Another plate, knife and fork..

That was my intrinsic reaction when my mum told me she was expecting again. Inwardly I groaned. I know I groaned when I was twelve and she told me, and I'm pretty sure I groaned when she told me when I was nine too. That was sisters number three and four.

Looking at this yesterday with me therapist.. it has opened another deep well of pain and grudge. I remember dad saying that he'd never wanted children (maybe when I was around 12), et voila. Five children later he broadcasts the fact to the world by putting up a notice at the school he was teaching at saying "Happy is the man who has his quiver full". If only that had applied to my dad!

My therapist asked me how my oldest daughter felt when we told her she was going to become a big sister. Apart from the fact that she was only two and a half at the time she was excited I replied. He then asked me to compare with how I'd felt.

And suddenly I saw a whole host of hiding emotions. My wife nor I had ever put any sense of expectation or responsibility on my oldest reference her new sister. We had played with both, were delighted and overjoyed at them both throughout their early childhood.

Compare and contrast.

For me another sister meant not only another plate, knife and fork to wash up. But another sister to babysit. Another sister who would require their nappies to be changed. Another sister taking up more room in the house. Another sister requiring looking after. I mean - why would anyone else want to join our family? My parents would leave me in charge from a very early age. Even if it was just on the back row at church. Mum would be singing, dad would be preaching, and I would be looking after my sisters. From six years old? From ten years old? And I was petrified of any of them acting up - as that would mean I would get it in the neck from dad.

See nothing was allowed to interfere with dad, as if they did the consequences would be dire. If he was preparing a sermon, getting ready for church, going to work, wanting to rest, wanting to watch TV, anything really, and I got in his way. WHAM. An eruption the size of a volcano, and very often physical violence accompanied it. Anything relating to church took on yet another level of untouchability. It was like touching the Lord's Annointed.

Everything we did, said, acted and sang was all to the "glory of God" - except of course it wasn't. It was all to the glory of our family, my mum and dad especially. It was as if we were really well behaved in church, and others commented on us in a positive way, it was a positive validation of my parents. Where did that leave us, us mere kids? Or more specifically me? Road kill. And it wasn't pretty. All on my insides, whilst on the outside I shined like the rest of them.

Crap. How different could it be. Another sister meant another mouth to feed. It was if I had personal responsibility. I wasn't six feet tall and strong. But I could try and mitigate the negative affects of my dad. The railings, the shoutings, the fear, the terror, the violence, the threats, the imposing sense of dread and doom. Maybe that's why my sisters still look up to me so much, and why I really don't want anything to do with them. Because I'm still trapped in that little boy. And that little boy is terrified of my dad walking in. And I have to somehow protect my sisters whilst looking after them. Babysitting them. Getting tea. Laying the table, clearing the table, washing up, putting away.

It's not like I had to do everything, as mum was ok as a mum. But I still carried the responsibility without anyway of being able to talk it through with anyone. When I asked for prayer when I was around nine years old at Sunday School (prayer for my dad because he got so angry) my mum found me out and took me to task "don't ever wash our dirty laundry in public, don't you realise how much you've hurt dad?". Evern though I intrisincly knew she was wrong, it did mean I never spoke to anyone again.

So. A little boy, who's terrified of his dad, who has to look after his sisters, and can't talk to anyone and can't process his poor little emotions.

And now at almost forty, I feel the depth and width and groaning of that pain, and need to process it so that I am not stuck in childhood. So that I can let go of the need to be responsible, whilst hating it at the same time. I may be free for the first time to work out what I want to do. Where I want to go. Not to have to wait till 10.30 at night before I feel free - as my wife has gone to bed.

How crap is that? It's like all the things I do are alone or with friends. But never with family or my wife. Because that is far too reminiscent of my childhood - one where I had no choices and was stuck. Now when I feel stuck I want to get out. Take photos, upload photos, go fishing, play on the xbox. At 10;30 I want to watch films, play on the xbox and when I finally do go to bed I want to read for hours. That's MY time, escaped from everyone else, no responsibility. Free to do what I want. Except that I feel guilty. As I'm not in bed with my wife..

Groan. Lord help me to process this pain..