Normalcy. Happiness. Affection. From the time I was about 7 until I broke free to go to college, I was “raised” (if you can call it that) in a super-fundamentalist Christian (?) sect where the operational rule to living was “Praise the Lord and Abuse The Child.” (I’m finishing – in my spare time – a book about my experiences and that’s the working title.) There’s nothing like being an abused child and living in a so-called “God-filled” environment where you would get beaten if you committed sinful acts such as chewing gum in church. That would be good for 30–40 lashes with the heavy belt once you got home, then confinement in your bedroom for the rest of the day, only being allowed out when it was time to once again head to church for the Sunday evening festivities where you would be told time and time again you were going to hell because you were such a vile sinner. The adult me says, “what a load of bullshit.”
How ridiculous and strict was this outfit – which I refuse to name because there might be an adherent to that group on here, although I can’t imagine they would be but stranger things have happened? You could not cook on a Sunday. Meals were cooked on a Saturday and served on a Sunday afternoon once you returned home from the Sunday morning “worship services” where their peculiar form of “love” was preached. There’s nothing so unappetizing as cold meatloaf, cold mashed potatoes and congealed gravy. To this day, I won’t eat cold meats etc. – the one exception being ham (take that all you Muslims!!). You couldn’t read the Sunday paper on Sunday – only the Bible. You weren’t allowed to wear jewelry with the exception of a watch – those were for some reason allowed – maybe so you could count down the hours until you died and went to heaven or hell. If your car ran out of gas on the way to church, you pushed it to the curb, walked to church, and went back to get it on Monday since you weren’t permitted to buy anything on a Sunday – even medicine – and definitely not gas.
There’s a helluva lot more – buy the book when I get it finished and published!!! This was definitely not a normal, happy, or affectionate childhood. As a matter of fact, I don’t recall my parents ever showing affection towards each other and certainly not towards me. Had I not become a strong-willed person early on, I would definitely have lost it years ago, but I learned to fight back and while I definitely never said it vocally, it was “fuck off and take your fundamentalist bullshit with you.”