CHAPTER 38

The Werewold Seed

   Through the past years, I've scrapped off more emotional barnacles than the Queen Mary had during her hey-days. Still, there was one final bugger I'd yet to scrape:

The Werewolf Seed

   Not 'til recently did I become aware of that monster I was dragon behind me. This journal forced me to face and fight it. The monster is the concept that society saddles on abused kids, of all ages, in the hopes of rationalizing abusive parents for those kids.

CONCEPT:

Your parents are abusers because
they were abused by their parents.

   Poppycock! Though it's an alibi for the parents, it's a sub-liminal curse for a kid, considering it silently says: You are heir to the abuser throne by right of inheritance.

   This concept plants the Werewolf Seed by subtly sending the message that at any arbitrary time they may turn into an abuser. Great heir conditioning, eh?

   Abused kids don't need that kind of horror.

   They need to know that abuse is a personal choice, not a genetic absolute. That children are not clones of parents. They are separate souls sent here for spiritual growth via each visit to this karmic planet.

   Abused kids have endured feelings like powerless victims. And the Werewolf Seed Concept makes it easy for them to continue feeling like powerless victims due to a bulletin intended to comfort.

   It infers that all who've been abused genetically carry the Abuser Seed silently coursing through their genes.

   So! Ya better not be around, Pilgrim, or who knows what might happen, or who you're capable of hurting!

   Sure, to tell a kid this story as to why their parents abused them may seem like a short term rationale for their dealing with their abusive parent. But on the long runs, it promotes denial, shame and fear. As in:

   Maybe I better not let anyone know I was abused or they won't get involved with me. They will watch every move I make around kids. Heck, I'd watch me! Maybe no decent person will ever marry me, or have kids with me, or let me be around kids.

   The Werewolf Seed misleads, confuses and makes it tough for kids to liberate themselves from their abusers, so as to logically examine the past, overcome it and let it go.

   After all, how can you believe you can separate yourself from your parents' anger if you're led to consciously believe your parents can't let go of their parent's abusive parenting, and so on and so on. You may even subliminally believe the abusive nature is part of your familial legacy.

   The repetitive theory may have been created to grant kids insight into their parents' behavior, but it boomerangs.

   It's spooks more than it soothes. It enforces the denial and cover-up that child abuse awareness seeks to overcome. The message that it's very OK to tell becomes harder to sell if you believe you may be similarly infected.

   When abuse is implied as an inherited character trait, it can cause an abused kid to feel they are not just victims, but prisoners and guardians of the family's dark side, thus giving further cause for keeping the secret under lock and key.

   No wonder so many adults are still haunted by their kid-hoods, even fearing professional help for which they'll have to reveal their darkest dreads. Not only the usual dread of possibly having deserved what they got, but that they, too, carry the toxin of abuse: the Werewolf Seed.

   For years I spent time working with child abuse issues, yet never spoke of my personal experience with the issue. I feared it would be used against me and compound the hurt I carried.

   I feared it would taint society's view of me, and deny my chance of being considered a regular loving and lovable person. So, naturally, I said nothing. Obviously, the Fear Fleas were holding a convention in my brain chamber.

   Unfortunately, by remaining in denial so as not to be hurt, I hurt myself more than society ever could because I silently clung to the sorrow for what I endured as a kid.

   I had no confidence in society's ability to separate my worth from Ashley's chosen actions. The consequences felt too horrifying to risk telling the Truth.

   Sure, as every message may hold partial Truth, so does the Werewolf Seed. Parents abuse if they were abused. It's often true, but instead of making it seem like an inevitable familial legacy, it might better be presented by saying:

OK. Your parents may have been abused by their parents. They may have thought the only way people can vent their fears was by taking out their angers on those too little to resist.

   But! Everyone holds the key to break the chain of chosen attitudes because abusiveness is not a compulsory soular or temperament trait.

   I went public about my past when I realized my silence was only hurting me. Sure, at times, the reaction I dreaded from society occurred, however only from those pre-bent on hurting others.

   The good news was that by finally airing out my emotional closet, many people I knew felt free to air theirs. People who I never thought shared a similar background.

   It was like a classroom scene where many kids want to go to the bathroom but no one wants to be the first to raise their hand. Then when one hand rises, the room becomes a frantic shore of waving palms.

   Sharing this journal with people over the last few years has evoked another unexpected reaction. Several said, “But you don't look or act like you were an abused child.”

   My reply was, “Oh, really? Well, what do you think one should look or act like?” Nobody could answer.

   With many who did share their past, I discovered they all opted for travelling one of several directions:

1. Leaping into and loving parenthood and lov-ing it as a terrifically compassionate parent with no hang-ups;

2. Leaping into parenthood yet tending toward over‑leniency so as to give the child the kid-hood Nirvana they never experienced, yet ached for;

3. Leaping into parenthood, yet tending toward over‑leniency so as not to risk any scene where their past might possibly be duplicated. Where the Werewolf Seed may be stimulated, like awakening the Incredible Hulk. Many on this path were also volunteers with kids; or,

4. Those who consciously planned their lives to avoid having kids. Out of this comes three sub-paths:

   a. Many adamantly had nothing to do with kids, even making snide putdowns as if all kids were brats;

   b. Many volunteered to work for kid causes, but never work directly with the kids; and,

   c. Many were full-time volunteers who worked one‑on‑one with kids and loved yet feared it.

   I recently met two men who chose the last path. Neither knew the other, yet they lived parallel lives. Both experienced abusive kidhoods. Both were 20‑plus year vets of the Navy Air Force. Both had no kids by choice. Both were volunteers working directly with large groups of kids.

   One even served 18 years as a Boy Scout leader with a history of supporting and encouraging “his boys” that would have made Mr. Chips seem like Fagan.

   When I asked each why they opted to have no kids of their own, both spoke of having been abused kids. Each said they were afraid they might abuse their own kids because both heard the message that abusiveness might be inherited.

   Both said they were never served an encouraging word that there was an option in their life to break free of their past. Ergo! Both chose the military as a safe hide-out.

   Though both are now out of that structured set up, both have created personality ambiguity via full-time dedication to living their life though computer bulletin boards where there is no physical contact, no one-on-one relationships except via messages left and received on computer screens, and no intimate involvement other than issues.

   Though their kidhood abuse ended many years ago, each continue to live their life in the self-abuse lane of denying their spirits of all bosom buddying.

   During that same time, I met Patsy, a 14 year old girl who often dropped by to chat. When she first moved into the neighborhood, she was 12, very distant, slim and had long beautiful blond hair. By the time we got together, she had cut her hair shorter than short and cloaked herself in drab baggy guy clothes yet, her eyes emanated a glimmer of hope.

   One day, as I was on a break from organizing a kid's fair to raise funds for abused kids, she asked to talk privately.

   She spoke of never wanting kids of her own, but didn't say why. After she inwardly debated, and I promised never to let her mom know we talked, she told me the cause of her game plan.

   She told me her first 12 years were spent with her horribly abusive father until her mother got custody and brought her into her current life — now with an abusive step‑dad.

   I heard horror stories of her birth dad's ways of making her obey. One being to dangle her by her feet off the edge of their apartment building while threatening to drop her. This lasted until she grew too big to dangle.

   Another was to stuff her into a filthy garbage can and lid her up until she “learned her lesson”. Often, she was cornered with a closet pole as he beat her into obedience.

   Her eyes glistened with held-in tears, having been raised to deny herself the freedom of crying and never being able to talk of this part of her life — as if she was the criminal.

   She said she hated her father and silently hated her mom for having left her for so many years. “How could she have done that to me?,” she begged to know.

   When I asked whether she discussed her dad's past with her mom, she said, “No way! That's off‑limits. Mom wants me to forget it, but I can't.”

   I asked her why she thought her dad acted like he did.

   Her reply droned like a memorized cliche: “I know. I heard it before. He abused me 'cause he was abused.”

   When I asked what she thought about that, she said it didn't make her feel any better, that she still can't love him for what he did. And hearing the social rationale for her dad's behavior did not take away her nightmares, they only scared her to image new ones.

   If that's why he abused her and she's his daughter, then she felt she would be like him, and abuse her kids. Ergo! She decided to never have any kids. ”Never ever!”

   By the time I met her, she had locked in her future by planning to enlist in the Navy Air Force as a ”lifer”. No marriage. And definitely NO kids!

   Interestingly, hers was the same career and lifestyle choice as the other two fellows. She, as they, said that piloting a military plane would definitely secure detachment.

   Patsy also wanted detachment from having any personal input into her own life. She wanted to relinquish all her responsibility to Big Daddy Military, a setup with absolute rules and criteria of performance. A setup where she could gain a sense of worth and stability — unlike the arbitrary chaos of her home where she had no idea where the lines were drawn between what she did that was right or wrong.

   She said she was choosing the military because she'd be able to blend in and no one would find out about her past or why she feared having kids. A life that offered the least chance of hurting anyone as she was hurt. A life where she could even avoid being a woman when she wanted complete anonymity.

   A complete divorce from the combat of her early years.

   The idea that she was joining an organization of combat seemed inconsequential compared to knowing she'd have a socially approved hideout from a regular female life.

   Wow! Talk about the lingering scars of abuse. And how the psychological scars outlast the physical ones.

   I asked why her mom would “have a cow” if she found out she shared her past with me. Patsy said she was warned never to tell anyone, then added:

   “Maybe mom knows I hate her for leaving me with that monster and doesn't want to hear it. Maybe she thinks I'll just forget it, but I can't. I never will.”

   I asked how keeping her past a secret and never talking about it made her feel. She exploded like a Chatty Cathy.

   She said, “It stinks! It makes me feel like I did something wrong. And, maybe I did 'cause no dad would hurt their kid for no reason . . . would they?”

   I told her I was sure there was a reason in his mind, but that it wasn't a kind reason, a loving reason, or a friendly reason. It was simply his reason to rationalize his rage and avoid facing his own fears and problems — avoid facing the fact that what he was doing was wrong.

   I told her I felt she had become an unfortunate target by being his daughter. But that was his life and she got caught into sharing it.

   Now, it was her turn to live her life. Now she was at her crossroad: To buy his garbage and let the abusive memories continue to dominate her life and crush her hopeful spirits, OR! time to make her own choices.

   Heck! By her saying that how he acted was wrong shows she knew it was against her personality. Against her concept of living a happy life. Though we spoke at length, I told her the bottom line was:

   Obviously, she wasn't buying her dad's way of life.

   NEXT STEP: Start shopping for ideals and lifestyles in a brand new venue. One in which the values felt more comfy and, especially, more lighthearted and fun.

   I kept my promise to Pasty and said nothing to her mom. I didn't want to worsen her life or her ability to trust. I did not want to see her punished for simply telling the Truth to a trusting confidante. That would have only gotten Pasty grounded and restricted from our conversations.

   She was already getting so arbitrarily and consistently grounded for the slightest infraction that she was a pro at enduring it — though not understanding it.

   Patsy said she didn't want any outside help. She said her life was at least OK compared to before. A nice house and clothes, and no garbage cans. Sure, she would have to watch her mom still accepting abuse, and she'd have to run and hide when her step-dad was on the warpath. But, she figured if she stayed out of their way, she'd soon be legal, join the Air Force and be set for life in thankful silence.

   Being aware of the pathetically sparse help our country offers kids in turmoil, reporting what Patsy was enduring felt senseless. She'd only be sent back home to greater tension, and I might never see her again.

   Instead, I gave Patsy the freedom to visit and talk about her feelings and share thoughts in my safe house.

   Since we began talking, her anger lessened. She even reconsidered her full-time military career by opting for a semi-restricted life as a police woman and becoming a part-time counselor for abused kids.

   She told me that being able to talk with someone who'd been there was a big help. It caused her to question the idea that being an abuser just because her parent was abusive was not as true as she thought. She began feeling hope that she definitely had a choice.

   While this scenario began by my wanting to help Patsy, Patsy also helped me. Though I thought I was free of my past emotional burdens, I discovered I still carried the heart clot of dreading Ashley finding me if I went public. Though Ashley couldn't ground me, I nevertheless reacted like Patsy and dreaded my mother finding out that I told the truth.

   Though I understood Patsy's need to play it cool 'til she was legal, what was my reason? Why was I playing another masquerade? I am legal age.

   Through Patsy, I realized how ridiculous and obsolete my reaction was. How I was continuing to give Ashley the right to smother who I am.

   So, I took myself on a walk down Worst Case Scenario Row to see what might happen and visualize how I'd react. I then said to me, ”So what? TRUTH can only set me free. Her denial cannot imprison me. I shall not let it.”

   Besides, as my openness has shown me, the people that may be encouraged to come out of their denial closets by me coming out of mine, superseded the What-If Fear.

   As a last thought on that killer legacy of the Werewolf Seed, I feel it must be abolished through educating abused kids of all ages on WHY abuse happens. WHY it's a chosen pattern. And HOW it can be overcome.

   Kids need to know that just because parents are angry at life, does NOT mean they naturally inherit that attitude.

   The Werewolf Seed, as with Worry Weeds, must be up-rooted and the heart sown with Truth, love and knowledge.

   When we let toxins take root they generate an increase of trauma that may already be festering within abused kids. And that causes a constriction within their adulthood souls.

   Sure, it takes a lot of love, support and time to reprogram targets of abuse to believe in themselves and their ability to love without fear. To help them understand they have the choice to delete negative thoughts and abusive actions their parents fed them about their worth, lovability and potential.

   It takes a lotta guts for them to learn how to conquer this challenge so as to convert the love/hate energies they hold for their biological parents into a beneficial energy for self. To know it's not only OK to let go of the past but they must Look, Learn & Let Go in order to get on with their lives.

   It takes a lotta giving to liberate those who have been abused, but it's worth it. Not just for the kids, but for our world, families and ourselves. On a spiritual level, helping others gives us a chance to know what we're made of — as Patsy did for me.

   Life is a continuous two-way street. Helping others helps us to tap strengths that may have remained dormant had they not been called upon by needing others.

   To upgrade the quality of life for just one child so he or she has a fair chance at developing into a responsible, loving member of our society is a magnificent contribution.

   Even if you have not been abused and are raising happy, loved, well nurtured kids, volunteering to alleviate child abuse has to be considered a social priority. If not, your emotionally healthy kids shall advance into a world filled with a populace racing on fuels of hostility, hurt, undeserved guilt, hollow shame, fake fear and the bogus Werewolf Seed.

   Imagine how we can contribute to the society our kids will grow to control when we make time to help the less fortunate peer-kids.

   Imagine how significantly we could lower the Fear and Anger level on this planet. How we could quicken the pace of the EARTH transforming into the HEART.

Copyright © 2004 by Krystiahn