Dear Dad and Uncle Fag (For Don Hale and Raymond Hale)

Dear Dad and Uncle Fag

These two
Brother and sister
Born of mother
Fatherly protector

A snake lay hidden
Among family members
Gifted caretaker or innocence taker

Our Uncle Ray, the games he would play
Finger here, finger there, finger everywhere

Up to his room we were coerced
Shhh, dont tell your daddy he often rehearsed

What did you say, Uncle Ray?
Does your booty itch?
My brains nightly refrain
Etched in my mind as if yesterday

Shhh! I told my father
He called me a liar
For what does an eight year old know of such things

Dear Dad and Uncle Fag
You never stood up for me
You took from me what God gave as mine
May he take from you.

Pride and Arrogance - A Fathers Legacy - Post #2

Pride and Shame - A Father’s Legacy.

Normally, I am not a fan of exposing the intimate problems of ones family or relationships on social media outlets. However, my current relationship with my father and mother demands a public outreach. As a shunned, disfellowshipped and previous member of the Jehovah’s Witnesses religion, an organization widely recognized as a cult, I am forbidden from having any relationship or conversations with any other believing members which includes all family members.

The reasons for my being shunned by this religion are not important here except to say that it was quite possibly the best thing that could have happened to me for now I am able to see what so many inside the organization are unable.

The lies.

No matter what source you use, the roles of fathers can be clearly defined. Even in the animal kingdom, the role of fathers is very clear. They are there to provide, lead and support. Its really that simple, yet in these three words lies a great amount of complication. From the moment a child is born the role of a father becomes significant. While in the initial phases of life, that child may not even recognize the man in the room, but soon there will become a time when that fathers role will become the most significant in that child’s life without respect to it being a male or female.

I too am a father and I can say with great confidence that being a father is the hardest job one could imagine and should not be undertaken without proper knowledge and preparation. I was certainly not prepared for it. In fact making the decision to have a child was not born from some deep consultative decision making process. It was just decided in a moment without much thought. In a moment when I thought that I could be, would be a much better father than mine had been to me. Giving little thought to the level of preparedness I needed, my first son was born not realizing much more is required than just deciding to be a better father than what I had growing up.

From the outside looking in, my father was a great man. So said many. He was a particularly handsome guy, held a steady job, we lived in a decent neighborhood and I don't ever recall any utilities being turned off or there not being enough food to eat. My Dad went to work each and every day, worked hard and it seemed as if we took vacations every year. There were things I noticed when I was in those early days when I was ranging in age from 8-14 years. I knew that my mom and dad had some problems, that he sometimes drank too much and that there were late night excursions to some local bar where he would flirt with those fairly unattractive women. I knew things were a little off when he would come home in the middle of the night smelling like beer and stale cigarettes, wake me up and make me talk to him about  little ‘guy stuff’. He was gone a lot during the week and often came home late at night, or sometimes he ‘worked’ nights, we didn't really care that much because he always made it up to us on Friday nights with Pizza and scary late night television shows. Saturday morning would continue the fun as he would sometimes watch cartoons with us and clown around acting out roles as Superman, Batman or sometimes even Wonder Woman.

But, I knew my dad has some issues. He was a man to be feared especially with that belt in hand, but he was for all his faults a fun dad. But all of that was about to change, as if over night. My mother had been since I was born raising my sister and I as Jehovahs Witnesses. It wasn't all bad. We had friends, participated in some school activities and had generally happy experiences. Even knocking on doors and giving presentations wasn't all that bad and I would dare say that we may have liked it a little bit. It was kinda fun. We got ice cream and lunch at McDonalds. What could be better?

At the time we thought that our little paradise could only get better if our beer drinking, cigarette smoking, pussy hunting but fun time father would become a witness. Oh how great our lives would be. So it was then that I, the most influential of the children began a relentless campaign to get my father to come to the ‘side of the truth’.

What a mistake that would turn out to be.

Before I continue you may recall that at the beginning of this article I spoke about my unwillingness to air my families dirty laundry on social media. Why do so now? To put it bluntly, its to get their attention There have been years of unresolved issues between my father and I that he is unwilling to address. My being disfellowshipped gives him a thick veil with which to hide behind. He has created a public persona based on a lie that vilifies me and gives no regard to my feelings or the things I had to deal with under his iron fisted monarchic rule. Things that in this day and time can be repaired through some simple conversations and an apology. This is an open letter, an acknowledgement that his public persona is false and here in lies an opportunity to leave a legacy different than the one I will remember when his days are long past.

As odd as this may seem I do not remember his baptism as well as I can remember all the physical abuses that came as a result of me not wanting to conform to all the ridiculous demands of a JW father hell bent on making his already well mannered family into Watchtower Society robots.  I vividly recall the announcement at the Kingdom Hall welcoming a new brother to the congregation, my father. I was proud because I thought I had saved his life but in reality I had made great strides towards destroying my own. He became very popular very quickly. A very good speaker and with a charisma I had not seen before in my dad, he quickly became a leader. People in the congregation looked up to him and very soon many were leaning upon him for his sage advice and his ability to apply scriptures to their situations. It was kinda cool having a father that was always being called on to offer prayer and to give talks from the platform, often delivering some of the lighter ‘special needs’ programs. I looked up to him and wanted to make sure I did nothing to make him look bad.

Then he became an elder.

Becoming an elder was like reaching celebrity status. You now have a following. You have ones that will now hang onto every word or piece of advice you offer. Being appointed to serve as an elder is akin to being promoted on your job. New title gives you a new air of respectability. You are SOMEBODY now. You can make decisions and you now have the right to make declarations and make demands on people without anyone really challenging you, at least not in public.  You are an elder now - God has given you authority to execute his commandments upon others and to carry out his orders knowing that most will be followed without question. A solid prescription for success in the Watchtower organization is to follow without question.  I never figured my father to be one of those types, but in retrospect I now see that he was. He put his thinking on hold in order to succeed and to be a SOMEBODY, to be an elder, to have followers. He wanted to be the chief administrator of the robot army.  One of the requirements for being an elder and maintaining that status was that your family had to act in lock step, they had to show that the robotic indoctrination had taken hold. My dad, the just appointed elder together with his newly christened authority thought he could practice and perfect the robotic indoctrination techniques on his family.

He was wrong. My mother would constantly remind him that although he was the head of the family, she was the neck that turned the head. What she meant was that he was not meant to make all decisions about the family’s future.  She was to be consulted. But because my fathers eldership relied heavily on how his family was perceived by others in the congregation and in order to protect his position of authority and the perception he carried amongst members of the congregation, he became a tyrant.

While my fathers tyranny had a negative effect on all members of the family, I would for many years suffer physical and emotional abuse far worse than anything inflicted upon my siblings.

POST #2  - Pride and Shame - A Father’s Legacy.

To be fair, my father was not an inherently evil man. He was not unkind, mean or selfish. As I mentioned earlier, he was quite dutiful in the way he cared for his family. It is fair to say that I did not really know him well in my early years. My father was not a man of feelings, not one to give compliments or to sharing his intimate thoughts, but yet not not without emotion, primarily angry emotion. He would not tolerate any disobedience out of any of his children of the time, primarily my sister and me although I think all my siblings would agree that I bore the brunt of his displeasure the majority of the time. For many years after my father became a witness, I lived in fear. Always looking over my should for the next time I might get a whipping with his belt, many times not looking forward to coming home from school. My fathers motto was beat first and ask questions later. It was important that the first born be bought into strict obedience such that no command given by him could be ignored or even questioned. Interestingly this sort of physical discipline would prepare me well for the mental and emotional enslavement I would suffer as one of Jehovah’s Witnesses for years to come.

As mentioned in an earlier post, my father quickly removed my sister and I from all ‘worldly extracurricular activities’ that might interfere with our theocratic captivities like attending the Kingdom hall for seven fucking meetings per week, ministry on the weekend and the countless family and personal study events we had at home. Not much time for anything else in life. Oh how we hated the family study. I recall one instance when I had purchased with my allowance, some extra fly dress shoes for myself. I boldly wore the them to the family study knowing that my father would make an issue with it since he told me not to buy them because I was to be no part of the world. Well at some point during our study he asked me if I though buying those shoes was being like the world or no part of the world? I told my dad that they were ‘just stinking shoes’. Keep in mind I was 14 at the time. Instead of trying to determine my intentions, he threw his heavy ass briefcase at me and then threw my shoes in the trash.

Had he been ‘real’ with me, he would have known that I was trying to impress a girl at the Kingdom Hall.

My father never understood me as a teen. Had he forgotten that he was at one time a handsome young teenager as I was now? Did he forget that teenagers start to develop their own interests and tastes as they get older? I hated wearing the same suit over and over and over to all the meetings and in field service. My dad made more money than most in our congregations but in his die hard attempts to make humble the 14 year old, I never got any new clothes. I was the brunt of jokes from all the other young boys in the kingdom hall. My suit jacket was 3 or 4 inches below my elbow and my pants were high waters. Remember that, high waters? I was embarrassed to leave my seat during the meetings. I would wait till everyone else left and then I would go to the car. One suit, one tie, one shirt and ragged ass shoes. The looks, the jokes.

Good job dad, who humiliates their 14 year son with excellent grades, hobbies, interests and dreams so that you can look like you have everything under control? But let’s not stand yet for the father of the year award. There is more.

Growing up in this religion, I really had no real friends. Dear dad’s main goal, it seemed was to make us the family that no one wanted to be around. Prominent elder with elder kids too perfect to be around and too scared to have any kind of fun. So, we were placed on the ‘no invite’ list. My mother had to beg other parents to let her kids be  part of activities. I never quite understood why the other kids just didn't like us. Maybe we were perceived as weird because we looked and acted so different than even ‘normal’ witness kids. No one knew the sort of torture we endured under the tyrannical rule of Don Hale. Can you imagine being sent to your bedroom after family study with no dinner because you didn't know the answers to bull shit questions that you just could not comprehend at 14 and 15 years of age? Who wants to sit and study for two to four hours on Saturday afternoon while all the neighborhood kids are outside?

Anyone that did not believe as the JW’s did were considered worldly and bad association that could spoil our useful habits. Every effort was made by families to make sure that they didn't show any worldly traits or have no real worldly desires. They taught that true Christians had to be separate from the world of unbelieving heathens. For a teenager, other than home, there was no place of greater influence than school. Before my father became an active nut case witness I was a very active kid. I played team sports and was starting to show some promise on the track team. I played clarinet and was learning to play percussion and signed up to learn every musical genre the school had to offer at the time. I was really starting to show some appreciation for classical jazz but my all time favorite was the marching band. There was nothing like football season in high school. I was never going to be big enough or bad enough to  play on the team, but I was good enough to play in the band. Being on the field for the pre-game and half time shows gave me a sense of pride and accomplishment beyond anything I had ever felt. Every kid wants be admired for some talent, for something they can do well. They want to be admired, by their parents, their friends and especially GIRLS.

I was doing it. I was in the marching band. I was making friends and being invited to hang out at Pizza Hut after the games. My music teacher really liked me because I showed up and gave it all my effort. There were cheerleaders. I looked forward to half time because there was always a pretty girl that wanted to hold hands with the drummer.

But, I was showing signs of worldliness, according to Watchtower policies. I had to be reigned in. How would there be time to save people from Armageddon if I was busy learning sheet music and increasing my speed on the track? Something would have to change so my father pulled me and my sister both from all of our extracurricular ‘worldly’ activities, or so he thought.

For some reason, I do not recall what my sister did, she was learning how to play the flute, but I didn't follow his orders. I didn't quit. Although I was forced to withdraw from the marching band because most of the games were on Friday night during our family study time, I managed to stay enrolled for a complete school year in numerous other music genre classes.  However, this secret would not last forever.

One day my dad got a call from my principal when I was a freshman in high school. The principal reported that a student in my music class had accused me of stealing his drumsticks and of course I had denied it. After all, I had a collection of drumsticks in my locker, its what I spent my allowance money on. Each month when dad gave us money for performing chores, I would ride my bike to Coyles Music on Broad Street and haggle for the best price on the best sticks they had in the store. My sticks were everything They were the connection to my interests, my love of drumming and maybe a career in a well known rock band, who knows. 

But on this day, I was a drum stick thief. As I walked home from school, I was so gripped with fear that I actually started to believe that I had stolen the drum sticks just so I could be prepared for the whipping I would get when I got home.  However, nothing I could do or say would prepare me for what lay ahead.

I hate recliners. I will not sit in one, I will not own one, I will not have one in my house or any place I choose to live. I hate the look and especially the feel of them. I will sit on the floor before I choose to sit in a recliner. It’s not even a love hate relationship, I just hate recliners. What did a recliner ever do to me to merit such scorn? Nothing really but be an unwilling pawn in my fathers evil ploy to destroy me. Well, maybe not destroy but discipline for sure.

My father had a recliner, in fact he had two recliners. The first pair were made of a blue velvet like material very soft to the touch. I was very excited about our first pair of recliners. They were purchased with my fathers comfort in mind and we were rarely allowed to sit in them. There were times when we knew that dad was not coming home for the evening and we would sit in the recliners, kings and queens if even for a moment.  My dad always preferred the recliner closest to the wall away from the front door. We would often find him there sleeping after a long day at work. Over time we noticed that the chair was beginning to lose its luster and freshness and slowly that ‘old dad who believes in showers twice per week in order to keep the water bill down’ smell took over. 

The recliner smelled like old ass.

The one day as I returned home from school, I noticed the blue velvet recliners were gone, both of them. Evidently new furniture was on the horizon, thats exciting, I thought. New recliners? Lord, please let them be leather this time. As I started walking up the driveway, I noticed that one of the recliners was sitting on the curb awaiting trash pick up day and that the material had been torn from it. Add to this my dad was home early. I stopped for a moment to look at the broken down recliner, to examine its anatomy of sorts. How exactly does a recliner, recline? I looked for the reclining lever and paid close attention to the simple gear like mechanisms that work in perfect synch with other to perform the reclining action and wondered what bright engineer had dreamed this up and if he was rich by now. Of particular interest to me was the actual rocker glide itself. It was much different than what you find on an average rocking chair. This one was shaped like a sine wave. If you don't know what a sine wave looks like, GOOGLE it now before you continue reading. I noticed that this essential piece of the recliners rocking mechanism was broken off from the rest of the chair. Its all trash anyway and I made my way into the house to see what sort of pain as coming my way.

On an average day, I would walk into the living room and would see dad sitting in that blue recliner. Always sitting in that damn blue recliner, studying Jehovah Witness shit or doing the crossword puzzle. Always with a burrowed brow or maybe even a frown. Did he hate reading the Jehovah Witness bullshit as much as I did or was he deep in thought trying to convince himself that the lies were true? I hated seeing him in that recliner. Sitting there pretending not to hear and not to see. This man, looking at me, watching me, judging me.

Hating me. Hating the fact that I forced him to marry my mother, my dear mom, the wife HE chose.

But at this moment, he was just standing there, for me, no point of reference for there was no blue recliner. Why was he standing there? What the hell is your problem, man?

“Your music teach called” he said.

“So”

Did I just say that?

“Your music teacher says you stole Michaels drumsticks from his locker” he snorted.

“No, I didn't and I don't know what you are talking about.”

My mother was standing close by in the kitchen, she was trying her best not to get involved. At this point, my sister walks in the house moments behind me. He directs her to go upstairs and get started on her homework, after all it was a meeting night.

“I am so sick and tired of you telling lies all the time, I want the truth or your are going to regret it”. He shouted.

“Im telling you the truth, I didn't steal this boys drumsticks, I have my own, plenty of them.”

At that moment I pulled out my own sticks and showed them, he took them from me and disappeared outside. Still trembling from fear, I figured I had dodged a bullet. Moments later he come back in through the front door with something large and wooden in his hands, my eyes were unbelieving. 

Why was he standing in the living room shouting at me with the sine wave shaped rocker from the broken down recliner in his hand?

“If you are not going to tell me the truth, I will beat it out of you”, he shouted.

He then proceeded to ask me several more times, the same lame ass question.

And I gave him the same honest and truthful answer. This would not do any longer so he made me put my hands on the piano that loomed large in our small living room. He then proceeded to whack me with all his manly strength on my butt with that sine wave shaped wooden rocker while repeating his questions: “Did you steal the drumsticks”? “No, I did not” I screamed, WHACK! Repeated over and over until I passed out on the floor.

Did I just hear this man tell my mother to get a bucket of water? Reality was a cold splash in the face as I lay on the floor of our tiny living room, at this point feeling no pain. “Get up” says the asshole. “Hands on the piano”. More questions. WHACK! I feel nothing. More questions, same answer. WHACK. No more tears. I was numb. It seemed like an hour had passed when finally my mother stepped up out of pure shame and said “ENOUGH”.  My father, frustrated threw down his weapon stomped up the stairs, leaned over the rails and told me that the next time I lied to him, he would beat me to death with a baseball bat.

Then he went on to the Kingdom Hall. 

Mom prepared for me a bath of epsom salt. That is where I spent my evening. I had open gashes of flesh on my ass, bleeding and swollen, I couldnt  even fit into my pajamas. The next morning my mother sent me to school with a note:

“Please allow my son to stand during class, he is suffering lower back pain”. Later that day, my music teacher apologized to me for his mistake, Michael had left his drumsticks out on the practice field.

Why did I tell this story? Why am I sharing such an intimate and disturbing part of my life with the world? Every form of cultism is abusive. My story is NOT unique. Many of us having grown up a part of this religion have suffered in similar ways where fathers have taken on roles as extreme enforcers with the simple goal of gaining compliance.

While international attention is being drawn to this religion because of their extremist views, this does not absolve me or others from making sure that the truth of abuses surrounding this religion are told.

Be well, live well and beware. 

Pride and Arrogance - A Father's Legacy - Post #1

Pride and Arrogance - A Father’s Legacy
Don Hale, this is for you.

Normally, I am not a fan of exposing the intimate problems of ones family or relationships on social media outlets. However, my current relationship with my father and mother demands a public outreach. As a shunned, disfellowshipped and previous member of the Jehovah’s Witnesses religion, an organization widely recognized as a cult, I am forbidden from having any relationship or conversations with any other believing members which includes all family members.

The reasons for my being shunned by this religion are not important here except to say that it was quite possibly the best thing that could have happened to me for now I am able to see what so many inside the organization are unable.

The lies.

No matter what source you use, the roles of fathers can be clearly defined. Even in the animal kingdom, the role of fathers is very clear. They are there to provide, lead and support. Its really that simple, yet in these three words lies a great amount of complication. From the moment a child is born the role of a father becomes significant. While in the initial phases of life, that child may not even recognize the man in the room, but soon there will become a time when that fathers role will become the most significant in that child’s life without respect to it being a male or female.

I too am a father and I can say with great confidence that being a father is the hardest job one could imagine and should not be undertaken without proper knowledge and preparation. I was certainly not prepared for it. In fact making the decision to have a child was not born from some deep consultative decision making process. It was just decided in a moment without much thought. In a moment when I thought that I could be, would be a much better father than mine had been to me. Giving little thought to the level of preparedness I needed, my first son was born not realizing much more is required than just deciding to be a better father than what I had growing up.

From the outside looking in, my father was a great man. So said many. He was a particularly handsome guy, held a steady job, we lived in a decent neighborhood and I don't ever recall any utilities being turned off or there not being enough food to eat. My Dad went to work each and every day, worked hard and it seemed as if we took vacations every year. There were things I noticed when I was in those early days when I was ranging in age from 8-14 years. I knew that my mom and dad had some problems, that he sometimes drank too much and that there were late night excursions to some local bar where he would flirt with those fairly unattractive women. I knew things were a little off when he would come home in the middle of the night smelling like beer and stale cigarettes, wake me up and make me talk to him about  little ‘guy stuff’. He was gone a lot during the week and often came home late at night, or sometimes he ‘worked’ nights, we didn't really care that much because he always made it up to us on Friday nights with Pizza and scary late night television shows. Saturday morning would continue the fun as he would sometimes watch cartoons with us and clown around acting out roles as Superman, Batman or sometimes even Wonder Woman.

But, I knew my dad has some issues. He was a man to be feared especially with that belt in hand, but he was for all his faults a fun dad. But all of that was about to change, as if over night. My mother had been since I was born raising my sister and I as Jehovahs Witnesses. It wasn't all bad. We had friends, participated in some school activities and had generally happy experiences. Even knocking on doors and giving presentations wasn't all that bad and I would dare say that we may have liked it a little bit. It was kinda fun. We got ice cream and lunch at McDonalds. What could be better?

At the time we thought that our little paradise could only get better if our beer drinking, cigarette smoking, pussy hunting but fun time father would become a witness. Oh how great our lives would be. So it was then that I, the most influential of the children began a relentless campaign to get my father to come to the ‘side of the truth’.

What a mistake that would turn out to be.

Before I continue you may recall that at the beginning of this article I spoke about my unwillingness to air my families dirty laundry on social media. Why do so now? To put it bluntly, its to get their attention There have been years of unresolved issues between my father and I that he is unwilling to address. My being disfellowshipped gives him a thick veil with which to hide behind. He has created a public persona based on a lie that vilifies me and gives no regard to my feelings or the things I had to deal with under his iron fisted monarchic rule. Things that in this day and time can be repaired through some simple conversations and an apology. This is an open letter, an acknowledgement that his public persona is false and here in lies an opportunity to leave a legacy different than the one I will remember when his days are long past.

As odd as this may seem I do not remember his baptism as well as I can remember all the physical abuses that came as a result of me not wanting to conform to all the ridiculous demands of a JW father hell bent on making his already well mannered family into Watchtower Society robots.  I vividly recall the announcement at the Kingdom Hall welcoming a new brother to the congregation, my father. I was proud because I thought I had saved his life but in reality I had made great strides towards destroying my own. He became very popular very quickly. A very good speaker and with a charisma I had not seen before in my dad, he quickly became a leader. People in the congregation looked up to him and very soon many were leaning upon him for his sage advice and his ability to apply scriptures to their situations. It was kinda cool having a father that was always being called on to offer prayer and to give talks from the platform, often delivering some of the lighter ‘special needs’ programs. I looked up to him and wanted to make sure I did nothing to make him look bad.

Then he became an elder.

Becoming an elder was like reaching celebrity status. You now have a following. You have ones that will now hang onto every word or piece of advice you offer. Being appointed to serve as an elder is akin to being promoted on your job. New title gives you a new air of respectability. You are SOMEBODY now. You can make decisions and you now have the right to make declarations and make demands on people without anyone really challenging you, at least not in public.  You are an elder now - God has given you authority to execute his commandments upon others and to carry out his orders knowing that most will be followed without question. A solid prescription for success in the Watchtower organization is to follow without question.  I never figured my father to be one of those types, but in retrospect I now see that he was. He put his thinking on hold in order to succeed and to be a SOMEBODY, to be an elder, to have followers. He wanted to be the chief administrator of the robot army.  One of the requirements for being and elder and maintaining that status was that your family had to act in lock step, they had to show that the robotic indoctrination had taken hold. My dad, the just appointed elder together with his newly christened authority thought he could practice and perfect the robotic indoctrination techniques on his family.

He was wrong. My mother would constantly remind him that although he was the head of the family, she was the neck that turned the head. What she meant was that he was not meant to make all decisions about the family’s future.  She was to be consulted. But because my fathers eldership relied heavily on how his family was perceived by others in the congregation and in order to protect his position of authority and the perception he carried amongst members of the congregation, he became a tyrant.

While my fathers tyranny had a negative effect on all members of the family, I would for many years suffer physical and emotional abuse far worse than anything inflicted upon my siblings.

****AUTHORS NOTE***** Over the next few weeks I will tell more of this story. Please follow my blog here or check back often for the next chapter in the saga…

Hi Mom, Hi Dad!

Hi Mom, Hi Dad.

Why so sad?

Do you feel bad because I feel soo good?

Do you feel glad that I dont feel bad anymore about how you have been treating me these last three years?

But wait, how could you know if you are sad or glad or feel bad about anything relating to me because you have chosen to shun me for being different, for being happy, for being free, for not being you?

Hi Mom, Hi Dad.

Don't you just love Facebook and Instagram? This way you can shun me in person and still know that I am doing well, pursuing my dreams with the gifts of intelligence given to me by God through you.

Incidentally, the same intelligence that allows me to seperate truth from fiction, a relationship with God from a relationship with a man controlled cult.

And what about your grandchildren all carrying smart phones eager to share with you the things that "Uncle Chirs" is doing in his life. If you didnt know, I am with great affection known as "Uncle Chris" to those who love me without exception.

Without exception. Not sure? Ask the grandchildren, they understand.

Hi Mom, Hi Dad.

I love you. I pity you.

You have chosen an empty hearted group of men manufacturing lies to keep people in control to their wishes while sucking away their lives and their often times meager earnings.

You choose men you have never met over the one from your loins.

You have chosen to not see the son that see's you, the son that thinks about you often and wishes for you to change your ways before its too late.

Will there come a day when I will no longer think of you?

Hi Mom, Hi Dad,

Oh, look at that shiny car outside....

The Liar That Fear Built

By now many of you will recognize this familiar refrain in my writing: I was raised as one of Jehovah's Witnesses. You may well be thinking: here we go again with his stories of how life was adversly affected by his religious upbringing. And for a few people out there, growing up in this high control religous cult may have even saved their lives. But for the larger majority, myself included we have grown up to be not strong Christian men and women but instead, pretty little liars.

What did he just say? Yes, some us of are pretty, myself included and we all grew up to be pretty little liars.

The culture of the Watchtower Society is all based in fear. Fear is used to control and motivate others. We are taught to have this fear of God, this fear of not displeasing him, right? I believe that somewhere in the scriptures, we are told by his Son that the greatest commandment we need to observe is to love one another and we would be pleasing God, right? No reason to live in deep fear if we follow this commandment, right?

Wrong! As one of Jehovah's Witnesses, you are taught vehemently from the platform that you are NEVER good enough for God's approval, spirit and blessing. As if God is watching your every move and developing a counter move based on your good or bad actions, seeking vengeance for every wrong thought or deed. You are always on the grind to prove your worth to God, or was it to the elders and the rest of the congregation? Was God measuring me, us by some long invisible stick with an ax on the end of it? 

How many times did you feel you were being measured against others by some of the following?

• How many hours you spent in deep personal study?
• How many hours did you spend in the ministry?
• How much collateral did you dispense this week?
• How many return visits did you conduct this month?
• How many bible studies did you conduct this month?
• How many meetings did you miss?
• How many times did you not think about sex with your ex?
• How many times did you not look at that sister with the big booty?
• How much money did you put in the contribution box?
• How early did you get to the meeting, did you stay late?
• Did you cum early or cum late?
• How many times did you informal witness this month?
• Did you study with your family this week?
• Did you study with your side piece this week?
• Did you pray for or to the Governing Booty this week?

The fulfilling of all these ridiculous requirements and of course broadcasting them to all that would listen was a sure sign that you might be good enough, right?

Perhaps, but how may of you told the truth? I know I rarely ever did. But I wanted to be part of the 'good enough club', so I lied. We all did.

And they gave us privileges. They gave us responsibilities. They gave us ice cream.

Most of us grew up to be pretty little liars.

You see, we still feel that we are 'not good enough'. So we put on airs and create our own false realities about ourselves because we have been told so long that we are not good enough. It's easier to lie, to fake it to get the accolades that we need and want to feel good about ourselves instead of putting in the real work.

Fear to face ourselves as we truly are is the lie that fear builds. We must learn to look in the mirror and see what is there. What you will find is that it needs work and in some cases, alot of work. The further reality is that you are not far off, the work is not impossible, the project not without a completion date. But you and I must be willing to acknowledge that we are not what we think we are. We are not as good as we thought we were. Our lives are not as great as we see them.

I am fortunate. I am not lucky, but intentional. I have mirrors all around me. Some of these mirrors have long hair and wear makeup. Some of these mirrors have bald heads and beards. Yes, these are my friends and they are always helping me see the truth about myself, even though I never see it till I sleep on it, eventually, though I do see it. 

Yep, still pretty, no longer a liar. Still a work in process.

Surround yourself with truth telling mirrors. Listen to the truth coming from them. Acknowledge where the holes are and start today in building an authentic life based on the real truth of you. Not the lie that fear builds.

Fear is NOT your factor.

The Watchtower Society and Humility = NOT A MATCH!

Having been raised in the Jehovah's Witness religion I cant tell you how many times I have heard from the platform how his organization is being led by spirit annointed men of great humility. How many times have we been told that we must humbly accept everything we get from the Governing Booty becasue they are uniquely qualified by God to provide spiritual food for the lay members. The biblical usage of the word humble means to be devoid of pride and arrogance. However, I believe that the Watchtowers unspoken definition is more that those members who reside at Bethel, including members of the Governing Booty are better than the rest of us and that we should be, in a sense, groveling at their presence and the things coming from their pens.

Recently I ran into some Witnesses standing on the street corner. First of all, they look so ridiculous. Frankly, I cant even respect that. What effort is needed and what preparation is required to stand on the street corner with a cart? It seems to me like the organization has run out of people smart enough to approach others with a presentation good enough to spark a conversation.

Sad indeed.

Back to my point. While talking to the corner panhandlers, I asked them what has happened to the expectations of 1914 and the 'impending battle of Armageddon'. Obviously your leaders are wrong again about their dates which has led to the failure of yet more prophecy. I asked why this keeps happening and all they could tell me is that "the light keeps getting brighter as the end draws near." I asked is they thought that one day the light would be so bright that they would be blinded? I then suggested that the Governing Booty does not have the humility to acknowledge that they were wrong and have been wrong many, many times.

I then asked how long his marriage would last if every single time you made a mistake you never admitted but instead noted that 'your light is getting brighter and brighter each day' yet you continue to make graver and graver misjudgements.

They didnt get it. They are too hard wired to respond without thinking or programmed to read a scripture that really bears no light on the subject or does nothing to advance the thought.

Because Jehovahs Witnesses lay have taken to viewing humility as being that they are not as worthy as the Governing Booty or those designated as the 'faithful slave' they are not able to see the utter arrogance in their leaders.

Book Excerpt - Please Read and Coomment

Chapter 2
So, as a married man I have now committed the horrible offense of adultery. My conscience is burning and my brain is aflame with trying to figure out how to avoid being disfellowshipped. The idea of being cut off from all of my friends and family was in my mind, a fate worse than death itself. However, the process that leads one to being disfellowshipped is actually much worse.
Elders in the congregation can come to have knowledge of serious wrongdoing in the congregation two different ways: The wrongdoer confesses or someone with knowledge of the wrongdoing reports it. If the wrongdoer himself reports it then a judicial committee of three elders is assigned to investigate. However, if the wrongdoing is reported by another, then two elders are assigned to investigate. If the two elders are able to substantiate the act of wrongdoing against the person, then a three elder judicial committee is formed.
Once the judicial committee is formed, what follows is more like an inquisition than a judicial proceeding. JW’s will tell you that the purpose of the judicial meeting is to help heal the spiritually sick condition of the person accused of the wrongdoing. But in 99% of the cases, the elders who preside over such cases of wrongdoing are not doctors, psychiatrists or mental health practitioners. The purpose of these judicial meetings with the wrongdoer is to get the person to admit their wrong and then administer counsel by reading a number of scriptures and trying to move the wrongdoer to some expression of remorse, commonly through an outburst of tears.
The very awareness that a judicial committee is being formed invokes fear. The idea of sitting in front of men that are likely NOT your peers and discussing the details of your sexual sin is mind numbing. The process to those who are not elders in the congregation is not transparent. For years there has always been rumored to be an ‘elders manual’ in existence that was used during these procedures to give the elders step by step instructions including a profile of what repentance should look like. The elders are told to use it in accompaniment with the scriptures, but I have seen it used many times in lieu of.
Anyhow the original judicial hearing is always opened with prayer to Jehovah. The idea being that the committee wants to get God’s spirit to be actively involved in the case so that the elders will be spirit directed and the one under inquisition will be compelled to tell the truth with all humility. After the prayer is concluded, you would think that the loving God you have come to respect, love and adore would be the one in charge of the proceedings and that his loving arms of protection would steer the discussion to safeguard your emotions and to protect your rights. However, nothing is further from the truth. The meetings begin more as a legal discovery, the same way you are questioned by a prosecuting attorney for a felony offense for which you might receive the death penalty.
I would rather face judge and jury for a serious crime than face this religious organizations judicial process. Unlike being in a court of law, you get no time to prepare, you get no legal representation, you get no discovery from those seeking to prosecute you, and you don’t get to call witnesses to speak in your favor or to validate your side of the story. You are left with your own thoughts, and your own defense strategy which is generally flawed because of the cloud of fear that hangs over your thinking. The elders come prepared because they have made an investigation partially or completely by interviewing those who have made the allegations against you.
Anyway, after the prayer is concluded and just like an attorney would do in an opening statement, the chairman of the committee begins by announcing the charges against you. In this particular situation, you are more likely guilty until proven innocent which makes the proceedings especially diffisect because you are immediately put on the defensive. Unlike the proceedings in a court of law, unless the accuser is a family member, their identity is protected. You really have no rights, there is no reading of the defendant’s rights before the ‘trial’ begins. Once the charges are announced, there are a series of scriptures that are read help the defendant realize that the point of this tribunal is to find the truth and assess the errant ones state of repentance. Once this procedure is out of the way, the questioning begins.
Most often, they will begin by asking you what happened. I recall this one instance during my committee meeting with the inquisitors where they were
trying to figure out my motives for having sex with this woman with whom I had committed adultery. Before I detail the conversation, let me give you a description of each of my tormentors. The first elder was actually fairly likeable although I am not sure why or how he got to be an elder. I heard that in his early days he was quite the womanizer. He wasn’t a bad looking fellow although he had this insanely thick looking mustache over a fairly thick set of lips. His thin lipped wife was probably scared of that or perhaps it reminded her of something else. Anyway, he reminded me of Billy Dee Williams except that he was two feet too short and a bit on the dumpy side. We’ll call him I Wanna Be Bill Dee or IWBBD for short. The second elder was fairly likeable fellow by many but for me it was for only one reason. He had this daughter that was just gorgeous beyond words. Whenever she was at the Kingdom Hall, the meetings automatically got less boring. In his defense though, he was smart, gave really interesting talks from the platform. I always learned something from him. He was very cerebral but a little awkward in social skills. Very fact oriented. He had this ridiculously thick mustache with no lips. Each time he spoke all you could do was focus on the mustache. Add to this the fact that he had hips. As a matter of fact he bore a striking resemblance to W.C. Fields. Have you ever seen a man with hips? We’ll call him W.C.Hips. The third elder never said much and listening to him was like watching invisible paint dry. His wife was the funny one however. Every time I saw her at the Kingdom Hall her hair looked like a birds nest. He was just a dork, so we will just call him Dork. The conversation went something like this:
W.C. Hips: We are here to discuss the charges against you, that being the act of adultery. Do you disagree with these charges?
Me: No
W.C. Hips: What do you think led to you committing adultery?
Me: I wanted to get me some.
W.C. Hips: Get some what?
Me: Blank stare
W.C. Hips: Were you drinking?
Me: No
W.C. Hips: Were you taking any drugs?
Me: No dude, she was hot, I didn’t need drugs or liquor to make me want some.
IWBBD: So, how did this happen?
Me: What do you mean?
IWBBD: How did you end up in this situation?
Me: What situation?
IWBBD: A situation where your morality was compromised.
Me: Oh, having sex?
IWBBD: Yes
IWBBD: Were you naked?
Me: Why do you ask?
IWBBD: We are getting to your state of mind
Me: Eventually
IWBBD: Who got undressed first?
Me: What difference does that make? (I wanted to say “your wife” but I resisted.)
W.C. Hips: Did you fondle her?
Me: Yes
W.C. Hips: Did she fondle you?
Me: Yes, yes…oh God…YES!
Dork: Said nothing
I don’t know who was getting turned on more by this conversation, me or them. At this point in the interrogation, I decided it was time to leave as I didn’t know if they were going to call my penis as a star witness.
Why did I subject myself to all of this? I was really hoping that they were going to offer me some therapeutic insight into my state of mind, but then they are not
therapists. My expectations of being treated with kindness and respect were quickly shattered when the questioning began.
If you have ever visited a therapist you will recall that their very first step is to set you at ease and to make you feel comfortable. Even the surroundings of their office are designed to set the patient at ease, to make them comfortable so that discussing painful events from their past won’t be so difficult. They will spend a significant amount of time getting to know your family history, your work, your love life, your personal life and future ambitions. This may take several meetings to accomplish. Therapists know how important it is to learn about a person’s history before they are able to gain some measurable insight into the reasons behind their actions. Therapists are well educated students of the mind and study behaviors in the very work that they perform, typically holding Masters Degrees and Ph.D.’s
After leaving the therapist, you probably walked away feeling refreshed and re-built, don’t expect the same from a JW led judicial hearing. The elders are not qualified therapists. The great majority are nothing more than high school graduates and very few have college degrees in any mental health field. Their main credential, they claim comes from the Bible itself. Since JW’s show disdain for most institutes of higher learning, it is highly unlikely that they have the necessary skillset to deal with the complexities of the human mind and the vast variety of human behaviors that exist in their congregations.
As a younger man, I spent some time with a therapist for some issues I was having related to my experiences with my father. On my very first visit, I was duly impressed by the number of degrees and the extent of my therapist’s education. She seemed uniquely qualified to help me with my problems and made no efforts to judge me for my past actions. There was no reason for me to ask about her qualifications, they were evident on the wall before me, and in the way she spoke with me. However, as I sat in the judicial meeting with these three elders, I began to wonder about their qualifications. Beyond their Bible knowledge and their years in the organization, what uniquely qualifies you to deal with the complexities of my mind and accompanying behaviors?

Not Easily Broken

During a routine conversation this morning someone told

Saturday Morning Porch Humpers

Its a beautiful Saturday morning as I sit in my office doing a little research that is overdue on some projects I have my mind set on. As I sip my coffee I glance out of my office window to see  Jehovah's Witnesses meandering down the street looking like a clump of thugs waiting to pounce on the first available breathing idiot. I stare with amusement as the meandering continues and it looks as if  no one wants to make the first effort to open a gate, knock on a door or even climb some stairs. 

So I decide to make it easy for them. I put on my shoes and hurried outside and walked right up amongst the group with a certain shine in my eyes as if daring them to say something to me.

It worked. "Goodmorning sir, we are sharing some..."

"No thanks, I just left your organization".

"Sir?" She paused. "I hope you'll come back some day".

I was surprised by my response. "I hope you get out someday".

I walked to my car happy with the short interaction. As I returned to my apartment and while passing them, the whole group was staring at me.

Probably wishing they could get out too.

Book Title: DISFELLOWSHIPPED - My Life As The Invisible Man!: I See WICKED PEOPLE.

Book Title: DISFELLOWSHIPPED - My Life As The Invisible Man!: I See WICKED PEOPLE.: As I wind down the journey of writing this book, I am constantly reminded of the fears that occupied my mind when I was much younger and up ...

I See WICKED PEOPLE.

As I wind down the journey of writing this book, I am constantly reminded of the fears that occupied my mind when I was much younger and up into my adult years. I had this insane fear of the wicked people. The wicked people were generally defined as those that did not believe as Jehovah's Witnesses did. We always needed protection from these non-believers becasue these were the ones likely to climb into your bedroom window late at night and murder you for no reason. These wicked people were far worse than the monsters that lived under my bed and lurked in my closet. I even recall what the wicked people looked like. Generally, they were faceless people in dark rain coats and dark hats. They never had any weapons but they always came in through my window at night when it was raining. 

I had to protect myself from the wicked people. I soon developed this obsessive need to check all the windows at night, all around my parents house to make sure that the wicked people could not get in. Finally I had to pray to Jehovah for protection from all the wicked people that were trying to get at me. I cant tell you how many nights I forgot to ask for this specific type of protection during my bedtime prayer and would wake up in a cold sweat hoping that Jehovah had my back.

I'm all grown up now and I have lots of wicked friends. I leave my doors open and windows up becasue I like my wicked friends.

Its Sunday morning now and I see Jehovah's Witnesses coming down the street. Excuse my while I shut my doors and lock my windows....

Don't Go Back - Recovery Strategy #2

When I was a teen, I had some pretty fantastic dreams of the future.  I had a very creative mind. Like so many teens my age, I had a serious fascination with space and science fiction. I remember that through all the years of family bible study and forced meeting attendance I somehow was able to convince my religiously fanatic parents to allow me to carve out some daily time for my favorite TV show, Star Trek. Oh how I loved that show. I envisioned myself being part of that future where I could explore the unknown universe where I was sure there would be no Kingdom Halls.

At one point I had drawn elaborate plans for my own Starship Enterprise which I was going to launch from my backyard with a giant rubber band. I had dreams of going places and doing something really cool with my life. Perhaps being an astronaut may have been a bit far fethched but becoming an architect, an engineer or geologist were not.

Instead of being steered towards accomplishing my dreams, I was forced into the full time ministry as one on Jehovah's Witnesses. I recall my fathers words as if they were yesterday. He told me to either enter the full-time ministry or I cant live under his roof.  If I were 18 today in that situation I would have left. At 18 years of age I should have been off to college somplace, choosing an awesome career path, making lifelong friends, joining a fraternity and sleeping with young college girls. 

That would be a future I would never see. The college experience is deserving of EVERY single person in the world. It helps you think and can give you the very foundation to make a successful life. Success takes preparation. It would be years before I would see a college degree with my name on it. Although I am happy to have it, the affiliation and experiences are what I wish for most. I have met people that have had friends since high school and they have remained close until now. Growing up as a witness, I was shielded from making friends with my peers outside of the JW sect. Which means as a forever and happily disfellowshipped person, I am still trying to make connections and build friendships at my age. Really tough.

So, where am I going with this? If you are reading this and you are a disfellowshipped person and you are pretty young with your whole life in front of you, then stop trying to get back into the WATCHTOWER BORG and go to college! Leave the country, study abroad. Shed fear and doubt! Dont be scared of the WORLDLY PEOPLE, they will be some of the BEST people you will EVER meet. Trust me, I have no desire to steer you wrong. Do not waste your life on the shifting sands and wavering beliefs of this religious sect.

But what if you are older with a family and responsibilities? I think the same rules apply. If you have not earned your degree do it now. You will make friends, you  will learn how to think critically and you will build your own 'social construct'. You will have the choice to pick your own friends and make your own decisions and set your own path. I am here to tell you that having fear will hold you back.

I am still on my path to recovery. It is the hardest thing I have ever done. The busier I stay the better I feel. I write these blogs, not just for you but for me. Sharing my thoughts with you firms my stand and strengthens my resolve.

Hold your faith in yourself my friends!

Don' Go Back - Recovery Strategy #1

I have been happily disfellowshipped now for going on three years. And while I must admit I have had thoughts of going back and seeking resinstatement, I have resisted. Part of my strength comes from the amount of research I have done by using resources available to everyone on the internet. The many peope I have met in forums and other websites tell incredible stories of doubt and depression while living the lie within the organization. I have also read many stories of those who were thrust out, such as in my case but have made tremendous efforts to readjust and create productive lives for themselves. Recovery does not happen on its own or in due time. It requires sustained effort, deliberation.

For years the organization has strongly discouraged outside research, especially that which can be found on the internet. However, contrary to popular belief, much truth about the truth can be found on the internet. There are public information sites that discuss the vast real estate holdings of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society. You can find rich resources about the history of the organization, its founders and managing members all within the comfort of your closet.

I looked for internet forums with discussion boards where I could read, share and comment on the stories that others were sharing about their experiences now that they were officially no apart of the sect.  What I discoverded were stories that reflected almost to the exact same detail, my story. I also found a treasure trove of information about the sects history that would certainly shed light on the things they do today.

If you are serious about recovering from the abusive nature of this sect and you want to confirm your nagging doubts you have then you must do as the ancient Bereans did and do your research. Absorb yourself in reading all you can about the original founders and the history, including all their doctrinal changes. Have an open mind and heart when reading the stories of others or watching their YouTube videos. Learn as much as you can. Post your story online and comment on the stories of others. Ask questions and read their answers. You will be surprised at the level of support you will find as well as depth or resources that they can help you with.

Disfellowshipped - The Life of The Invisible Man - Update #1

Hello all,

Progress has been divine and I am happy to say that writing is both inspirational and therapeutic. Right now I am in the middle of writing chapter 5 and I am having a ball with word choices and humor. Why am I writing this book? It started out as a way for  me to begin the healing process. Then during my research I realized how many people were in a tremendous amount of pain from their experiences. I want to help them see that being disfellowshipped is really a gift, a key to freedom.

I also believe that if I bring to light the epic silliness of this whole organization and their processes with a sense of humor then others who struggle to leave might have a chance at realistic analysis.

I cant wait to share this with you.

New Book Coming - Status

I once considered that writing a book about my experiences growing up as a JW should be quite an easy undertaking. I figured that I would be able to write my story with truth mixed with a bit of whimiscal fair. However, I have discovered that writing about my journey in search of purity has been wrought with emotional ups and downs coupled with many, many painful memories that I had forgotten or filed far away from even my long-term memory. My story is not about bashing a religion. Its a story of absurdity in religion. Its a story told with utter honesty about my failings and my struggle to right the ship and reclaim my independence of thought and make something positive out of my life. The journey to strength and recovery is a long one. I have found a number of sites on line to help with the process in addition to seeing a therapist on a regualr basis. Check out the following website: www.jehovahswitnessrecovery.com. Alot of good peopke there and some great advice to help you in the recovery process.

I live in Chicago now and have joined several meetups of ex-JW's on the road to recovery. Great experiences thus far and I look forward to sharing those with you.

New Book Coming

Hello friends and supporters,

It has been a while since I have blogged my thoughts on the forgotten, the lost and invisible. I have been working on my first book that will detail my experience of being disfellowshipped, how I got there, how I survived it and enventually moved on to my own life filled with happiness, new loyal friends and a brand new loving family. The book is titled "DISFELLOWSHIPPED! My Life As The Invisible Man". It will first be published as an e-book and will be available in the Spring of 2014. It will be a very personal story filled with my personal failures and triumphs as well as advice to those who are stuck in this situation and realize that they have a decision to make. My story will make you laugh and it will make you take a serious look at how you spend your spiritual capital. Ideally, I would love for anyone who is one of Jehovah's Witnesses to read my story with an open mind. For anyone else that just wants to know what goes on when one gets disfellowshipped, you may decode the mystery with this MUST READ. Stay tuned for the good stuff...