trying again:
My story: And I apologize in advance for the long post.
I was born to special pio parents and I attended my first meeting when I was 6 days old, which was unusual in the 50’s and 60’s because babies were usually quarantined for the first month or so. My mother had a poor childhood and was often placed with uncaring relatives which served as foster homes. My father was raised in a single parent home by his divorced mother who was “looking for answers.” I guess the two were on a collision course for dub destiny. Persecution in the Montreal area during the 50’s only heightened my parents misguided “zeal.”
I believe I was the most unplanned child in history, but my father was determined that children would not dampen his “pioneer spirit or lifestyle.” Since my mother was in and out of mental hospitals receiving shock therapy, etc., I was often dumped off at my paternal grandmother’s home who ruled with an iron fist. She had no love of children and her JW lifestyle only enhanced this sentiment. Normally, one would think of grand parents as doting, loving, spoiling kindly old folk (not). She was remarried to a fellow dub who was the exact opposite of JW doctrine, i.e., meek, painfully shy and certainly not a “head” of the family. They fought openly as my paternal grandmother was headstrong and regimental, whereas my step-grandfather was quite, laid back and unassuming.
I remember the long, grueling hours in service in all types of weather, fully dressed as a little adult. I was always very well behaved as it was just expected. The long 8 day assemblies as others have posted about were horrible, too, but I was always trying to be on my best behaviour for the sake of my poor mother. During the course of my childhood, my mother often tried to overdose on prescription medication and cheap wine. I can remember trying to shake her out of her self-induced semi coma states on several occasions. My father’s answer to all of this was “do more, study more, you’re not spiritual enough.” He also thought that owning property such as a house of your own was very unscriptural and showed lack of faith in armageddon. He often chided other brothers about spending too much time fixing up their houses complete with scriptures on "neglecting Jehovah's house." As a result we lived in crummy cramped apartments "pioneer style" with no backyard to play in. I always vowed that if I ever had kids, I would have a real house for them with a backyard, and that is exactly what I did.
All through it, my father, as a traveling insurance agent and elder never helped with the childcare and often bragged that he never changed a diaper. He was proud that he put liquor in our bottles to quiet us from crying. It’s often said that a cobbler’s son goes shoeless. Well, my dad, as a health insurance hawker, seldom if ever took us to get medical attention and was dead set against immunizations. Probably a dub thing from the 60’s. I can remember having a 105 degree fever in school, but I was never taken to the doctor although I was actively hallucinating because of it. My father thought it a great inconvenience to have to pick up a sick child from school and he made that known very plainly. He always came home from work, went immediately to his “study” (the bedroom) and laid into the theocratic material, often bragging that he was 2-3 months ahead on the study materials (Watchtower, bookstudy, Theo ministry school, etc.) He said in front of us that he was glad he had girls and not boys because “you don’t have to do anything with them.” In fact, he was “counseled” by another child-centric brother that he should spend time with me and my sister. He just laughed it off.
The thing I remember about my father is a closed bedroom door as he was always in there preparing for meetings, talks and field service. He had the obligatory family study with us and we were to “wing it” out in field service by following his lead. He wasn’t much for field service preparation. At the age of 4, I cut my foot badly before the Memorial and, instead of getting stitches, my mother just wrapped me up and I went hobbling into the KH. I was abused sexually by two of the “friends” sons as my dad chatted and visited with them for hours, not knowing what was going on upstairs at their house. I’m sure the boy’s sister was suffering the same fate.
After gobbling down dinner, it was time for the mad dash of getting ready for meetings. My father would get ready and often sit out in the car, sometimes honking the horn if my mother took too long getting me and my sister ready.
Disciplining consisted of pants down spankings with either hand, hairbrush or wooden spoon. I had to mention to my mother at age 15 that I thought I was too old to have a pants down, bare buttocks spanking, which, my father finally agreed too. He would always burst into our bedroom which had to have NO lock and door closed only when changing. It was like his queue to barge in and close the curtains. He was always very concerned about the curtains being drawn at dusk, very strange.
My father was very much into public humiliation as a form of punishment and would go to great lengths to inform everyone in the KH about my sister and my latest “misdeeds.”
As the PO, my dad had almost a reverence from the congo members, and, as I’m sure many are familiar with, our home phone would ring off the hook with members and their family/personal problems. I always was amazed at the fact that those “taking the lead” were the most unreasonable, anti-family men, but were responsible to dish out the counsel to others. My father to this day admits that he is a “frustrated PR man” and loves to be on TV or radio for DC press releases. He always loved the limelight and praise of constantly being on the platform, something that I didn’t realize until adulthood.
My parents conceded to letting me play violin as a school activity because it could be used to play “kingdom melodies” but, as an athletically built person, I really wanted to get into sports which, of course, was not allowed. I also wanted to get into school plays, but we all know what the society’s view are on that, which my father reinforced over and over. He convinced me that I was no good at sports anyway and that sports is a waste of time when one could be out in the ministry spreading the good news.
What made me really ill is the “friends” telling me how lucky I was to have such a man as a father. I became so sick of this that I changed my last name legally to my maternal grandmother’s maiden name. Not sure how he felt about that.
I was first married when just turning 18 as it was the “thing to do” in dub land. I never really felt connected with the dubbie religion but was doing it out of obligation to my parents. My first dubbie husband did not want to work but wanted me to support him financially, which I ended up doing. Had I gone to college like my guidance counselors had strongly recommended (I was taking college level courses in high school and graduated when I was 17), I’m sure I would not be an entry level IT person like I am today (of course, I probably wouldn’t have met my wonderful, never a dubbie boyfriend, either, so I guess there is a bright spot to everything). School was a nightmare because not only was I short in stature, I had this weird religion and felt like a total outcast. I longed to be “normal” and join in with the school activities.
I re-married again as a single mom of one to a very violent, alcoholic, abusive dubbie, and, as is the pattern, the elders did nothing other than to tell me to obey my husband (which I did AND financially support him, but got me nowhere).
After being a single parent of two children, one child from each marriage, I regret the dubbie lifestyle I inflicted on my kids, but can say that they have made the decision to not be dubbies, something for which I am grateful for.
My boyfriend, who doesn’t always understand what it was like to be raised in JW land, has always been supportive, but feels it is time to just dump it and move on. I now enjoy all the things I was missing such as holidays, saying the words “lucky” and “god bless you” and generally fitting in to normal society. I see the delight in my step children’s eyes when they open up a Christmas present or give me a “mother’s day” gift that they made themselves!
