growing up I was rased to beleave in jesus, having been raised mostly Lutheran and a dash of the hard stuff (Catholicism). But spirituality is usually blamed for being the sole responsibility of a full time provider. Ignoring that church usually ends after an hour, the world becomes the droning seed to full bloom parent of our psyche. However, the majority of the planet is religious, so it's still the root, right? Well no, at least what I've experienced, because the reality in the culture I grew up in, no one really believed. Church was the time to think about god and morality, but once you shake the pastors hand, the gloves come off.
I never liked church. As a kid, it was boring and as an adult, it was a struggle. Obviously being bored as a kid is no reason to dismiss religion. I remember following the outline of the sermon to see how much longer and getting anxious at communion because that was always near the end. Of course this is just an anecdote and no legit reason to dismiss religion.
My struggle is really where my awakening started.
When I was a kid I was very (and still am) passive when it came to most stuff. Fighting, stealing, drugs. What else was there to do? I was morally neutral and would whistle while I "sinned". You see, as long as it was not affecting me and was for my gain, I didn’t see the problem or didn’t care. If I was a D&D character, I'd be true neutral. My mom always said "think before you act" like it was her catch phrase. The problem was there was nothing morally wrong behind my thoughts, just basic emotional responses: I want. I need. It was there. I was bored. I need it more. This was my mind's response to the "why Did you do it?" Of course I'd summarize with a general description of all responses: "I don’t know."
You might be wondering how I was passive and fighting. The surface answer was a defense mechanism. If my passive moral-ubiquity mindset was questioned or made me question it, I became aggressive. Like most, the truth was obvious but was too painful to admit. To look deeper, I asked myself "who built that mechanism? who where the architects of the machine?" the answer was my parents and close family. It might sound cliche blaming my parents and looking at the definition of that word, I AM placing responsibility on them. After all, no one can argue that they weren’t responsible for me. I could get into the fighting and abuse (from both ends me(egg) and them (chicken)), but as they're not able to defend themselves, it would be unfair to mention such an incidence. The point is my mom struggled with depression and so did my dad, but they dealt with it in different ways.
My dad was upset all the time. Most of the time it came out as hate on me, my sister, or my mother. It started as snarky little comments like "she's a witch", "you're just like your mom", "(mom or dad) doesn't want you", "when your grown I never want to see you again". Before long, me and my siblings picked this up and started spitting flame back. "I don’t want to see you when I'M older" and "you’ll be sorry", "I never want to be like you", "fat ass", "stupid bitch". Suddenly these words lost meaning and the morality of abusing verbally, to me, became non-existent. Then we discovered something better to quench are “eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth” mentality and it was fresh and painful still: physical abuse.
I was not in my "defiant phase" when it began, so my sisters got it first. Much like the verbal, it started as a seed to a wheat farmer. Slam a door. Break a plate. Punch a wall. Push. Shove. Kick. Hit. Hold. Whip. Squeeze. Choke. Once again, I don’t speak for my sisters, but I can attest to my own experience. I did not add for effect. As I grew, I became aware of my dad's weakening strength (around his late 40's) and my own growth(around 14). And it wasn’t the only thing that was growing, as more childhood moral lessons were becoming more gray.
I often wonder what other men experienced when learning that they're over-passing their dad. I imagine most feel like "he took care of me, it's time for me to repay him". It's a moment of pride and acceptance for both father and son. For me it was my first experience in a jail cell. A week earlier my dad came after me for what I think was the radio being too loud (I'm sure it was it was one of my techniques of inflicting pain on my family). He tried to grab me and hold and squeeze (I realize squeeze sounds silly, but I could not escape or breathe to put it in context). I was becoming more of a handful to push or hit or kick, so this was the new method of punishment. My brain said "whatever it takes" as my dad held me with his arms on my shoulders. I kicked hard as I could with my foot straight in his crotch.
I want you to know this is not a moment of pride for me. It was at first but I seriously hurt him and he's never treated me the same. The ironic thing about abuse is you need someone to abuse and someone to abuse you. My dad is not "evil". He was in pain like we all were. Sure he should have been more aware of his actions, and aggressive behavior is the worst thing you can teach a child, but he had gone through the same, learned the same lessons and became numb to his own ethical philosophy just as I did. I love my father, not because he was good to me, though he genuinely wanted that, but that I was connected to him in pain and hate. These bond just as well as love and ecstasy to significant people in your life. Later I found it was the only way I connected to anyone. Word of advice, if you think you're over someone because you hate to even think about them, you're not over them. Same as if you hate god or religious people.
I'm going to split this up because well, look; so I'll summarize this section so far. When I went to church I learned morals, ones I believed in then and wish to believe in again. They never said Blacks should be slaves or gays should burn, but be good to others, they will be good to you or people deserve a second chance. But for every hour I went to church, mainly before the divorce when I was 5, I was in a lifetime of morals that didn't really mean anything and seemingly went ignored by the majority, and eventually my brain found no need for them. I hadn’t pondered much on the existence of god at the time. I thought the same as I did with my dad:
"he hates me and I hate him too"
......and i had a connection to god
(note: these are my quotes, experiences, and thoughts and like any old memory, almost certainly have distorted truth. They are not my siblings' or relatives' thoughts. I'll let them confirm or correct if they wish )
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