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 "Cyndi's Story"I wasn't raised in any kind of a "normal" family situation. For the first 6 years of my life I was raised by my mothers parents. I had no idea what a mother, father or brothers or sisters were. I only knew that is who I lived with. I can remember going to visit my mom and new daddy and brother, (who is 21 months younger than me) in Maryland for a few months and being beat with a leather belt when I was about 4 years old. I was accused of letting the air out of daddys tires on his car, and then lying about it. I was constantly told that I had been nothing but trouble since I arrived. After the last beating, when daddy split his belt in half, and bruised my bare bottom so bad I couldn't sit, I remember my grandmother showing up and packing my suitcases and taking me back home with her. I was so happy to see her. I was even more happy to be "going home".
The summer before I started school, I went on vacation with my grandparents to Old Orchard Beach in Maine. Little did I know that would be the last fun time I'd spend with them. When we returned from vacation, I was packed up and brought to see mommy again and told this time I will have to live with them, because I was going to be starting school soon. We didn't travel as far as we did the last time I went to see her. Mom and my new daddy had moved to Massachusetts again. This time we were in a newer house and I had my own bedroom. I loved my room. I spent a lot of time in there playing with my toys, and daydreaming. I learned early on, from my first visit with them, that when daddy comes home, we are to be quiet and on our best behavior. I dreaded when I knew it was time for him to come home. I knew the yelling and bad words were going to start. My brother and I were to stay out of his sight until we were called for supper. Our food was put on our plates and we were to eat everything served to us, like it or not we had to eat it. If we didn't clean our plates, it was served to us over and over again until it was gone, and we were either spanked or stood in a corner for what felt like an eternity then shipped to bed. I was really beginning to hate that man I had to call "daddy". I didn't like him at all. He never hugged me or played games with me like my grandfather and grandmother did when I was with them. Very rarely were we allowed to watch television. When I was in first grade, I could read and write my own name. (Something my grandparents taught me to do.) I had fun in school, learning to do other things, and help the other kids in my class with new words and learning to write their names. I always came home with awards or prizes of some kind. I was so proud of them. I kept them all in my room where I could look at them whenever I wanted to. I remember coming home from school one day and going to my room to find my awards and prizes ripped up and thrown all over my room. I started crying and went downstairs and asked who ruined my prizes.... no one knew. I ran back upstairs cryng. A few months after starting school we moved to a bigger house about a block away. I wasn't allowed to leave the yard to play with other kids, and had the responsibility to watch my brother and new baby sister when she was old enough to walk. As time went on, two more brothers and another sister came along and I was to watch them and keep them out of trouble when I had them outside with me. I was seeing less and less of my grandparents. When I was in the 3rd grade, a lot of changes were starting to happen. The physical beatings were a weekly event and being told I was a "used kid" and would never amount to anything were said more and more often. The last time I saw my grandfather was on my birthday when he asked if I had made a list of what I wanted for Christmas. I went to my room and handed it to him. That year, for Christmas, I got the 3 things I wanted (from my grandfather), and other things that mom and dad had bought. With so many of us kids, the room was filled with toys. That morning, I woke up and found us 4 older kids got bikes also. My sister and younger brother got new bikes with hand brakes, and my brother and I got used old antique bikes. When I asked why I got an old bike, I was told that I was ungrateful and very selfish and should be grateful I got anything. A week later my grandfather died in the hospital. I was so close to him, that I woke up in the middle of the night because I was sick to my stomach. I knew somthing was wrong before anyone told me. I knew what had happened. I wasn't allowed to go to the wake or funeral, because "children don't belong there." Shortly after that, we all would go to see my dads cousin who had just moved to the same city we lived in. There were 5 people in their family, dads cousin, his wife, their 2 sons, and dads uncle. That is about the time the sexual abuse started with dads uncle. It got to be that every week we ALL had to go visit him. How I hated his secret touches, and then have to hide money he would force me to take. I used to try to throw the money away in the trash, or in the sewer when we got home. I was caught putting the money in the sewer and was beat with the belt again for telling tales about where it came from, and for lying. I was called every name in the book, and from the tone of daddys voice, I knew they were bad words. After my beating, I cried for hours. I even asked "GOD" to punish the awful old man who smelled and tasted terrible. I guess God didn't believe me either, because he lived for another 6 years. I was angry that my grandfather had left me, and now this horrible creature was doing these terrible things to me that made me feel sick.
I tried to go on with my everyday routine; getting the kids ready for school in the morning and feeding them breakfast, and then watching them after school until I had to come in and help get supper ready, do the dishes and get the kids ready for bed and then go to bed myself. The sexual abuse continued until I was about 13 years old, when I heard he had died from a heart attack. I was never so happy in my whole life. When I was in 7th to 9th grades (jr. high school) I had to walk home from school, and had to be there before the younger kids got home from school. It was about a mile away, and I only had 15 minutes to be home, regardless of the weather or road conditions. One day I was 3 minutes late (and yes, I was timed), and got a beating, again with the belt, and was accused of doing "things" to the boys in school. I was also grounded to my room and only allowed to leave my room to go to school, and eat meals. I remember hearing mom tell dad that he was punishing her by grounding me. If I was to stay in my room..... how was I to watch the kids and how was she to get any housework done. My punishment only lasted 2 days. That year ( 7th grade) I started having blackout spells. I was tested and retested, and nothing was ever found. Dad decided that I was doing it for attention and refused any more testing done. In December, Christmas eve, my younger brother and sister wanted to play with the last gifts my grandfather had given me and I said they couldn't play with them. I said no. I didn't want anyone to touch those things..... they meant too much to me to let the younger kids break them. Dad heard me tell mom "no" and said I was to never tell her NO again. I looked at him and told him she was my mother before she was his wife. The next thing I saw was stars.
I was punched in the eye. I knew I was hurt real bad this time. We were all to go to dads parents house that night to celebrate and open a few gifts. My eye was swollen shut in a matter of minutes, and I didnt want to go anywhere looking like this. I was forced to get ready to go anyway, and was instructed to "lie" when asked what happened to me. When we arrived, naturally everyone there was curious, and I didn't answer anyone. I just sat there. I told everyone they could ask dad what happened. After all his preaching about lying and how much he hated them..... he was lying to everyone telling them I had another "one of those spells and fell down the stairs". I was so furious, I called him a liar in front of everyone there. I knew I was in for a beating when I got home that night (again). The rest of the night was very quiet. When we returned home, I went straight to my room and went to bed. I didn't want to get up the next morning. The physical abuse seemed to be less frequent, and I couldn't wait to be 18! I was going to leave! In my Junior year of High School, I met my future (first husband). I ended up marrying him, for all the wrong reasons, in January of 1973. I didn't see the emotional abuse he was using on me, which was later, after we were married would lead to another round of physical abuse. He threatened if I didn't marry him before I graduated, that he would commit suicide and I would be blamed for it and go to prison for the rest of my life for murder. I don't know why, but I believed him. We gave my mom and step father 2 weeks to prepare for this wedding. We got married in a small church, with mostly my step fathers relatives in attendance. My husbands side didn't show up because they didnt get a "formal invitation". Just his mother, father, 2 sisters and brother showed up. As we walked to the back of the church to receive our guests, he was pinching me (under my arm near my arm pit where the skin is very sensitive and no one will see). He told me I belonged to him now and that I was his property, just like his car, and I was to do everything I was told to do, like it or not. Our first apartment was next door to my grandmothers house. We were married 3 days when he locked me in my cedar chest. He said he wanted to see how long I could breathe before I passed out or died. (To this day I hate the smell of cedar and I can't stand closed in places.) When we were married 6 weeks he joined the Air Force and was shipped to Lackland Air Force Base in Texas. The 8 weeks I didn't see him were the most peaceful weeks of my life. I didn't drive at the time, and we didn't have a phone, so his father would come over a few times a week to make sure I was okay, and would take me grocery shopping if I needed to go. He and I always got along. After he got out of basic training, his father paid for air fare to go to see him. I was in Texas for 6 weeks. Again, I was reminded that I was his property, and he belonged to the government, not to me. He got up late for schooling one morning, and I was awakened to the sound of things being thrown around, and a lot of swearing. I was blamed for him shutting off the alarm clock and going back to sleep. Needless to say when he returned after schooling that day, I got the wind beat out of me so bad, I thought I had broken ribs. I couldn't take any more and fought back. He ended up with big scratches on his face. I had had enough of being beat and pushed around.
When his schooling was done, he was stationed at Westover Air Force Base just outside of Springfield, Massachusetts. In November (the day before Thanksgiving) I found out I was pregnant. We were going to have a baby! I was so excited!! I really was happy about it. When I told him of the test results, he got upset, saying he had to call his mother. They talked for a good hour on the phone, and then hung up. He told me she was going to call back after making a few phone calls. I told him I wanted to call my mom and tell her that she was going to be a grandmother. He said I could after his mother called back. As soon as he was done talking to her, he told me I was to pack a suitcase because we were going to go on vacation to New York for a few days. I had no idea what he and his mother talked about as I was not allowed to listen in on his conversations with anyone. (At that time it was very hard to get a legal abortion in Massachusetts). I told him again I wanted to call my mom, and he told me she was a bad influence on me as I was to have nothing to do with her anymore. I walked up to the phone, picked up the receiver, and was ready to dial, when he grabbed my arm and forced the phone into my face, and with his other hand, he punched me in the jaw. I started screaming. (Apparently loud enough for the people downstairs to hear me and they called the police.) The city police said they could do nothing because he was in the military and I was to contact his CO on base. I went to the hospital, told them I was about 3 months pregnant, and was punched in the face by my husband. They had to do x-rays. My nose was broken and needed to be reset, and my most of my teeth were cracked. I told the doctors what happened and they said there was nothing they could do except treat me and send me home. I called his CO the next morning and told him what happened. He said there was nothing he could do to help becasue it happened off base. I was so angry! He was getting away with beating me! The following 6 months were pure hell. He accused me of sleeping with the elderly man in the wheelchair on the second floor and then with the priests across the street. He denied this baby was his even though he had me locked in the apartment. (He put deadbolt locks on the outside of the doors to keep me from getting out.) I was beat and thrown around on a dialy basis "just for breathing". He threatened that if this baby was not a boy, I would certainly pay for it when I got out of the hospital! How I prayed it would be a boy so I wouldn't be beat again. It was the night before my due date and he thought it would be funny to see a "fat bitch" walk around the apartment with all his gear on to see the "work he did all night to protect his country". I went into labor at 5:05 the next morning, and delivered a beautiful baby girl at 2:09 that afternoon. I was so scared while in labor, that they ended up putting me to sleep. When I came to in the recovery room, he was right there sitting beside me. As soon as the nurse was done taking my vital signs, he whispered into my ear that we had a "girl" and would "pay for it" when I got home. I asked to see my little girl and was told that she is going through a routine checkup and I'd be able to see her shortly. I was taken to my room, and again asked if I could see my baby. They said they were waiting for the doctor to finish up with the other babies and he would bring her to me and talk to me. Come to find out, my baby was born with birth marks on her back and Hemangioma on her right buttocks cheek and down her right leg. When he saw what she looked like he told me I couldn't even make a baby perfect, that I was no good and useless. The woman that shared the room with me overheard what he said to me. After he left, she went for a walk to the nursery and talked to both a doctor and a nurse and told them that she was afraid for me. I found out later, that the marks on her were caused from stress or anxiety, or the x-rays I was subjected to when I was 3 months pregnant, or because of the meds he had been on prior to my getting pregnant. (Personally, I blame all three reasons). We moved on to the base in October of 1974. The beatings continued and they were getting much worse. In January of 1975, he threw me down a flight of stairs and had a hammer in his hand threatening to smash my head in for overcooking his steak. He swung the hammer with all his force, and missed my head by 2 inches and put a hole in the cement cellar floor 3 inches deep. That was it. I couldn't live like this anymore! He got up, went upstairs, grabbed his car keys and took off. While he was gone, I packed up all of my daughters belongings, and a few of my things, and called my mother. Up until that point, if I did call my mother to tell her I was beat up again, I could hear my step father in the background telling her that I must have done something to deserve it. My step fathers cousin lived just outside the base, and he showed up with his pick up truck to bring me back to my mothers house. I walked out and left him what was his, nothing else. I cried all the way back to my mothers house. I filed for a divorce the next day, and he was served papers on our second anniversary. My divorce took 18 months to go through. When we went to court for custody of our daughter, he lied through his teeth, to get custody of a precious little girl he had denied was his! He paid 15 men in the Air Force each $100 to sign a military affidavit swearing they slept with me, and with that he was granted custody. I ended up in a psych hospital for 4 weeks because he would call and threaten to "come and get me" and he knew my every move down to what I was wearing that day and what I bought. I didn't see my little girl for almost 14 years. Meanwhile, he became a police officer in the next city, (did you know in the state of Massachusetts Police officers do not need an FID to carry their guns? The did not have to undergo periodic psychiatric evaluations either.... strange huh...for such a stressful job?) He was divorced from wife # 4 in December of 1997. When he found out our daughter and I were meeting...he was threatening to shoot himself if she saw me again.... How stable is that? His life is his problem.... I wish he would, so the rest of us would not have to worry about a "Psycho Cop" walking the streets! In the meantime, I met and married a wonderful man who stood by me while I was going through my divorce and custody battle. In fact, he paid for most of my divorce. He and I have been happily married for almost 22 years now, we have 4 beautiful children together, and 5 beautiful grandchildren. He has never once raised a hand to me or yelled at me or had fits of rage. He is my life, and I couldn't live without him. Thank you Bill.... for always being here for me, for being my rock and always making me feel like your equal....I love you! 
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"Karen's Story" In Loving Memory of Karen Ann Keeton is no longer available. | |||||||||
|    Graphics by Bimsan Last Updated - 8 / 2 / 09
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