
(Maybe for confirmation you should ask my husband.
Better yet the r.n. that produced him dead. ) There
was another thing George asked of me, when he
died. Cross his arms and everyone could think he
died in his sleep. The fact is he died after a full night
of seizures, I crossed his arms intertwined his
hands, with the help of the r.n., and freaked. There
was no way I could make his eyes shut! That’s the
way a person dies, the r.n. told me. You can find a
little bit to laugh at even in a situation like this.
(Anyone have 2 quarters for change? Not to shut a
different set of eyes, but for the laundry we need to
do? His memory will forever be a loss to us, but
knowing his raunchy jokes well, does help us deal
with his death.)
George knew about the residual effects I was left to
deal with. He didn’t know how confused I would be,
when I finally viewed my birth certificate. When
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Hubby and I needed to get it the only thing it said
was,” normal child, normal height and weight “Why
Doesn’t it say anything about what I have to deal
with today?” I asked hubby. I had spent a life dealing
with the pain (physical) of what a legacy of early
onset child abuse would leave in an adult. How much
of an impact would it make on a “normal” person, to
see their baby picture in a neonatal unit, so smashed
up the doctor’s wonder if the baby would live? How
did I land up there so soon? It seems I wasn’t want
at birth. It did take 7 days later before it would be
officially announced, “We have a new life to
introduce you to right now, it’s a Girl!” My hubby and
my sponsor helped me deal with that question. Weird
as it may seem, I have treasured the unconditional
love a child needs to grow, and not have the need to
hide from society. I ended up wanting to help others
who had been fractured and split by this kind of
abuse they had become what are normally assumed.
It seems that though the “cards were stacked
against me”. The age of accountability is considered
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Between 10 and 13 years old. At ten I sustained a
head injury, which I should have died from. While
exerisicing a horse, the animal took the bit. (She
chomped on it so it was held in her teeth, not over
Her tongue and in her mouth) I lost any control of the
thorobred and she raced uncontrollably around the
paddock. It seems that being dragged by a foot stuck
in the stippe and an adult hard hat was enough to
bring this ride to an abrupt halt. The cost of this one
“ride” caused temporal lobe seizures. (How many
people do you know can survive a head injury which
broke their eye socket, the bone next to their skull
for their nose, and a direct hit on their ear?) These
things didn’t matter to me; I was never told I
shouldn’t be alive. (I still love horses, ponies and
other equines, why not?) Some may think memories
of being tied to a tree and left to “dry out” in the
summer heat might make have an attitude of “Woe is
me “(Why should it?) It seems like this accident was
what I had used for my benefit not my demise. )
Knowing today I wasn’t insane should enrage me,
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Right? It hasn’t, even not having the correct seizure
medication when I needed it, (The seizures which
resulted were never diagnosed or followed up with.)
existed but never applied would cause such
bitterness one would want to lash out the rest of
their lives. (This is the only time I ask why not me.)
The answer is simple, I love life! It seems that having
been stuck in time, preserving the innocence of a
child between 10 who chose not to allow these
revelations change who they know they are today, is
rare. (Oh don’t forget the way my husband is judged
or friends I have today. It seems that the ultimate
authority steps into my life when it’s not needed the
most! ) Cops are brought in to know if my husband is
taking advantage of a person who is considered
developmentally delayed, means to anyone who
hears this doesn’t have a “ love life “ ?. Durr, (smile)
get what I mean? Leave the gossip out of my life.
To end this story of the meanness of life, what have I
done to gain respect?
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(Even though one of my worst offenders was a
narcotics officer, what have I done against the grain
again?) I trust the authority our paramilitary have. I
have helped the police track down the less desirable
elements in our society today. I attempt to help them
get the gain a foot up on the worst things which can
lead to the destruction of a person. The drug
dealers, the child abusers, bullies, etc.
Why should I care about the incarceration of types
like these? I’d rather fight for the rights of decent
people than help on person escape the reality that
their choice makes them the offenders to society’s
fabric of life as is.
I know this question has leaded me to learn anything
about people I can.
Here are some of the things I find interesting,
The Freudian theory of the evolution of man.
The theory behind chronic liars and scam artists.
Oh don’t forget the theory of war !
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One more area,
The nerves of the government
(Federal laws, state laws, township laws/ city. And
funding delineation of each by the federal budget
e.c.t.)
The American constitution, with the amendments
which perverts it original rights to freedom, etc.
Why is eugenics still considered an appropriate
means of dealing with the mentally deficient,
unstable, or genetically unsound in some areas or
our countries in the world we live in? (Down
syndrome or autisms?)These are the area’s most
people cringe to answer. It seems my response is
always the same, regardless of how through their
answer is.
To me it’s one more quest to have an answer and
make sense of the fact that some chose to be evil
while most do not. “Why? How come?”
Studying genetics doesn’t prove things out.
Theories of the randomness of the formation of
atomic energy cannot.
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Dial The knowledge of chemistry at the molecular
cellular nuclei wouldn’t come close.
The only realistic answer I can find is man’s misuse
of free fill.
That’s about all I can think of. (I hope this doesn’t
sound too disorganized to the reader.)
That’s one reason I say, “It’s not your past that say
who you are, it your future to see who you can be!”
(It really surprises me that regardless of the
assumptions after my seizures were diagnosed by
Beth Israel Deaconess, People are still confused by
the acceptance I have towards others. My self the
only confusion I have is with an I.Q. in the 98>
percentile how much more can I learn to not seem
like a naive adult of 51?)
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Here are other things that surprise me.
(Joking on lives’ indignities!)
If a computer has spell check, why doesn’t it
recognize my misspelled English words? (I’ve had to
guess just to see that darn think not correct it in
Swahili!)
Why are the writing implements missing when
someone says “Write this down!”(Or the paper to
write it on hid!”
I think we both understand what triplet copies
written with carbon paper means to using an eraser.
Do not even pretend to get hungry (or tired) when
you have to work a double shift! (Even if you’re the
lead lady of a factory line!)

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