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So, two friends and I got to talking about Child Abuse. They way it works out is funny. See, older to youngest, the oldest friend was abused the most/worst, the middle was the middle, and than me, the youngest, was abused the least. If we're going on physical stuff only.

So we get to talking about that, and I mention this huge black spots in my memory where I don't remember anything. And both the friends say the black spots are important. The oldest one says it's part of some big huge problem I'm not seeing and I need to find out what happened. Okay. Whatever.

So it's a thirty minute drive to my second work place (I stay there for three days). And I'm with my mom. So I figure, what the hell, why not ask her?

I mean. I'm not falling for this "I need to know" crap, because I don't. I really don't. I'm apathetic toward learning what's in the huge black holes. But i was bored. And it was a car ride. So why th ehell not.

"Hey, mom, could you summarize my childhood from age.. uh.. 3 to.. 11?"
"What? Like what?" She says.
"Like, uh, psychological stuff"
"Nothing" She replies. "I can't think of anything."
"Like, stuff that I may have seen that could've cause psycholigical trauma?"
"Nothing," She says.

"Like dad being abusive," I finally muck out.
"He wasn't abusive."
Oh. Great. I like where this conversation is going. Silence for a good ten minutes.

"So, uh, what happened between age 3 and 11?"
"I don't know. Be more specific."
"Uh, like, bad stuff. Like B goin crazy"(B's my brother)

Basically, the only think new I learned is that B had a penchant for smashing his fists and head into the wall all the time, an dmy mom couldn't gethim to the hospital when she tried. My brother then went to school and cried wolf, so to speak, and the school wa slike "OHNOES! Childabusers!" and then I said something about not remembering social workers coming over, and she said that a.) They went to the school, so no social workers came over, and b.) They were trying to hide it from me.

"Well, you did a good job." I say.
"Good. We were trying to hide a lot of stuff from you. We didn't want you to be affected." Ha! Affected my a**.

So more silence. We end up going someplace wrong and get lost, so we have more time to talk about this.. awkward situation.

"So.. Did Dad do anything to me? Did I see anything that would've, you know, given me trauma... Because he was abusive?"
My mom replies firmly with, "You father wasn't abusive. What is this?"
"Uh. Therapy." I reply.
"Therapy? You should go back into therapy. Start taking your meds again." Always blames stuff on the meds. Ever since I stopped taking them she wouldn't stop blaming all my problems on them. It's like she's trying to guilt me into taking the meds. Fun.
"No! This therapy is better! It's free!" but back to the topic at hand, we argue about how my dad was or was not abusive during that time. Or more like "You tell me why you think he was abusive" and I say "No, you tell me why you think he WASN'T".

Pretty much bickering about who should tell what, and it ends up on her telling me why she thinks he was not. She says this:
"You father was like that to everyone. He wasn't abusive. He was like that to everybody. To B, to you. To everybody."
Oh, okay, I'm thinking. So because you're "equally racist" to everyone, that makes you not a racist? Going back to the old addage there.
But I said this, instead:
"Just because it isn't physical, doesn't mean it isn't abuse."

"I know that. He was strict. Just because he was strict does not mean he was abusive."

Silence. The trip ended like that. We never spoke of it again.
And here I had a good trust circle with my mom. No more.

Those black spots are gonna remain black. And you know what? I couldn't care less.