Author: Mrs white trash poet

On Nightline tonight(Thursday 10/5) there will be a piece on my cousin and her son Kevin’s story.  I know, I know it is an ABC program, but supposedly they did not cover-up the truth about the seriousness of the situation. The program was bumped from Wedsnesday to Thursday, but that is tentative, because other news may take precedence.

I just received the e-mail from her letting us know what will be in the program:

The piece, which will be about 7 minutes, will cover the ongoing spinach outbreak, the Food Safety Education Conference that I attended last week in Denver, STOP, Kevin’s story and more.  The crew followed me around for about half a day on Wednesday and did an extensive interview on Friday.  Please try to tune in.

Here are the links to the group she is affiliated and her sons story.

http://www.safetables.org/

http://cspinet.org/foodsafety/kevinslaw.html

Thanks for reading.

On this day 19 years ago, the path my life was taking, changed forever.  I was not prepared for this change emotionally nor was I ready to admit this to my family.  How can you prepare you heart for something your mind knows is inevitable, but will hurt just the same?  I was the oldest and was to be strong for my mother, and younger siblings.  Well, that is what I was told was my “position” within the family.  To be honest, I think that this attitude helped me to get through this time in my life unscathed, well not exactly, maybe okay is the word, no maybe . . . who am I kidding, it was horrible!!!
My father passed away when I was 15, my sister had just turned 12 and my brother was 5.  He was diagnosed almost a year prior, with Pancreatic Cancer.  It was determined later that this was due to his exposure to Agent Orange.  

My daughter Maggie has recently started to ask questions about my father, Grand-pop Tom as she calls him.  I have tried to remember things about his life that may seem of interest to her, mostly stories about his childhood that he told me.  I have been trying to portray him as I remember him a caring, loving, lots of fun, full of life, a teaser and practical jokester.  Yet I find myself pondering and asking questions also, questions that I will never have the answers too: Who was he really? How would he have reacted to “this”?  Would “this” or “that” have happened if he were physically here?  Would he like who I am today?  Would he like my family?

What prompted me to question my memory of my father?  A statement was made to me by a relative about my personal and political convictions.  This relative said that my father would not have felt the same way and would support the current administration.  He acted as if they knew more about my father then I did.  The conversation then turned to “your father was going to change his party affiliation not too soon before he got sick”, now I knew he was wrong.  I find this hard to believe considering he was a federal employee and saw all the bureaucratic crap that went on.  Also, the following incidents show the level of fortitude he displayed and passed on:

When my father was 18 he registered for selective service and to vote.  When he came home to his Irish, Catholic, Republican parents, my grandmother asked him what party he registered under.  My father’s response was “after much consideration I decided to register as an independent”.  My grandparents were furious and demanded that he change his party or he they would disown them.  He did not change and they did not disown him.  Although my father swore that this was why his parents did not help him pay for college.

After my father graduated from college, he met my mother and they made plans to be married.  A few weeks after my father proposed, he received his draft notification.  My grandfather being a “big shot” at Philadelphia Electric made some phone calls about how to delay my father’s deployment.  It was determined that his best avenue was Officer School, but he was going to have to report for duty earlier then the draft indicated.  So my parents had to plan a wedding in three months and honeymooned on their way to boot camp in OK.  

He was deployed to Vietnam in December of 1970 right before my mom found out she was pregnant with me. Here is a picture of his hat from his dress uniform and a patch my father wore on his everyday uniform.  I know for a fact he did not believe in that war, or any for that matter.

The patch says Curse this stupid war

My father was given a 10 day pass after I was born in July and did not return home until January, 1972.  When he returned, he did not have a job and could not find one that would support his family.  He was emotionally scarred by the experience and would not talk about it, even years later when I had to do an interview with someone who had experienced a historical time or event. He was so pissed off about his military service that he specifically asked not to have the flag placed on his coffin and not to have his grave marked as a veteran.

Fast forward a few years, when I was in 8th grade I had an incident with a nun.  She accused me of lying to her about a homework assignment.  She made me stand in her class room until I admitted it. I told my parents what happened and my father said do not back down, stand up for yourself.   I stood in her class for about 4 days, when my father finally came to school and spoke with the nun.  My father told me I was to stand in her class the next day until she apologized to me in front of the class.  I went in and stood, she told me to sit down; I told her I was told not to sit down until she apologized.  She did and it made the rest of my time in her class hell, but it was worth it to see that look on her face of defeat.

Two years later, after my father was diagnosed, we had another incident, this time with a priest.  My dad had been going through several months of chemo and it was not helping.  We were looking into alternative methods of treatment and had just found a clinic in Buffalo that would help.  At this point he stood 6’2 and was about 110 pounds, so sitting the wooden pews at church was uncomfortable.  

We were sitting towards the back of the church, off to the side, just in case he started to not feel well.  When the priest started his sermon, I could see my father get tense, his ears turned red, then purple.   I asked him several times if he was OK and finally he said no.  He stood up put his jacket on and started to walk out of the church.  As he proceeded down the isle he said out load at least twice “this is bullshit”.  Now to be honest with you, I was not really listening to the priest, but I was concerned for my father, so I did not question his actions. When we came home a lot earlier then usual my mother was concerned.  I told her what happened, but I was not sure why he did this.  My father explained that the priest said that everyone in that church was a sinner and we were all going to hell.

How do you tell a dying man that he is going to hell as he is sitting there every week suffering?  My father refused to go back to church after both he and my mother made a call to the pastor.   After that we had a priest visit almost every Sunday night until the week before he died.  

So as you can tell, he was not a person to stand down, compromise his convictions or take crap from anyone and that myself and my siblings are exactly like him.  After writing this I discovered that I don’t care what others think, I know in my heart who he was and what he stood for.  I think he would be proud of who I am today and supported me in my decisions and loved my children.   Also, he would have loved Darrell for his level of intelligence, his ability to think on his feet, and smart ass attitude.

I have a few other pictures below of some of the things my brother has kept to honor our father’s memory:

My dad’s Southern Comfort Bank:

My fathers Irish rosaries:

Our favorite picture of our dad:

One of the last pictures taken of my dad and brother before he was sick:

Crossposted from Daily Kos at the request of a reader

In light of recent allegations of abuse against the Phillies pitcher, Brett Myers, I felt I needed to post this story.  I am in no way looking for sympathy, just to inform and educate. This story was posted on another site; I was surprised and touched by the reaction.  This is written from my perspective of as an abused woman; I am in no way saying that this does not nor cannot happen to a man.  According to several counselors I have spoken to most abusers, start out with verbal abuse, and then escalate to physical.  As the abusers are able to gain more control, the violence intensifies and the victims concede defeat.  My story is written to show that pattern of behavior and how subtle it can be.  Below is the definition of Domestic Violence from The National Domestic Violence Hotline’s website.
What is Domestic Violence?

Domestic violence can be defined as a pattern of behavior in any relationship that is used to gain or maintain power and control over an intimate partner.

Abuse is physical, sexual, emotional, economic or psychological actions or threats of actions that influence another person. This includes any behaviors that frighten, intimidate, terrorize, manipulate, hurt, humiliate, blame, injure or wound someone.

Domestic violence can happen to anyone of any race, age, sexual orientation, religion or gender. It can happen to couples who are married, living together or who are dating. Domestic violence affects people of all socioeconomic backgrounds and education levels.

It was great therapy writing all of this down, sharing it with my husband and maybe someday my daughters.  After writing this initially, I was able to determine that there was one incident in my life that contributed to my low self esteem.   I allowed this incident to affect my life more then it ever should have, but I was able to come to terms with this also.  It was all part of the healing and coping process.  I will start as close the beginning and share as much as I can without getting too boring.  The name of the male person involved in this piece was changed to protect his identity.  

When I was 19 I took a job working at a local company that distributed cleaning chemicals.  One day a man walked into the office to order some supplies, I took his order and walked it to the warehouse to be filled.  When I returned a younger man was waiting in the office to pay for the items.  He was cute and very flirtatious; he gave me a business card with his name, Mark and a phone number, so I could process the order.  After he left, my coworker told me that Mark told his uncle that he saw me from the van, through the warehouse door and he wanted to meet me.  That is why he paid for the order instead of his uncle.  So I decided to play it cool and wait a few days to call him, apparently he was not willing to wait that long.  The next day I went to leave for lunch and there was a rose with a note on my car.  It was an invitation to dinner at a local place for that night.  I turned to come back inside to tell my coworker, and there they were all standing on the loading dock laughing and clapping, they were all in on this.  Needless to say I was very impressed and went to the dinner. To make a long story short, I know I know . . .too late, but six months later we were engaged.  When we decided on a date it was almost 2 years after our engagement, so we could save money for the perfect wedding.  

I cannot say that everything was wonderful up to the wedding, but it was not bad enough to call it all off over a few problems.  Little did I know that they were the gateway to future events.  So not to bore you too much with all the details, I made a list of the more eye-opening incidents.  Now remember I am about 20 years old at this point, with only one serious boyfriend prior to this:

 1. He told me he needed to borrow $100 to pay for car insurance.  It really was to pay the remainder that he owed on the engagement ring.

 2. In April, right before the wedding, I discovered that the engagement ring was not mine.  Mark had picked it out and put a deposit on it for a previous girlfriend. When I confronted him with the information he denied it and said it was a gold chain for himself.  He changed his mind and had to use the store credit before December 31st.

 3. He told my closest friends that I did not want to talk to her anymore because she was dating a former boyfriend of mine.  It could not have been further from the truth, I was happy for them. Mark said it was a misunderstanding.

 4. He pushed me up the steps one night after we had a fight about a girl that was  

flirting with him when we went out.  Now I was not hurt bad, just a few bumps and bruises. He apologized up and down for days about the incident.  When this same thing happened later in the relationship, I would tell the girl, “you can have him and all the credit card bills, car payments, etc. that went with him”.  Funny they usually backed off then.

 5. My car needed new brakes.  Mark told me he could fix them for me if I gave him the money.  I used his car while he was supposed to be fixing them.  I came home and he told me that he ran into a problem and needed more money.  I found out much later (after the wedding) that he used the money to pay a girl to have sex with him and a friend.

 6. From the time the engagement ring was on my finger, he started wearing me down with verbal abuse.  It started out very small, a comment here or there.  But from the wedding day forward he was relentless.  I could not do anything right and he would make me redo things that were not done to his specifications.  

So now we will fast forward to four months into the marriage. Mark and I had a huge fight about the “boys night out” he had planned.  I wanted to have a party beforehand with his friends, their girlfriends/wives and the children.  Mark then told me that I was his wife, he “owned me” and I was to do as he said or else.  Of course I could not keep my mouth closed and found out what the “or else” meant.  Tempers flared, words were exchange and he ended it by throwing a 16 piece ceramic Nativity set at me, one piece at a time.  Mark then instructed me to clean up the mess, despite the fact I was obviously bleeding and hurting from the onslaught. This was the start of the downward spiral of the relationship and the marriage.  I soon learned that I should “do what I was told” and it was “easier to keep my mouth shut”, that way the beatings were either non existent or at least less severe.  This is the advice his mother gave to me when I told her what happened.  Over the next two years I had a number of injuries including, but not limited to a dislocated elbow, black eyes, a concussion, sprained fingers, a sprained ankle and various bruises, bumps and cuts.

Once I made the decision to leave, I wanted to let him know that I knew about everything, including the girlfriends.  So I decided to confront him at the restaurant where he and one of his girlfriends had dinner every Friday.  I walked up to them, tapped him on the shoulder and asked him what he was doing and who was this.  She immediately stood up to start a fight with me.  I asked her to sit down because she was causing a scene.  After I explained to her that I was not there to interrupt, I was his wife and I wanted to introduce myself and ask which one of the girlfriends she was, the one receiving the flowers or the Victoria Secrets.  She explained to me that she did not know he was married, or that he had other girlfriends.  I then turned to walk away, looked back and said “Oh, by the way Mark, do not bother to coming home, I had the locks changed.  Maybe one of your girlfriends can put you up for the night”.  I felt so empowered by this, but I did not sleep very well that night for fear he would show up and try to get in.

By the end of the marriage my self esteem was so low, I was not sure a “normal relationship” would ever be possible.  I dated a few times, but found myself falling for the same type of guys.  They were controlling, manipulative, and demeaning.  While on a date with one of these guys, he said something that turned my dating philosophy around.  We were at a club when a very pretty young girl walked by, he turned to me and said “yeah, she wants me”.  I laughed very loudly at the comment and said “she would not give you the time of day, and frankly I am not sure why I am either”.  I walked out, put myself in a cab and never looked back.  

I do not think of myself as battered or abused, only a survivor.  It was not until I was able to look back on the situation with a better understanding, love from my family and sense of humor, that I could grasp what really happened.  Since then I have come across other women in similar situations and have attempted to help them.  What I discovered is that I am not equipped to help them out of the situation.  I was able to refer them to services that can help and lend a sympathetic ear.  I was very lucky to get out when I did and my mother, sister and brother are to thank for that.  

I have a link to The National Domestic Violence Hotline.  This maybe helpful if you feel that someone you know is in the same situation, I know it would have been very helpful to me.  Here are some statistics from the site:

* 4 million American women experience a serious assault by a partner during an average 12-month period.  

• On the average, more than three women are murdered by their husbands or boyfriends every day.

• 92% of women say that reducing domestic violence and sexual assault should be at the top of any formal efforts taken on behalf of women today.

• 1 out of 3 women around the world has been beaten, coerced into sex or otherwise abused during her lifetime.

• 1 in 5 female high school students reports being physically and/or sexually abused by a dating partner. Abused girls are significantly more likely to get involved in other risky behaviors. They are 4 to 6 times more likely to get pregnant and 8 to 9 times more likely to have tried to commit suicide.

• 1 in 3 teens reports knowing a friend or peer who has been hit, punched, slapped, choked or physically hurt by his/her partner.

• Women of all races are equally vulnerable to violence by an intimate partner.

• 37% of all women who sought care in hospital emergency rooms for violence-related injuries were injured by a current or former spouse, boyfriend or girlfriend.

• Some estimates say almost 1 million incidents of violence occur against a current or former spouse, boyfriend or girlfriend per year.

• For 30% of women who experience abuse, the first incident occurs during pregnancy.

As a final personal note I want to applaud the fans in Boston who booed Mr. Myers as he walked onto the field yesterday.  I think he deserves to be embarrassed at the very least by his alleged behavior.