Child Advocacy Page

These are mostly stories from my observations of parents over the past few years. They are generally quite critical. It is intended for anyone who wants to help children, anyone who plans to have them, or anyone who was emotionally abused by their parents and wants to gain more insight into emotional abuse.

I expect those who presently are parents will feel defensive as they read this page.1 In fact, if you are feeling defensive already, please be very aware of this if you want to continue; also, ask yourself, "Why am I reacting this way?" Normally, we don't feel defensive unless we either know something is true or are afraid it may be. I ask that you try to remain open to learn what you can rather than find some reason to stop reading if you really want to help children or understand what might have happened to you as a child.

I believe the stories on this page help explain why we people grow up to be resentful, rebellious, irresponsible, insecure, depressed, angry, bitter, destructive, suicidal, homicidal, etc. I also believe it offers evidence that we need to have some kind of licensing system for parents, some kind of required training and proof of competence. It is my hope that someday all future parents around the world will take an extensive course on parenting, (preferably a continuing one) and that examples like these will be used for instruction on what not to do and why not to do it.

By the way, the majority of these examples are from what would be called middle class or above families in the USA, Australia, Canada and New Zealand. I have spent very little time in, for instance, the US ghettos. But from my limited exposure to such environments and the people from them, I think it is safe to say that the parenting there is much, much worse. The language used is harsher, more negative, more aggressive; there is more physical, sexual and emotional abuse and violence. Much of what I write about is about emotional subtleties and contradictions which one can only pick in close attention to word choice, tones of voice and facial expression. It seems clear that the higher "class" one comes from and the more educated and intellectual, the more subtle are the forms of abuse. But even children in highly "successful" families need protection from invalidation and from being used to fill the unmet emotional needs of the adults around them. Money, manners, religion, education and intellectual brilliance do not fill all of our human needs. It is the child's emotional needs which I hope to call more attention to on this page.

Some of My Observations

Change your attitude

Use this towel

Could this be why we need "spiritual" healing?

No sharing umbrellas

Every... single... piece

Facts vs. feelings

It shouldn't have been there

We told you so

I have to go scream at the knuckleheads.

Interventions

An intervention at the library

The Harried Mom and False Appreciation

Minding my own business

A screaming child on the beach

Some of my interactions with kids

Other

Emails from a teen in the USA

A brief look at one emotionally dysfunctional family

While working as a volunteer in a marine acquarium one day I witnessed an example of a emotionally abusive parent. It was short, but it was telling. Here is a little background.

On this particular day parents were pre-registering their children for a summer camp working with the marine animals. The advantage of pre-registering is to increase your chances of getting into the course you want. The summer camp courses fill up quickly because they are so popular. In order to pre-register, the family must have a membership to the aquarium. Thus, on this day, only those who could afford a museum anuual membership were present. It was mostly mothers there that day. The wait was long and many people were feeling impatient and resentful that it was taking so long. Many of them brought their children with them. I overheard one mother who snapped the following at her primary school age daugther.

Change your attitude right now or we are leaving. Stop that whining. If I have to tell you one more time, we are going home and you are not going to summer camp.

I thought, "'Change your attitude right now.' Yeah, mom, good advice. Why don't you follow it yourself? Why don't you listen to your daughter so she doesn't have to resort to 'whining'? Why do you threaten her? Why do you invalidate her?" I suppose I could have said something. Maybe I should have. Why don't we have authorities walking around to control parents like that? Why don't we stop, or arrest- from the French word for stop, arrêter- parents before they damage their children with years of such abuse? Wouldn't this be a more productive use of power and authority? We might call them "Parent Police." Now that is a job I might enjoy. But as it is I have little to no power, or at least I feel nearly powerless to stop parents from delivering their daily dose of toxic emotional poison.

On the same day, I noticed a child in a stroller crying. I looked over and saw her mother reading the paper, ignoring her. The mother was wearing 2 earrings in each ear, gold tipped shoes, a gold bracelet and gold tipped sunglasses, even though it is cloudy out and we are inside a building.

One day in a campground I heard a father say in reference to a towel he wanted his teenage daughter to use: "Believe me. That's it. Use this one." His sounded annoyed, defensive and authoritarian. She asked for another towel three times and protested when he refused to get the one she wanted. Why did he force the other one on her? He said something about the one she wanted being wet, but what difference would it have made to him if she used a wet towel? Why couldn't he explain himself without getting defensive? Was he feeling defensive because he felt guilty for being too lazy to go a few extra steps to the car for her? Or was it just a power struggle? He sounded more irritated and defensive each time she asked and protested. Then he closed the debate with those final words and walked away, leaving her in the bathroom alone and defeated.

While walking with a young mother on the Coromandel Peninsula in New Zealand, the mother said to her 6 or 7 year old daughter: "Jenny, if you are going to walk with us, you are not talking, because we are talking." I looked back to see the child stop in her tracks and drop her head, looking down to the ground and then turn back. A few minutes she made another attempt to participate in our conversation & this time the mother ignored her, so I acknowledged her comment. Then the mother said, "What is this doing here? Is this where this is supposed to be?" Again the little girl's head dropped as she felt the sting of disapproval.

Ironically, the father teaches "healing classes," with dancing, druming and "spiritual music." I wonder if adults would need such things if they received a little more positive attention from their parents. And I wonder why we adults assume that our conversations should take precedence over the child's attempts to speak. Why don't parents say, "Excuse me just a moment, let me see what my daughter has to say."

Rarely, if ever, have I heard such a comment while talking to a parent or teacher. But why not? Isn't it easier for adults to wait than for children? Wouldn't this do a lot for a child's sense of worth? I suppose there are a few people who still believe that children should be seen and not heard, but I for one would admire someone who would interrupt their conversation with me so they could listen to a child. In a society which really valued children, this is the kind of thing we would be more accustomed to seeing.

A family of four is playing cards. They get up to leave. I hear the teenage daughter say "Kelly and I can share an umbrella." The mother says, "No, it is raining really, really hard." Then she probably realized this was a wild exaggeration and the daughters might easily debate the point with her. So she adds, sounding defensive and very unconfident, "...and besides you can't both fit under one umbrella." The girls don't protest, even though this is also highly debatable. They probably have lost too many debates and have given up trying to argue facts or logic. Parents have a way of using their own logic however it suits them and most children do give up after years and years of being subject to arbitrary decisions and irrational reason.

I don't know why the mother had to overrule the daughter's suggestion. It would have been fun for the two girls to share the umbrella. It is impossible to know what the mother was really worried about. Was she worried about them catching a cold, getting their clothes wet and "messy", having too much fun, getting too close? Could she even really say what she was afraid of? Or was it just a small power struggle? Was it just a way the mother could feel a bit more powerful?Was it just a habitual response to say no?

I will never know the answers to all my questions. This troubles me. And it troubles me that the mother, like so many others, had to needlessly spoil her children's happiness and rob them of their need to feel in control of their own lives. I am sure she wouldn't look at it this way. Not many parents would find any fault with what she did. I have heard all the justifications for such over-control and over-protectiveness. I don't even want to debate about such things anymore. I would rather just write it down and keep my mouth shut until I meet someone who values my opinion.

I was camping one day in Canada. I wrote in my journal: Had to leave the campsite, got too stressful. Some mother was emotionally abusing her kids next to me. I noticed her tone of voice a couple of times earlier in the morning. Then I heard her say loudly and with a threatening yet helpless tone, "I can't do this. I can not do this all day with you acting like this." Each word was punctuated, as if a separate attack. A moment later I looked up and she was walking away. My first impression was how overweight she was. I would estimate about 300 pounds. I gave her credit for walking away instead of hitting the kids or scaring them any more. Later she came back and started in on them again, telling them to pick up "every single scrap of paper and trash" in the campsite. Then, not satisfied, she said again punitively, "Every single piece." Interesting punishment. I wonder what the crime was. I hadn't heard any noise from the kids all morning. Only her nagging at them. Then I heard their dog bark. Why would someone bring a dog to a campground? I have noticed that dysfunctional families often have dogs. That way there is always someone to control.

As I walked past their campsite, I expected to see a license plate from the United States. They looked like a typical middle class American family. Three kids, four bicycles, a van, a car top carrier, a bike rack, a dog, a campstove, and a lot of other matieral things. The husband was quiet. He was slightly overweight and had a bushy beard.

Anyhow, I felt stressed and it took me several mintutes to calm down. I am not all the way calm yet actually and it has been over an hour ago.

Father was abusing his child again this morning. Every thing the father says is an order. He says it with tone that reflects impatience, intolerance, and disappointment, even defeat.

He says it as if Travis is going to say, "No, which one." Or as if he expects him to bring the wrong bag. Or as if he has to talk down to him as if he were an idiot who can do nothing right.

The father seems to have a southern US accent. I am very curious to know where they come from. I am tempted to go sneak up to their campsite from behind and look at the license plate.

Why are they getting another one?

Mom: Why is who getting another what?

LG: Another lesson?

Mom: Well, that's the big girls getting their lesson now. Come on along now.

End of discussion.

Mother was factual but missed an opportunity to talk about her daughter's feelings, help her daughter label the feelings and strengthen the bond between them. She didn't read the emotion behind the question. I could tell the daughter felt left out and wanted another lesson. too. She thought it was unfair that the other girls were getting a lesson. I could tell by the daughter's face that she wasn't satisfied with this answer, but the mother wasn't looking at the daughter, she just kept walking.

The result of this brief exchange was that the daughter walked away with more knowledge. She moved one step closer to the world of facts and one step further from the world of feelings. And but because she didn't feel understood by her mother or validated, she also moved one step further into her own inner world, a world apart from her mother.

A young mother out of a store looking down around in
doorways and behind signs. She had that "I've lost my child look."
As I kept walking in the same direction we both saw the child at the same time. He was climbing up some steps around the corner. She
calmly said "Jeffrey, would you like an ice cream?"

She could have panicked. Could have screamed. "Don't you ever walk away from me! I told you to stay right there! Or she could have rushed over and yanked him off the ground, and or hit him, as I have seen parents do in less dangerous situations than that one.

We were getting ready to eat. The mother put a hot dish down on the table. The daughter cried out: "Mom!- You put the plate on my book!"

A friend of my parents was telling me once about how her daughter had married a guy with 6 kids. She tried to be the supermom for them but it was destroying her. Her mother said to her "Well, we told you so." Her family all thought she was dumb for marrying him. I said "She probably feels stupid." Her mother exclaimed, "Well she is!" Her mother was another intelligent, well-intentioned Catholic parent who messed up her kids.

One day in a wealthy neighborhood I was watching some children playing baseball. I noticed one of the fathers, who was also a coach of one of the teams. He was playing catch off to the side with one of the boys. As he did so he was keeping one eye on the game. Suddenly he saw one of the boys on the team make a mistake. He quickly yelled, "GOD DAMN IT! All right, I can't do this because I've got to go scream at the knuckheads!" He threw down his baseball glove and stormed over to the field and started shouting.

The other day I was in the library in Australia checking my email. Behind me I kept hearing a gruff voice. I looked back to see a woman who looked to be in her late fifties. She was muttering about the copy machine not working the way she wanted.

A few minutes passed by and I heard her start growling things like, "Stop that," Don't touch that." I looked back again and didn't see anyone else but her.

Shortly I heard her say, even louder, "Leave that alone!" I looked back again to see a two young girls standing next to her, maybe 8 and 5 years, who had evidently been behind the copy machine.

She continued growling, for growling is the only word I can use, at the children. It was obvious she wanted to scream at them and at the copy machine, but she was forcing herself to keep her voice abnormally low. I say abnormally because I am certain that for her, were it not for being in a public library, she would have been nearly screaming. It sounded as though she had her teeth clamped together to try to contain the energy her body was creating.

To my amazement I heard the girls calling her "mommy." I guess I was hoping she was just a crazy old widow who happened to have someone else's kids following her around in the library. When I realized these were her children I sensed the increased importance of the situation.

Next she nearly shouted out something to the little girl. Both the lady next to me and I turned around to see what was going on. We looked at each other. I shook my head and my neighbor said "The library sure isn't like it used to be." I replied, "I feel sorry for her children."

As I said it I realized that I wasn't helping them much by talking about them to my neighbor, so I guess I felt a little guilty. As I sat and listened to this continued onslaught behind me I remembered that I had made something of promise to myself to never sit idly by and witness child abuse. I was afraid to say something though. Afraid others would judge me for interfering, afraid of the confrontation which might occur, perhaps even afraid of physical harm.

The next time she blurted out something though, I didn't think about my fears. I got up from my chair and said something like, "I am sorry to interrupt you, but the way you are talking to those children is really bad for them. She looked at me in a combination of surprise and defensiveness. She responded that she wasn't talking about them but about the copy machine. I said something like "Well, please try to make sure you don't direct your anger at these two precious children." They were both staring up at me, frozen with curiosity and surprise. They looked like such pleasant, bright and happy children and while they had been trying to talk to their mother they didn't sound at all annoying. While she had been grunting and muttering and growling, sounding like she were ready to explode and smash something or attack someone at any second, the children acted as if nothing unusual were occurring. Sadly, that was probably true for them.

I reached out and put my hand on the taller one's shoulder. I said, "You kids are all right. You have done nothing wrong." I am starting to cry now as I write this. I suppose it is because I needed someone somewhere in my life to intervene and tell me that I had done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve the treatment I was getting.... from my mother, my father, my brothers, my sisters.... who knows. I can think of nothing specific right now, but there must be something very deep buried inside me. It is strange to read my own writing. I wonder how the reader, you, will react. I am afraid people will say I am making this up or that I am too emotional. Then I start to feel a little defensive, hostile... but as I write the words I feel more calm. I exhale and some of the tension leaves my body.

At any rate stood there for a few seconds and gave me an icy stare, but said nothing. I apologized again for interrupting her and said that I just had to say something, I couldn't sit there any longer without doing something.

I sat back down at the computer terminal and kept working. The people around me stared at me briefly but not in a negative way. It would have been nice if someone would have said something like, "I am glad you said something, I wanted to but I was too afraid. Thank you."

Yes, that would have been very helpful to hear at that moment. But I sat there alone with my thoughts of how I handled the situation. A few minutes later I finished my work and was driving away from the library. I noticed that I was sweating under my arms and that my heart was still beating rapidly. I thought about what else I could have said, how else I could have said it. Maybe it would have been better to start with something validating like "Sounds like you are really having trouble with the copy machine." Or, "These things can be frustrating can't they?"

I was proud of myself for saying something, but now as I write that I feel frightened or something. No, maybe it is a feeling of sadness or loss or grief or shame. Perhaps because there were so many times I didn't do something, or because I don't believe I should feel proud. I can't figure the feeling out. It just flickered in my for an instant.

Anyhow, though I was satisfied, let's say, that I had said something I wasn't satisfied with how I said it. I rated myself at a 6 level of satisfaction. I suppose that each time I intervene, something which I somehow know I must do, the best I can do it, I will learn something. But I fear that I might be making things worse. I think of the story I just read in Don Quixote where he tried to help some boy who was being beaten. Then as soon as he left the man beat him even more severely while Don Quixote rode off thinking he had done something truly commendable and noble.

I don't like conflicts, I hate them in fact. But sometimes you must make a stand for what you believe. Again I am filled with emotion as I write those words. I shake my head to clear it, wondering what the shaking actually does to the chemicals inside, wondering if it disperses them somehow so they don't concentrate in some area of the brain which is creating pains. I first wondered this when I actually was hitting my forehead with the palm of my hand in Mexico once when I couldn't believe what was happening in front of me.

At any rate, I guess my life is destined, let's say, to be filled with conflicts if I am going to live my beliefs. I exhale again in a sign of my body accepting this reality. My body says, or let's say Amy, my amygdala says, "Okay, Steve, this is the way it will be from now on. And it is all right. You are alright." Tears come to my eyes again so I guess that is another sign I didn't hear those words often enough. It would be nice to think that "Jesus loves me" or some such thing, but a long-dead man turned into a mythological hero figure is no substitute for the family love or rather family approval, admiration, acceptance which I evidently never got enough of.

Funny that today I was just thinking that I felt ready to see my family again. It has been about two years I think. Having my land, my own land which I can do whatever I like with, is giving me a renewed sense of self-confidence. I don't feel as needy as I did before. I don't feel as embarrassed, ashamed, failful. Maybe I don't need as much family approval. I was thinking that when I bought my land I didn't wonder, "What would Mom think? What would Andy think? What would Cathy and Dave and Betsy and Patti think?" I don't care much what they think one way or the other, though that is actually a lie. It is more truthful to say I care less than I did before in my life.

It is comforting to know that my father would approve of my land and my life. Well, approval is not the right word. I believe he would admire me. Man, how many times I wish I could talk to him again, now that I have become "enlightened." And I know my brother Al would enjoy being here with me. I don't know that he will ever get here though. Perhaps if I sent him a ticket. But it wouldn't be the money probably. It would just be his lifestyle. I don't know when he as flown last. He is so different, his needs are so different. I am not sure how he would in the confinement of a plane for 18 hours.

Well, I have deviated from the original point of this story - which was simply to record another little parent-child interaction. To whoever reads all of this, thanks for listening. And to whoever intervenes one day to help a child somewhere, thanks for caring about the children.

Last night I spoke to a woman in her forties. She told me about the time she was having a birthday party at her house as a child. Her mother thought she was laughing too much so she told her to go sit outside. When the mother came outside to check on her she found her daughter crying. Then the mother scolded her for crying and told her to stay outside till she could "pull herself together". Now the woman says works in the field of permaculture because she "prefers to work with plants rather than with people".

Footnotes: Her parents "would never let her do anything she wanted to." They were always afraid. So she left home at 17, though the legal age for leaving home in her country was 18. Her parents threatened to call the police on her to force her back. Her daughter is a hairdresser.

1. In fact, I find parents as a group to be some of the most defensive people I have met, at least when it comes to the topic of parenting, especially those in the USA, though this may be partly because I have had more conversations with them.