Thank you all for listening. Thank you for caring to listen. I know this is a long story... here is part 3.
I forgot to mention that at some point before the move to the new house, my dad was reinstated, and gradually was appointed as an MS and then an elder. He loved giving talks out, and we traveled the circuit as he'd give Public Talks on Sunday. He loved the attention, the admiration of others about his family.
Everything focused around appearances. NOBODY else knew what was going on at home. From the outside, we looked like the perfect family, and that's what people said about us, and why we were interviewed at circuit assemblies, ate with CO's, and such. And that's the way my folks wanted it... they wanted everyone to think we were the perfect little JW family. Not even our own extended relatives knew what was wrong, or the extent of it, although you would think they would have gotten a clue after some time, me always "in trouble, on restriction" when we came over.
Dad and New-Mom had two more children (boys) after the move to the new house, so now it was eight of us, me the oldest, four boys and four girls. The two girls from New-Moms first marriage, and the two new boys, were always treated differently than us four original kids. Softer rules, lighter punishments; there were always "good reasons" (lousy excuses) why they were treated differently and given special treatment.
The parents took the religion to an extreme. They thought that strict adherence and indoctrination in it would bring Jehovah's pleasure and save their sin-inclined children. We had a regular family study (WT, actually, since Dad was the conductor and needed to get it prepared). Field service was regular. We each had to enroll in and prepare for the TMS, and study for it each week, including researching and writing a 3-page report on some topic from the weekly Bible Reading, and presenting it at the family dinner table.
This will sound odd in the light of everything I've said so far, but there was "love" in the family too... lots of hugs, actually. Of course, they were given when "accepted back in" at the end of restrictions. It was feast or famine on the emotional level.
I loved Jehovah, too. I prayed to him ALL the time to help save me and my siblings from the injustices at home. I prayed and cried that he'd make me a good child, so they would not beat me, so they would love me instead. I tried hard to make sure I did what was right in his eyes. I got baptized at 14 and left high school 6 months early, having finished all my graduating requirements, and started to regular pioneer. My folks told me that there was no reason for me to stay for the last six months of high school, since it was wrong for JW's (in their eyes) to participate in a graduation ceremony, and I wouldn't be allowed to attend anyway—so I got my diploma in the mail instead.
Before graduation, though, things got worse. As a teen, my folks took 3-day restriction and turned it into months-long "disfellowshiping from the family", as they called it. This started after a road trip we took, when I was about 13, to visit one of New-Mom's married friends. While we were there, I saw and took a couple dollars worth of quarters from the family's counter. I had gotten in the habit of picking up all the change I found (on the street, hallway at school, etc.) and saving it for the times I couldn't find food in the cans at school... in which case I would stop at a corner grocery store on my walk home and buy some crackers to stave off the hunger at "no-dinner" time.
On the ride home, it was discovered what I'd done (I think some change fell out of my jacket or something). My folks put me in my room for a week while they decided what should be done about me. The "family study" that week was a marking talk by Dad, to my siblings, explaining how Jehovah hates a thief and a liar. He used the scripture about how you "throw such a man outside", and explained that he couldn't do that literally. However, spiritually they could. And they did. I spent that summer vacation "disfellowshipped from the family".
What that meant was this:
- I did not eat with the family ("not even eating with such a man"). On the nights I hadn't wet the bed (and thus could eat), they would prepare a plate for me, put it in the laundry room on top of the washing machine, where the dog ate, just around the corner from the dining table. They would all sit down to eat, would call me in from my room. I'd stand in the doorway while they offered the prayer and read the Daily Text. After the prayer, I'd go silently into the laundry room, eat my meal and listen to the family talking, then when I was done go wash my dish, put it away, and go back to my room.
- My siblings were NOT allowed to converse with me. I shared a room with my fleshly brother. If he or anyone else said ANYTHING to me, they had been threatened that they would be disfellowshiped too.
- My 'reinstatement to the family' was dependant on their whim. There was no set time for the punishment to end, no 'goal' for which I could reach... it was not until THEY decided that I had demonstrated repentance that they would let me back into the family... and then, of course, I'd get the hugs I referred to above. Dad would hug me big and hard, with a "Welcome back to the family, Son!" I was so grateful for the hug; that's what's really sick to me now, looking back on it.
Disfellowshiping from the family occurred several times over the rest of the time I lived at home. That is, until the CO found about it. I don't recall the circumstances of how he learned, but I do remember him and some other elders in the hall having a conversation with my parents explaining that they COULD NOT do this, that it was WRONG. So my parents did away with "disfellowshiping from the family." The next time I got in trouble, they "disassociated me from the family", instead... with exactly the same set of rules and punishments. Legalistic at heart, he complied with the 'letter of the law', but not the spirit of it.
During that first summer DF'ing from the family, I was given a special punishment to occupy my time. I was given a set of notebooks and pencils. Rather than my usual "reading from the Awake! bound volumes", which they knew I actually enjoyed, I was to write out, by hand, in cursive, the entire Bible book of Proverbs. When I was done, I was to bring it to them and then they would consider my reinstatement to the family.
I spent weeks (and many hand cramps) writing out the entire book. I wrote a letter of apology for my waywardness and stealing the coins, and finished it one night as the family was going to bed. I still remember what happened then.
I went to my door, and called for them. "May I come see you?" "Yes, we're in our room, come here." I went to their room at the end of the hall, and proudly presented them with multiple spiral bound notebooks. I was smiling, glad that I was done with it, and ready to be off restriction and reinstated to the family. We had a family gathering that weekend we were going to attend and I had worked hard to get the project done before then.
They sat there on the bed and looked at me. "Well?!" they asked. "I'm very sorry for what I did and will never do it again... am I off restriction?"
"Well, we need to read over what you wrote!"
"Huh?"
"You've been proven a liar and a thief, son. You don't think we're just going to 'take your word' that you finished the assignment, do you?"
The tears started to well in my eyes, my chest started to heave. I tried to maintain my composure as best I could.
They continued... "Your mother and I will look over what you did over the next few days. I'll read her the Proverbs, from the Bible... she'll follow along in what you wrote. If you skipped so much as one word, you're doing it all over again. Do you understand me? Now get back to your room til we tell you we're done."
I don't think I've ever been so crushed... I had NOT skipped anything, thankfully. A week later, after I missed the family gathering, I was called back to the living room and was relieved to find that they didn't find any errors in my copyist skills. They welcomed "Ezra the copyist" back to the family. To this day, I don't know if they ACTUALLY read it or not... it really didn't matter, I was just grateful to be able to go outside and ride my bike and play with my brother and sisters.
