Everybody lived in the land, family and relatives as well as field workers, servants and their families and the “Maestra” (Teacher). Her name? Dona Julia.
Awful, grotesque memories about play time to haunt me for many, many years.
School time at that time must not have been bad, because I don’t recollect any bad memories about it.
But there were awful memories about play time. Those grotesque memories were the first of many other painful memories that were to haunt me for many, many years.
Those were the memories that bound me in the chains of rejection and fear from which no psychiatrist in 20 years could set me free.
Those memories, as I recollect, were the severe beatings and shamming that I suffered because of sexual promiscuity among the group of children that were the nucleus in the environment of my early childhood.
We were a group of children, ranging in ages from babies to 13 years, both girls and boys.
It was not that we were so terrible wicked, as it was…?
It was not that we were so terrible wicked, as it was that we did not have adequate supervision.
We were allowed to run like wild goats just to get us out of the grown-ups way, for all grown-ups had lots of work so there was nobody to watch us when we were out of school at play time; yet, when we were caught in any misdemeanor?
We were whipped and shamed. We were whipped and shamed, and we were left there like wicked, hopeless criminals.
Nobody seemed to know that there was such thing as the loving discipline which God approves or God’s forgiveness, for nobody seemed to know too much about the Word of God.
I became the escape goat among the whole group, why?
We were not brought up in God’s way and I, it seems to me as I recollect the grotesque mess, was the one that became the escape goat among the whole group, why?