The evil that men do…

When I was about 5 years old my family attended one of the annual Christmas parties that us military brats got to attend every year. These would always take place at one of the army bases and Father Christmas would always arrive in an Armoured Personnel Carrier.

Fathers would crowd around pool tables, mothers would congregate around flower-decorated tables catching up on all the latest rumours and the local gang of early teenage and pre-teen boys would walk around the buildings, exploring and getting up to whatever mischief they could with no one watching.

The group I was hanging out with on that particular day found some empty, recently abandoned buildings still filled with junk, including old chairs, bits of wire and plenty of glass.

Not sure why I was different. Or why I have always been the singled-out stranger. What I do know is that I was tied up to a chair with wire, had panes of glass broken over my head and left to free myself along with the assurance that if I said anything they would do far worse.

It’s my earliest memory.

It’s way back there with the memories of the vicious beatings my brother, my cousins and I would receive from my maternal grandfather.

A whole lifetime later a brief therapist trying to help me through my divorce decided in her infinite wisdom that one of my problems was that I was out of touch with men. That I didn’t know them. That I hadn’t spent enough time in their company. In her haste to try impress me with her perception she hadn’t taken the time to discover that I had been to an all-boy’s school filled with initiation ceremonies and bullying that makes Spud look like a picnic, followed by 8 years as part of an elite, male only, group in the airforce. My training has included being interrogated, been shot at and having my “spirit” broken down neo-nazi style and my endurance and spirit tested endless times.

I have spent plenty time in the company of boys and have been exposed to the evil that men do more times then I care to remember. My memories are filled with the good and the bad. Names and faces.

I hold no one responsible. I have no anger or resentment. I am not even looking for sympathy. I’m just looking for an understanding that if I seem to be happier on my own (or in a small crowd) and if I seem to be very quiet or zoned out… Please don’t feel that you need to make me feel less shy or part of the group or involved in the conversation.

Some people, like me, just like to sit quietly and observe. And absorb.

We’re working on making better memories.

~ by Norm on December 22, 2010.