I am the youngest of three boys.
I was three years old when my mother started studying. That was 1970. My father started studying a little over a year later and by the end of 1972 both were baptized.
They were caught up in the excitement of 1975.
My father had his own business, which he stopped working at for the year. We went back to his homeland to visit all his relatives and try to convert them before Armageddon.
By the end of 1975 my parents were broke, Armageddon hadn't come, and our home had to be sold. We moved in with our congregations only elder and his wife and another single sister.
I have to say living there wasn't all bad. The elder actually spent time with me, played and interacted with me more than my own father ever did. (They had no children of their own.)
After living there for a year, my parents borrowed money from this elder and built a house in a small village. We lived there for three years. Looking back, this was probably the happiest time of my childhood. I did a lot of growing up there. This wasn't because of my home life or my parents, it was the friends I had there. I experienced my first kiss there .
Outside the home was great, good friends, lots of fun. Inside the home was a completely different story. It was like living in a vacuum, a void. Family life consisted of school, meetings, study and service. My parents didn't consider anything else to be important. My fathers favourite saying was "everything else is vanity."
Feelings, emotions, consideration for each other never entered into the picture. We were emotionally dead. Until a few years ago I had never heard my mother say she loved me. I've never heard my father say it. The most I've gotten from him is a handshake. He considered his only responsiblity to put a roof over our head and food on the table, things he didn't always have growing up. Since the age of 12 I had to work in the family business to buy my own clothes.
There never was much laughter in our house. I had one really good friend, another JW, growing up. When he'd come over my parents treated him so much better than they ever did me. This was painful to see - I'd wonder why couldn't they be this nice to me?
I was never very good in school and skipped class as often as I could. My parents never cared one way or the other, never showed any interest in anything we kids did. Because of this, the way my parents never interacted with us, I did not learn what it was to be part of a family, to have shared experiences with a loved one, or even to develop close feelings for another person. I had no respect for others. Until recently I really didn't know what that word meant.
When I hit my teens is when the resentment really built up. As soon as I had some freedom (my driver's licence), I went my own way, did my own thing, never cared how late I stayed out, didn't let my parents know where I was or who I was with. What would be the point, the hadn't cared up till then.
I was numb.
I looked to "things" to make me happy. I thought "things" would finally bring me some joy. Cars, the latest electronic gadgets, hobbies. These things filled a void, but never made me happy, and they totally pissed off my parents. (Finally some emotion from them.) Whatever I did or bought, it was never good enough.
So, I thought a wife would make me happy.
That is part two.
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