I had already caused dissention in my father's household simply by questioning the teachings I had been raised to believe starting when I was twelve or so.
My father had a habit of enforcing his headship with corporal punishment, and I had become quite familiar with the process of standing still while his belt was unbuckled, slid out of his beltloops and the belt brought down across my hips and shoulders.
At age fifteen, I was one of five young JW's whose names were read out infront of the congregation. As an unbaptised person (at fifteen, already an issue of contention) the worst they could do to me was notify the Congregation that I had engaged in "Conduct unbecoming a christian". The others were nailed with "public reproof" notifications and a hush had fallen over the hall. Then the announcement was made that my father had been removed as an elder and a strangled cry of anguish was heard from my mother.
Things went downhill from there. My parents vilified me for their loss of status. My siblings couldn't talk to me. I had messed up the family.
Then it was 1976, and I was sixteen. 1975 had come to naught. I refused to go to a Sunday meeting and sit there like some pariah. My father went for his belt.
Unbuckled it like a hundred times before, slipped it out from his beltloops like a hundred times before. Brought his arm back with that belt in hand to strike me like a hundred times before. As it came down I met his hand with my own, gripped the belt and stopped it. I twisted my grip and tore the belt from his hand. Now I stood there with the belt in my hand.
The memory of the look in my father's eyes at that moment still nauseates me. I think he thought I was about to beat him back. I tossed the belt to the floor, exclaimed simply, "No More!" and I turned and left out the front door.
When I came back home there was a discussion about my rebelliousness and "the rules if you live under my roof". I wouldn't live by those rules and out from under the roof I went.
In large part, it was a relief.
Eric
