Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Bad Ideas, Baffy, Emotional Abuse, Fairness, From Around the Net, Honesty, Human Nature, Humanism, Liars Lies and Lying, Oppression, Outstanding Bloggers, Physical Abuse, Psychological Abuse, Racism, Relationships, Self Identity, Self Image, Sexual Abuse, Society, Stolen From The Blogosphere, Values, Verbal Abuse, Village Idiots

I Shamelessly Stole From Baffled Mum Today

Baffled Mum’s post today, “Who Will Miss You?” is an outstanding illustration of why I like to steal things.

That’s my polite way of saying the idea for this post is stolen from a post of hers.

[Back story] Baffy — as she kindly allows me to call her — Baffy overheard some jerk rhetorically asking someone, “Who will miss you!”  Being foolishly in possession of a heart just as big as her mind (Which seems at least big enough to embrace most anything she wants it to embrace), Baffy posted a concise, surgically accurate response on her blog. Nailed him, she did!  Didn’t call him out by name, but nailed him right properly and good. [/back story]

Here’s my favorite Baffy quote of them all, “Who are we to judge the worth of people anyway?”

Yay!  You go, Baffy! Stick it to that dragon!  That dragon of unnecessary and unwarranted ranking of ourselves and others.

All I want to know is just which god slammed a ten-foot high judge’s bench under the exalted butts of possibly three-quarters or more of humanity?

Call me crazy if you must, but somehow, I doubt anything divine had a hand in placing those benches under those butts.  Somehow, I smell the profane stench of self-righteous self-appointment.  Just ain’t nothing sacred about them benches at all, so far as I can see.

I agree with everything Baffy said today.  Just I want to add this.  Each and every act of abuse the world sees moment to moment of each minute of the day is to me evidence of our co-equality when it comes to our most fundamental human worth.

Every act of abuse from the father’s too sharp criticism of his child to the dictator’s bloody genocide, is evidence of why we must treat each other as equals in basic human worth.

Abuse — it all adds up to a price, a cost, humanity simply hasn’t got it to pay off.

Abuse, Anger, Emotional Abuse, Emotions, Human Nature, Jerks, Life, Regret, Sex, Sexual Abuse, Sexualization

A Jerk in Bed

(About a 4 minute read)

We had been sitting next to each other at the coffee shop’s counter for a few minutes when she introduced herself to me.  Looking up from her magazine, she pointed to the article she’d been reading and said something about it that I can no longer recall.

I was instantly pleased with her for taking the initiative.  I usually like it when women start up conversations with me, and I tend to think of them as a bit adventuresome for having done it.

After that first meeting, I saw her around from time to time.  She would always say hello and we’d usually exchange a few words.  Things stayed casual though.  There was nothing flirtatious in her manner or attitude.

Continue reading “A Jerk in Bed”

Abuse, Alienation, Alienation From Self, Emotional Abuse, Human Nature, Judgementalism, Life, Love, Lovers, Marriage, Physical Abuse, Psychological Abuse, Quality of Life, Relationships, Religion, Religious Ideologies, Romantic Love, Self Image, Sexual Abuse, Sexuality, Spiritual Alienation, Spirituality, Values, Verbal Abuse

The Cheating Wife

(About a 2 minute read)

Father, I have seen how the morals you demand of me
In the name of your God and his hell
Are like winds from two quarters
That carry the dust to my eyes
No matter which way I turn
So I can no longer see the path I’m on,
Nor which path to take from here.

Father, I have seen how the morals you demand of me
In the name of your God and his hell
Are like tungsten rods encasing me,
Confining me to inaction and encouraging resignation
To my hell, the hell my husband
Has created for me that may yet
Prove to be a death camp.

You tell me right and wrong never alter,
Never turn from one into the other,
That I must keep my vows and stay with him,
Merely praying that your God will change his heart.

I am weary now like a bison after wolves
Have chased her for miles to her last stand,
I am all but exhausted and ready to die.
Your words do not comfort me, nor encourage me,
But sound only like you want me to surrender
To the fangs of my enemy, that he might
Rip my throat and my life from me.

You say I must not cheat.
But I am ready to cheat.
I have met one who comes walking
In the grace of love for me.
One who does not merely speak of love, but loves.
One whose touching me has passed a spark
To the dry and brittle twigs of my self-esteem.

He wants me to live, and through him,
I want to live too.

Yes, I know that I’m weak,
Too weak to love myself without him.
But he ignites me, and my weakness
Will soon enough burn away in a bonfire.

Father, have you never been so beaten down
You could not stand up without someone’s help?
Have you never been so tired
You could not go on without first you slept?
Have you never been so defeated
You could not renew yourself?

Father, in your eyes I am no more than a whore,
I am no more than a law-breaker, an outlaw.
But have you considered this:
Even a whore has a right to life,
Even an outlaw has a right to live,
And how moral can your morals be
If your morals deny my life?


This poem was inspired by a poem on Sarah’s blog, “Fresh Hell”, which can be found here.

Abuse, Alienation From Self, Bad Ideas, Drug Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Ethics, Evil, Family, Human Nature, Life, Love, Morality, Morals, People, Physical Abuse, Psychological Abuse, Quality of Life, Rae, Relationships, Sex, Sexual Abuse, Sexuality, Sexualization, Shannon, Spiritual Alienation

Is Ignorance the Root and Stem of All Evil?

(About a 6 minute read)

“Ignorance is the root and stem of all evil” — Plato

Trigger Warning: Explicit references to child sexual abuse, etc.

Shannon’s father and two uncles were widely reputed to be the three most evil beasts in Champaign County, Illinois.  For one thing, before the Chicago gangs moved in with their greater numbers, the brothers and their friends controlled the hard drug trade in the county.

To call them “beasts”, however, is somewhat misleading since it might imply that the brothers were somewhat on the dull side.  In fact, just the opposite seems to have been true.  The brothers had a reputation for brains.  It was pessimistically said, they could not be outsmarted.

Continue reading “Is Ignorance the Root and Stem of All Evil?”

Abuse, Authenticity, Being True To Yourself, Cultural Traits, Culture, Emotional Abuse, Human Nature, Lovers, Physical Abuse, Quality of Life, Relationships

What is Abuse? A New Look at an Old Evil

(About a 5 minute read)

It is quite easy to see and dismiss non-physical abuse as merely to-be-expected normal day-to-day interactions between men and women.  This dismissive attitude is helped along by our tendency to think of abuse as in all ways extreme.

For instance, if a man punches a woman hard enough to leave a bruise, most of us would see that as abuse, but how many of us would if he only lightly punches her arm, or merely slaps were face with much less than head-turning force?  The assumption seems to be that that actions must be notably hard or harsh to constitute genuine abuse.

Continue reading “What is Abuse? A New Look at an Old Evil”

Abuse, Coffee Shop Folks, Emotional Abuse, People, Physical Abuse, Poetry, Psychological Abuse, Relationships, Suzanne, Verbal Abuse

Naked in the Falling Snow

(About a 1 minute read)

Do you remember, Suzanne,
The night we drove down to the hot springs
Through the falling snow,

The snow that swirled and blazed
Like sparks from a wildfire
In the headlights of your car?

I thought the beauty of that night
Would be our last
Because you started playing chicken
With the oncoming trucks —

Darting into their lane,
Hurling your car at them
As if each truck was Jeff.

You asked over and over,
Your voice at first pleading
Then demanding to know,

Why he’d again been cruel,
Why he’d again been hateful,
Why he’d again punched
“The woman he loved”.

But you never paused for an answer,
You never really wanted it said;
Your questions were desperate to drown it,
Block the answer, cut it off.

It was past ten when we made it to the springs.
You didn’t bother to cry that night or any other,
But you were weary-eyed at nineteen…
…with still satin skin.

And as you stripped down bare for the pool,
I thought you looked like a waif
Someone had left out
Naked in the falling snow.

Abuse, Bad Ideas, Community, Cultural Change, Cultural Traits, Culture, Emotional Abuse, Equality, Fairness, Family, Friends, Human Nature, Ideologies, People, Political and Social Alienation, Political Ideologies, Psychological Abuse, Racism, Society, Values

The Terrible Terrys and Racism

(About a 5 minute read)

I was five years old when my maternal grandmother passed away.  She’d been born in 1875, and my best memories of her are of her in a rocking chair, her hands sewing, while she sits in a sunbeam streaming through the big southern window in my bedroom.  I play at her feet.  And sometimes she reads to me.

She would have been in her mid-to-late eighties then, and my mom tells me she was frail in old age.   She taught me to sew, and I — with my sharper sight — threaded needles for her.

That’s about as much of my grandmother as I remember, but mom quite recently told me a bit more.   It seems grandmother had, for her time and place, slightly peculiar ideas about race.

For instance, in the community grandmother lived in most of her adult life, it was commonplace for Whites to use racial slurs when referring to Blacks.  Even some of the community leaders did so.  Grandmother was among a minority of  White people in her neighborhood who seemed disturbed by those slurs and who refused to call Blacks anything other than “Negroes” (The word, “Black”, having not yet come into general usage).

From what I gather, there might have been a couple sources of encouragement for grandmother’s somewhat peculiar ideas about race.   In the first place, grandmother’s side of the family was from New England and had included among it’s members some staunch abolitionists.  Not that abolitionists were always respectful of Black folks, but I’m guessing that her’s might have been.

In the second place, grandmother was one of those women — rare in her time — who had a college education.   Not that one can be sure, but grandmother might have picked up some of her strange ideas about race while attending college.

So whether by family tradition or by education, or by some other source, my grandmother somehow came to the notion that Black folk were to be respected as equals — and she did so in a time and place when, according to my mother, she would not likely have gotten that notion from the community in which she lived.

Her husband, my grandfather, had a farm and he hired men to work it.   When mom was growing up, one of the hands was a Black man mom called “Uncle Albert”.   Uncle Albert’s wife, whom mom recalls was a rather beautiful woman, she called “Aunt Martha.”

My mother was taught to call adult friends “uncle” and “aunt” because it was thought disrespectful for a child to call an adult friend by their first name.

Since there were not many Blacks in the neighborhood at the time, Aunt Martha’s circle of friends was small and comprised mostly of White women.  And the prevailing custom was for a White woman to receive her White friends in her parlor or living room, but to receive her Black friends, if she had any, in her kitchen.  No doubt never being invited beyond the kitchen was originally conceived of as a way to send a message of some sort.

As mom recalls, grandmother ignored the prevailing custom and always received Aunt Martha in her living room, the same as she received everyone else.

Of course, nothing in the ways grandmother treated Aunt Martha — or even treated Blacks in general — was momentous, earthshaking or even sufficient grounds for erecting a statue of her, but her ways seem to me to have possessed a simple decency.

What makes grandmother’s behavior puzzling to me is that, from everything mom has told me about her, grandmother was one of those people who — quite far from ever wanting to risk stirring up trouble — habitually avoided any kind of social or personal conflict.  That is, she wasn’t exactly someone to routinely go against customs and conventions.  Yet, it appears that on a handful of issues — issues she felt strongly about — she would quietly stand her ground without making a show of it.

People are a strange maze of contradictions and complexities.

Thinking about all this, I would bet half the women who kept Aunt Martha in their kitchens did so simply because it was custom, because it was what their mothers taught them to do, and they never meant any cruelty by it.  They just thought it was her place.  People can be barbaric in their thoughtlessness.  They can be ugly in their carelessness and unquestioning obedience to custom.

My grandmother’s married name was “Terry”.  In part because of her somewhat strange ideas about race, which she communicated to her daughters, and in part for a small handful of other reasons, the women in her family eventually came to be nicknamed by some in their neighborhood, “The Terrible Terrys”.   I think that must surely have displeased her, given how little she liked controversy.


Originally posted January 9, 2010 and last revised April 27, 2017 for clarity.