Circle of Trees
This is a story not like any other., or maybe it is. Childhood abuse is prevalent in this county, and yet no one wants to either admit it, nor talk about it. Unfortunately, it’s true. Sibling abuse is probably way under reported, and it can be just as bad, or worse than any other form of abuse. However, it’s the story of my life as it is. Not pretty, not romantic, but true nonetheless. I originally wanted to call my story “The Circle of Trees”, as they had torn down the house, and all that was left, were the trees that encircled the house, Soon though , they took down the trees as well, and made the whole thing into a parking lot. Nothing left but asphalt, a parking lot, where once unspeakable things had happened. Nothing. It didn’t seem fitting. It didn’t seem fair. It seemed to silence, what was already silent.
I guess I better start at the beginning.
I was born in August of 1961, in Phoenix Arizona. My Mother and Father already had a son. The golden child. He was basically two years older than I. My Mother often said in a sort of joking matter, that they had to watch him like a hawk, as he was always trying to harm me. He’d try to either smother me, or knock me out of my bassinet. Thus was the beginning of our tumultuous relationship. Their son was the first born. The golden child. I was the interloper. The only girl. My parents eventually separated, and got together briefly, and that’s how my younger brother came about.