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When children don't cry
By Georg E Mateos
Last edited: Thursday, April 02, 2009
Posted: Thursday, April 02, 2009
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If you think your childhood was bad...think again, other children had it beyond the limits where people can't keep their sanity, and yes a few did, but an hardening of the heart until they became cold bastards that will tell the truth in your face, that will kick liars on their teeth and never will expect a friendly word.
Damaged goods you will say?
You don't have the faintest idea how much.
Excerpt from a book under work:
“The Life of Walther Alexander”
or How to build a cold bastard
.....///it is possible that the only creature that ever loved my father was his dog, not a respectable big Alsatian Shepherd Dog but a little fox-terrier with short legs, with a big attitude and bad temper to both, answering only to him.
As an engineer with some high post somewhere, he wasn’t at home nine of ten, always traveling, and when he was, there were his friends, his we-go-hunting buddies.
The little ones needing a father don’t needed to ask, he wasn’t there.
My two brothers, after experiencing, longer than me and my little sister, his indifference toward his children, had lost all respect and where only waiting for that golden birthday when legally they could say, “bye-bye sucker” and be on their way after unloading the family lack of emotion ballast on the front door.
We never had a Nanny, that would have been in our mother's eyes, the same as an admission or maternal incompetence.
But we had had a chain of house-help maids that mother would drive out of their minds hacking them like a woodpecker with complains to do better.
Mother (?) was an advocate of corrective violence even if there wasn’t anything to correct, some times she would senseless beat one of the children for things she was sure the culprit was to be guilty of the next day or whatever.
She wasn’t a woman teaching dislike she was a woman that could write a thesis about “How to produce hate” for her Doctorate.
Hate, she told us well, living in a house that I can’t remember a smile touching the mirrors, least a laugh, which was treated as repugnant.
But I am unfair, we heard father’s laugh in a few occasions, when he had invited his friends for a dinner or just to shot the wind and drink and tell tales.
Mother otherwise, seemed not to have friends or not wanted any, we never saw anybody coming to the house visiting her, maybe they came when we were at school and she ate up them before we returned.
The boys learned how to despise women, not because their mother, but for all the other women in a big family with very rich ones and very poor others, weaving intrigues and alliances, deprecating one another thinking that children wouldn’t understand, as the brats were to be seen and not heard.
The girl, our sister, was broken by the start, she could become a punching sack for any man coming along in her life, mother had broken her spirits and would do anything to no get a beating, which she didn’t because one of her three brothers would step on the plate and get “it” for her.
To give an example about the women in my family…when my father died, one of his sisters told us that “when the dog’s dead, no more rabies”
The golden age came to my brothers and off they went to be with the angels, they has enrolled in the Air Force, I think they were tired of the meanness on “terra firma” and decide to be near our grandmother, the only sane woman we ever saw when we were growing up.
One evening, at a time when I was twelve years old going on thirty, a sister of mother was visiting and I can’t remember what triggered mothers rage (she didn’t have to had a cause) but suddenly she was throwing a dish fork at me.
In a million throws that fork would have hit an felt to the floor, but that time was that One in a million when the fork hit my right hip, its teeth found the bone and hang from my flesh.
For a little guy I was pretty strong and my mother knew it, but she thought that she could float over any storm because children aren’t supposed to defend themselves from sadistic parents, not at that time, not in 1937 with a Pope looking the other way of Jews plights by brown and black shirts, by the extreme religious right that proclaimed that religious parents never ever gave a corporal corrective to children if they nor were menaced by evil.
It all was for our own good.
Today is different, children have an array of places and peoples to go. Then we had only the rules, and protection was only for the parent’s property not for the “unruly offspring”
I took the fork out of my hip with my eyes glued on her face, this time she had gone too far, this time I was to park that fork in her heart, for good.
Her sister came between us saying, “she didn’t mean it, it was an accident, she is sorry” I looked at both women with all the disgust I could muster and left the room to fetch from the secret place the money my brothers left behind for “when the time comes,” went to my sister room packed a few of her things and told my little sister, “come, its time to left the monster behind” and grabbing her small hand we left without looking back once.
The world outside couldn’t be more cruel or indifferent that the place we just left for good.
Nobody came looking for us, no police, no radio, no papers, and milk cartoons with our pictures were many decenniums away in the future, that, if anyone cared.
Which they didn’t.
..........////
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Reader Reviews for
"When children don't cry"
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| Reviewed by Debra Conklin |
8/6/2009 |
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| Unfortunately, too many children suffer at the hands of their "parents", myself included. I too, sometimes find the past too painful to write about and tend to stay away from that cesspool, for fear of drowning in it. |
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| Reviewed by Joyce White |
6/29/2009 |
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Georg, when my brother and me were 14, about 1971, I called the police myself and asked them to pick my brother and me up. We were
hungry, and tired of living with deviate drunks that used knifes to rule their roost. Too sad to write about. How do you do it? I purposely try to write about good things, funny things that will make the world smile. Maybew, I'm a coward. |
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| Reviewed by The Bear Paw |
4/21/2009 |
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Hi WE, tears of sorrow and pain for you! I tried to run away from home once, because of evil step-brothers that would never be stopped. Hell, noone ever dared really look, hell, noone cared. I took a lot of shit for my sisters, but they didn't care, either. Your writing your life inspires me.. all respects to you Chief!
In Spirit,
Bear |
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| Reviewed by SOULFUL SHEE G. Pulsing In Passionate Purple PassionS |
4/19/2009 |
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WITH All YOU been through ( as I read so often through your expressions) and Walter (Here) Emotionals are buried deep and memories even deeper, till they surface!
I KNOW this as I also know of my healings and Faith in all things possible!
God Bless YOU Georg! YOU have blossomed into a loving, kind, determined Wonderful MAN with an amazing plan!Back then, there was NO SUPPORT System and not many beleived! either...
WRITE ON!
Warmest Blessings of Peace, Warrior Purple Lady SHEExooo |
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| Reviewed by Dawn Wilson |
4/18/2009 |
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| Georg...I am so happy that you suggested that I read this...so much sadness...so much pain. And although it touched me enough to write about one of my students...this touches me even more...because you have given me another first person view. |
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| Reviewed by Patricia Smith |
4/8/2009 |
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Hi Georg,
I can sooooo relate to Georg. Even now so many years have passed. I have forever made peace with the childhood I survived; I still have night frights sometimes. How ever, one thing I know for sure. We survivors can over come. We can gather the strength to open the next door and hold our hearts, sprits, and dreams together. Our hearts can be mended through the found love of others. Our sprits can still soar just by flapping our wings, and our dreams are far ever made possible by our writing. I thank God and my blessings for finding this wonderful family of writers here on Authors Den. They encourage us to soar; they give warmth when it is needed. I hope if this child is you that you keep spreading your wings to the heavens, keep the strength to open other doors, and never ever quit dreaming.
Have a wonderful night.
Patricia Smith
http://www.freewebs.com/blessedbeps
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| Reviewed by Emile Tubiana |
4/5/2009 |
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| Dear Georg, I read this eagerly. The story is very sad and I cannot remember ever having seen or read something similar to that. I can confirm that you are the first to tell such a story. I really hope that such a monster does not exist. What can we expect from the poor Walter, I already feel terribly bad for him. How can he survive or trust any women in life? I wonder if a guy like Walter can at all even get close to a female. Although I know very well that the feminine can help us get closer to success, closer to love, closer to the marvel of the world and even closer to the grace, as Goethe wrote "The eternal feminine exalts us". I can confirm this write. Well written my friend, I'll wait for the next episode. Love, Emile |
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| Reviewed by Mark Lichterman |
4/5/2009 |
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| Georg, this could be a work of fiction rather than a true chapter of a living person. I can feel the pain and hopelessness of that little boy. Excelent writing, my friend. Mark |
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| Reviewed by Carol Surber |
4/2/2009 |
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Your evolved into a wonderful, kind and caring Man!
Masterful in the romantic writing |
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| Reviewed by JASMIN HORST SEILER |
4/2/2009 |
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Is this open to competition, for I am sure that there are millions who would like to participate, it might ease your terrible pain to find that you had so much company, I had no perfect childhood far from it, but I always knew they tried their best, as was possible with what and who they were, and the cirmumstances of the times.
You brought some ideas, and it might just be, that I will myself set some of it down on paper, but in private, for after all I still love them all.
Bless You my friend! Jasmin Horst |
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| Reviewed by Felix Perry |
4/2/2009 |
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I look back sometimes at my own humble family, we were borderline poor and over the line Catholic, my father was strict my mother was an angel bordering on a breakdown but we never doubted their love for us and that is such a wonderful thing to have...my heart goes out to you and to all who were abused and deprived as children and I do thank whatever Gods that be that you survived to become the noble and caring person you are.
Fee |
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| Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado |
4/2/2009 |
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Heartbreaking story, Georg; I am so sorry you had to endure this hell! God be with you always; you are ever in my prayers/thoughts!
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in America, Karen Lynn in Texas. :( >tears! < |
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| Reviewed by Mr. Ed |
4/2/2009 |
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The world outside couldn’t be more cruel or indifferent that the place we just left for good.
Such a powerfully sad tale, my friend. I consider myself very lucky because I still believe that I had a wonderful childhood, but many I know surely didn't. And many sad children today still don't have a very good one. |
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