This is a story that could happen at your neighbours. A mother hates her son so much, that he becomes IT
Beware…This is not a sentimental story that we often read on this site. This is my story and yet it could be the story of millions of children today that are abused. Abuse is not just being molested or hit. Abuse is when someone screws around with your mind. Abuse is when you don’t get things that everyone no matter how old they are need; Respect and love.
I survived with scars. Millions of children don’t
They deserve our tears and prayers
1. Happy Times
My life was not always bad. It started like so many other families. I was born into a house with two parents and two sisters. It took years for my parents to get a son. So when I was born, my parents were overjoyed. At last they got their beloved son. This meant that their life and family were now perfect.
Dad worked at some office. This meant that everyday he woke up; he would give me a hug in bed. When I was old enough, I would jump out of bed and rush down to him and sit on his lap while he was drinking his morning coffee and talking with Mum. Then he would read the cartoon section for me. It was always hard saying goodbye to him, because he would walk out and as soon as he reached the car he would rush back and give me a kiss and hug. This daily game showed how much Dad loved us and how funny it was.
Mum was the best Mum in the world. She would get up early and make breakfast for dad and lunch for my sisters that had to go to school. After they went, she would clean me and make sure I looked presentable. She joked and said that it was important that I looked my best just in case the Pope decided to come. Then I would help her do the housework. After that we would go shopping, but she always remembered to take me to the playground. It was fun when I could play with the other children.
I always remember Mum full of smiles. I remember that she loved explaining things when I asked “why” a few thousand times a day. Why does the sun shine? Why are there so many people in the bus? You name it, I asked it. Mum could have been a teacher. She had the patience with my many questions and she could explain them in a way that I understood and remembered.
My sisters were 5 years older than me. They always let me play their games. I played because there was nothing else to play, and besides they were nice to me. I agree that some of the games were funny, like we would play family. I would always play the little baby boy. I refused to have baby clothes on, but they could give me baby food and a bottle. I know it was weird, but I was young and it was part of the game. The bottom line is that I had a good relationship with my sisters and I remember that they made my family the perfect family.
One thing I remember was holidays like Christmas. Mum would make sure that our house looked like a Christmas palace. It was so beautiful with all the decorations. I remember the Christmas tree. It was so big and reached the ceiling. There were so many things on it that it would take hours to admire them all. There was snow at the bottom of the tree and everyday, there were more and more gifts. Mum would always read us Christmas stories. Christmas was also a time when Dad was home a lot. But it is Mum’s enthusiasm and Christmas spirit I loved
Even when there were no holidays, Mum would be an inspiration. I remember once Mum bought some spaghetti and this is something we had quite often. Mum decorated the house with Italian things and when Dad came home, she had some Italian music on. We were like Italians for one night. I also remember when we did Irish night, when we dressed as leprechauns.
Life was good until the summer before I started school.
2. Mum Changes
The good times did not last forever. Things started going bad a few months before I started at kindergarten. It was like Mum lost total interest in everything. She stopped making special dinners, she stopped reading us stories, and she even stopped cleaning the house. She just was on the sofa with a drink in her hand.
After a while, she stopped putting makeup on or caring how she looked. If she did put makeup on, it would be too much as it made her look like a clown. It bought tears to my eyes seeing mum fade away.
The Mum that replaced her was a monster.
It started with Mum telling us to shut up while we were playing. We learned quickly to play quietly in my sister’s room.
It seemed like Mum got mad at me rather than the others. It was probably my fault. When she shouted and screamed, I just stood there. I should have run and hid like my sisters besides listening to my mad mother that was waving a bottle of wine back and forth.
Things really changed one day when my mother seemed like she was in one of her good moods. Dad was at work. It seemed like he was working more and more every day. But Mum was in a good mood. She had makeup on and her hair was done. She even had new clean clothes on. She didn’t say a word to us, as she was watching TV. We didn’t care. Mum was not shouting or mad at us.
This was until I was playing a game with my sisters. It was pairs. You know, when you have to pick up two cards that are the same. I was winning and this annoyed my sisters. I laughed and said that it proves that boys are better than girls. I was surprised that my sisters didn’t respond. But we quickly understood why. Mum was there standing at the door.
“ o you think boys are better than girls, you twerp. You must have got that from your no good for nothing father, who thinks that being a housemum is easy. I suppose you think the same, that running a house and raising children is not as important as a man spending all day in an office full of tarts and bimbo’s. I don’t think any man respects what it’s like to be a housewife. You’re the same, aren’t you boy? I bet you really think boy’s are better than girls”
“I- I- I don’t Mum, it was just something I said for fun,” I pleaded
“I don’t think its funny. It must be in your head that you said it. You must really believe it”
“I don’t,” I said.
“I don’t want to listen to a word you say. From now on you can do what you think a girls job is. You can do housework, is that understood boy?”
I nodded. Mum thrown a rag at me and told me to dust the furniture. I went down to the sitting room and started dusting. It was not a hard job to do, but it was very boring. I would rather play with my sisters. But now I was moving ornaments from tables and dusting them and the furniture. Mum was once again sitting on the sofa watching her show. Once in a while I would look at her and show her how I was doing. She would not even look. Just before I was finished Mum asked where my apron was? I looked in a puzzled way. Then she got up and threw this white and pink apron at me. It had frilly edges. She told me when I was doing housework, I was to wear an apron, and so that my clothes didn’t get dirty. I put on the girlish apron and Mum told me I had to start dusting from the beginning, as it did not count that I dusted without an apron on. This was annoying, doing something that I already done.
This was my new routine. I had to dust every day with my new apron. Mum wrote my name on the front of it in big letters, so everyone knew that the frilly apron was mine. Mum would come to inspect my work. I wanted so much to please her, because if there were one spec of dust, She would get very mad and call me a no good for nothing boy, and then I would have to do it all over again.
One afternoon, I was finished dusting. I was playing with a batman car in my room. I could hear Mum go around inspecting if I dusted well enough. I think she got mad at me because she stormed in my room. In fact she nearly fell to the floor because she had drunk so much. She seen me with the Batman car and then shouted for my sisters to come.
“Look he thinks he can play with boy toys when he finished his work. Only boys that respect girls should be allowed to play with boy toys. You two girls take his toys and throw them out. After you done this, give the boy any of the toys that you have and do not want anymore.”
My sisters looked sad as they took the Batman car out of my hands and threw all my toys into a black bag. I saw tears in their eyes as they started bringing in dolls, and teddy bears, makeup kits and other things that they didn’t want anymore
I sat on my bed and looked at my new toys. I picked up a doll. It was a cute and pretty one. I was crying. Why did my Mum hate me? Why did I have to have girl toys?
One thing I knew was that I was going to survive. I was not going to allow anyone to make me feel bad about myself. If My Mum hated me, I would love myself. My purpose in life was to remember I am not bad. God loved me. I had to survive and remember that God loved me.
The next day, I did the dusting as usual. There was a table that I forgot to dust at the back, so Mum got mad at me. This was when her friend was there, so I was extra red because her friend could see me in my apron. Things got worse. After I finished Mum told me that I could play with a toy in the sitting room. I told her that I preferred playing in my room. She wouldn’t have that. I went into my room and took a doll out. I sat in the middle of the floor changing the dolls clothes and pretending that it was my baby. I could see on mum’s friends face that she thought it was very strange for a boy to have a doll and play with it. My mum just laughed at it and said, “The boy prefers to play with his sisters toys”
I was about to say no, but I could see the look in her face. It was a warning that I was not going to get out of this alive if I disagreed with Mum.
Soon Mums friend was gone. We ate our food, which were some sandwiches that Mum quickly made in silence. Then she smiled at my sisters and said that they could go and watch TV.
“You stay right here, Boy! “ She shouted as her eyes pierced me, “You thought that my friend liked you. You thought that she felt sorry for you. Well boy, no one feels sorry for you. Not when you are always getting in trouble. I don’t want you watching TV with your sisters tonight. From now on, your job is to do the dishes and clean the kitchen. If I was you, I would start doing it now boy”
I started doing the dishes. I thought that Mum was mean now. She was turning me into a maid. I couldn’t wait to start kindergarten. Doing the dishes was not that bad, especially because there were no pans or anything like that.
After I finished the dishes, I went into the sitting room where Mum was. Dad just came home and his face was buried in the newspaper. I was so happy. Mum would not get mad when Dad was home.
“What are you doing with an apron on, you look like a little girl,” he said laughing
That got Mum mad
“What are you saying, that only girls can wear aprons and do housework? The boy likes doing housework and he wears the cute apron to protect his clothes. You should just shut up and not put any bad ideas in the boys head.”
I looked at Dad with my puppy eyes, hoping he would protect me. He didn’t. He just lifted me off his lap and looked in a newspaper. Dad gave up and abondened me at that moment. I was alone.
I walked over to Mum and was going to try to make friends with her. But she just got mad once again, “Listen boy, I don’t want to listen to anything you have to say. From now on, you will just be quiet and only say something when you get permission to.”
She could do what she wanted I thought. I ran in to get my favourite doll. I knew that I was going to survive.
The next few days were the same routine. I would be Mums slave washing dishes and dusting. I didn’t go out and play like my sisters. I was afraid that I would have to wear the apron. I just sat in my room playing with my dolls. The dolls became like my real family. I could tell them my hardships and my problems. I also told them my secrets and dreams. Without the dolls, I don’t know what I would have done.
Mum wasn’t bad all the times. I remember one Saturday when she went shopping. She told me to stay home and dust. It was not just dusting anymore, it was also polishing. I had to spray it on and then rub until the wood shined. The spray felt funny and sometimes I felt lighter and funny in my head. This Saturday Mum came home and smiled when she seen my work. I tell you seeing her warm smile was enough for me. Over the past few weeks, I have learnt that a smile was enough reward for all the work I did. I didn’t get smiles that often but today I did. She opened a bag and said she had a present for me. I must have jumped up and down a hundred times and gave my Mum a huge hug. Maybe things were the way they were before.
I opened the presents. They were DVD’s “The Little Mermaid”, “Bratz”, “Cinderella” and “Heidi”. My smile vanished. They were all girl films. I would rather have “Spiderman”. I took them and ran into my room. I took my favourite doll and cried on the bed. Mum didn’t change. She tried to humiliate me with the girl’s films. She came in with a bottle of wine in her hands and asked me if I was I happy about the films. I just said thank you. Then she told me instead of watching TV; I was allowed to watch one of the films. So from then on, I watched those films. I knew them off by heart. Heidi was the film I liked best. Her grandfather was mean to her at the start but they became best friends later on. Maybe this would happen with me and Mum. Soon I didn’t even think that they were girl films. They were after all mine. They were a reward because I helped Mum with the chores.
Summer was hard as I said. I would soon be starting in Kindergarten. I was looking forward to this, as it would be an escape to the prison I was in.
One day Mum told us that we had to go shopping for clothes. Once again I was so happy because it meant that I could get out of the house and I could get some clothes for when I started at school.
I was mistaken
When we came to the shop, we went to the girls department. We spent all morning looking for clothes for my sisters. I was getting bored. I wanted to go to the boys department. I hated when Mum asked me was this pretty and did I like that. At the end, I started hiding between the dresses that hung on a clothes rack. They felt so soft. I pretended I was in heaven and they were clouds. This made Mum so mad that she spanked me in front of everyone and wanted to know why I always was bad.
We came home with clothes for my sisters and none for me. Mum and my sisters came into my room with black bags. My sisters whispered sorry as they said it was something Mum told them to do. They put all my old clothes in the bags and replaced them with their old clothes. My mouth was wide open as I seen my boys clothes being replaced with girl clothes.
I didn’t cry. That would be a victory for Mum. I just said thank you. This was my strategy now. I would never show Mum tears if she tried to dominate and humiliate me. I would be brave. I remembered still that God loved me.
My life up to the week before I started school was the same. I would get up, and get dressed. At first I would find the clothes that looked most like boy clothes. After a while I tried the clothes that looked pretty. I would look in the mirror and see a girl staring back at me. This confused me. Was I becoming a girl? Deep down I knew I was. It was survival, as I knew that Mum was happier with three girls.
I remember the first day that I wore a summer dress. It was frilly and looked like something that a girl wore in the 50’s. I wore it because all the shorts and trousers were being washed. It was not that often that Mum washed clothes, as she would rather stay on the sofa drinking wine. The dress was so soft on me and I felt the breeze going up my legs towards my panties.
Mum smiled and laughed a bit when she seen me.
“You are no longer a boy. You are a girl. I see that you want to wear dresses now. I suppose girls are better at dressing than boys. I think you should wear some pretty white tights with that dress”
I ran into my room and sat down on my bed, staring at the mirror. I was no longer a boy. I was a girl. That’s what Mum said. She had managed to transfer the way I looked into a girl, and what’s worse, she manage to make me think that I was a girl.
It was the day before school. Mum said that we had to do something about our hair. She dragged us all to the hairdressers. My sisters were so happy at the hairdressers. To them, it was better than being at some amusement park. I was more aware at people’s reactions to me. People would praise mum that she had three well-behaved and pretty daughters. They asked me was I look forward to being at school and did I like boys yet?
During the last few months, my hair has grown a lot. I understood why everyone thought I was a girl. I acted like one. I couldn’t tell them that I was once a boy, but now I’m a girl. They would never understand it.
I was bought to reality when I heard Mum say, “It does not need shorter hair, just trim it so it looks more girlish”
The hairdresser and I looked at Mum. Did she say “it”? Yes she did. I was no longer her son. I was no longer her daughter. I was no longer the boy. I was no longer the girl. I was “it”
4. School starts
I had long wavy hair, white shorts with butterflies on them and a white blouse on when I started school. Mum was there holding my hand. By this stage, I thought that I had become a girl, so I was not embarrassed with the clothes or hair,
We had to sit down as each child presented themselves. It was soon my turn.
“Who’s this little girl?” The teacher asked
“He is not a girl,” My mum smiled and said, “He just thinks and wishes that he is one. He likes watching Bratz, he likes dolls and he likes girl’s clothes. Maybe he has the brain of a girl. It’s hard to know. I can tell you this much, it was hard to cut his hair. He likes his hair nice and long.”
“I am a girl now” I said
Mum laughed and when I looked around, I could see that the rest of the class laughing. I didn’t understand why Mum said that I was not a girl. After all she was the one that turned me into a girl.
Our parents soon went. But Mum made sure that I was an outcast from the first day. The other boys didn’t come close to me. Looking back at it, who’s to blame them? They thought I wanted to be a girl? As for the girls, they knew I was not one of them, so they let me know it.
This was all too confusing for me, as over the last few months, I was led slowly to believe I was a girl. When I started at school, it was a huge bang that I was still a boy pretending to be a girl.
The worse bit was that I had no friends. It’s lonelier when children surround you and no one wants to speak or play with you. I hated school. I was just something to be teased and joked about. Just like my mother said, I was an “it”
A few days after school started, the teacher called me in.
“Your not happy at school” she said
“I have no friends”
“Maybe you should be more like a boy”
“Because I’m not allowed.”
“Oh my… I thought… Are you saying that your forced to be like this from your Mum?”
When Mum came to collect me, the teacher called her in. She confronted Mum in what I said. I could see Mum look at me. Her eyes cut right through me. There was no love in her eyes. They were full of hatred.
Then I could see her smile and said that she did not force me. She was in fact confused in what to do. She seen on Oprah that some boys wanted to be girls and they should be supported. She didn’t force me, but she didn’t stop me in exploring who I really was.
“Children are a challenge for parents” The teacher said. This was the last the teacher said about it.
On the way home, I looked out the window in the car. I knew that Mum was mad and that I was in deep trouble. I thought about the teacher. She was just like Dad. She was afraid of Mum. She believed mum. Just like dad, she washed her hands of me. I was left on my own with Mum and whatever she wanted to do with me.
Her silence did not comfort me. I could hear her mumble that teachers knew everything and that she was tired of them. She would raise “it” the way she wanted.
When I came home I walked in. I rushed to my room. I couldn’t find my doll. Everything was missing. My sisters were in here. I saw them on the way to my room and they didn’t even look at me. Where were my toys? What happened to my room? What was Mum going to do with me now?
“Get out of that room. It’s a good thing I already decided to move your room before I spoke with the teacher. Your room is now down in the basement. In the future if I have to speak to teachers or anyone else because of you, I will be very very mad!”
I went down in the basement. In a corner were the toys and clothes. I couldn’t find my bed. There was just a crib. I walked around the basement looking for the bed. This was a fun game, Mum has hidden it. It was just like going on a treasure hunt.
Before I knew it, Mum lifted me up and put me in the crib. She told me that this was now my bed. If I acted like a baby and gossiped to the teacher about what was happening home, then I could sleep in a crib down in the basement. Then she stormed out and left me alone. The basement was big, and dark, and cold. The crib reminded me of a jail.
Now I was to live in the basement. I held my doll thinking that I was no longer welcomed in the house. I was no longer welcomed as part of the family. I was more and more alone in this world.
I started crying and crying because I had to go to the toilet. I screamed begging Mum to let me out of the crib. No one listened to me. I wet myself.
The next thing I knew was that Mum had me on a changing table. I must have slept the whole night in the crib. Mum was lifting my legs while taking a sip from a wine glass.
“If you piss yourself, then you can wear a diaper all the time. From now on you are not allowed to use the toilet. Men can’t aim right anyway. I am sure you can aim in a diaper”
“What about school?”
“Did I give you permission to talk? You are to wear the diaper at school as well”
5. Baby it
I wore the diaper to school. It was easy for others to see, as Mum put this short skirt on me. Every time I bent down, people could see the diaper. That meant that I was now teased because of the diaper. In fact some boys came up and lifted the skirt so they could see it
At lunch I had to go to the nurse and get it changed. She suspected something was wrong. I mean you don’t have to be Einstein to know something was wrong. I was in her office wearing a skirt and a diaper.
“Do you think you need a diaper on all the time?” She asked
“I mean it’s all of a sudden”
“Does your Mum like you with a diaper and skirt on, is she the one that sent you to school this way”
Oh No, Please don’t ask Mum. Don’t blame Mum. It was my fault. I am the one that wet. I am the one that needed the diaper. I wanted to wear a skirt because I am a girl. All this flown out of my mouth hoping that the nurse would not ring to Mum. I did not want to get into trouble… again.
This was my life for the next few months. By now I was convinced that I was a girl. I loved pretty things and I loved playing what a girl does.
I knew my mother didn’t like me. I was a baby that she had to change and to send to school. She loved my sisters. That’s why they were allowed to sleep upstairs. I was not really part of the family. That’s why I slept down in the basement among my friends… the dolls.
Sometimes Dad would come down and say a few words to me in the basement, like how was school and so forth. Then he would hear Mums voice and make me promise that I would not make her mad. He would hurry up as if he never visited me or I was not his son. I think he was embarrassed that I thought that I was a girl.
The teachers knew I was strange. I suspect they knew that Mum hated me. Any time they would ask me about home, I would answer with some answers that Mum had taught me. If they asked more they would have noticed things, but they didn’t. After a while, they just accepted that I was strange and that I really thought that I was a baby girl. I don’t think they cared.
My sisters didn’t cry or show any emotions when they saw me. To them, I was just like a doll or better yet the family pet that lives in the basement. Once in a while they would help change me or give me baby food, as I was no longer allowed to eat family food. Some of my best memories were when they sat down to give me a bottle. Even though they never looked at me or spoke with me, this is when I felt closest to them.
This was until we had a substitute teacher.
One day before I had to get changed, she called me up to her desk. I sat on her lap.
”I think we should look at some of your drawings,” she said
“This one shows you playing in a dark room under the house. What’s your bedroom like?”
“On all your pictures, you are under the house while you draw your family upstairs”
“On many pictures, it looks like you are sleeping in jail, or is it a cot or crib?”
“Many pictures look like dolls being fed baby food and a bottle. Are these dolls supposed to be you?”
“Does your mother think your girl”?
“It” I whispered
Then she told me to come with her. I begged her not to call Mum or talk with Mum. Just leave Mum watch TV on the sofa. I was begging her all the way to the head masters office.
I sat on the teachers lap and cried. Then I let it all out. Everything that I told you here, I told her and the head master. I said my Mum hated me and I was “it”.
Then a woman came and took me to a new family. She said I would never have to worry about Mum again. She will never bother me again.
She was wrong. Through my life, I have been afraid of Mum. Every time I heard her name or people ask about my real Mum, I would freeze and be the little baby girl that I was.
I lived in a foster home after that. I could not have been with a couple that was more loving. They had this fragile child that thought he was a girl and that acted like a baby. It was their job to glue me back together. They did all they could, but even though I never seen my Mum again, her shadow was always there. Mum was in my heart.
Sometimes I would put a diaper and girl clothes on. I would lie on the bed with a doll in one hand and a bottle in the other hand. I would close my eyes and see my mother. She would have a smile on her face. A wicked smile, as if she knew I would never be able to escape her. Even to this day, I cry like a little baby girl afraid of my mum. It was my fault she was sent to jail.
But I survived. I never forgot that God loved me. Even at times when I thought that things could get no worse, I survived.
This was not a sentimental story that we often read on this site. This is my story and yet it could be the story of millions of children today that are abused. Abuse is not just being molested or hit. Abuse is when someone screws around with your mind. Abuse is when you don’t get something that everyone no matter how old they are need; Respect and love.
I survived with scars. Millions of children don’t
They deserve our tears and prayers
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