On 2003-10-11 20:49:00, Carey wrote:
"Ginger, I respect you and your insight on this topic, but I do not agree with you that the parents are "brainwashed." Maybe they are easily influenced by others, but they are not brainwashed. "
Ok, let me give you a little more info. As you may have gathered from some of my prior writing, I'm one of those old fashioned daughters who held my father in the highest regard and have been happily married to a guy who has a lot of the same good qualities for pretty close to 20 years. I don't like to trash my dad, especially now that he's gone. But I'll tell you this story so that maybe you can understand a little bit.
My dad and I always got along, which drove my mother absolutely NUTS. She had been a devoute follower of AA since her father had become, as my dad described him and others like him, a "professional alcoholic". When my mom kicked my dad out of the house, he moved into a little shack on a farm owned by a friend of his in exchange for keeping up the property. This is not a hard luck story here, this is how my dad prefered to live. He loved it! He could have as many cars and air conditioners and other toys as he wanted in various stages of repair. And he had two refigerators in that little place; one stocked with Busch and the other with PBR to accomodate his friends who took to seeking refuge there at Crazy Mac's little shack.
Coincidentally or not, this was around the same time my older brothers went into The Seed.
Since she couldn't influence me to lose affection or respect for my dad, she started working on his confidence in me. It took awhile, but eventually she got him convinced that, just like all 5 of my older brothers and sisters, I was, indeed, a druggie in need of treatment. It was really insideous as hell. I think she knew, on some level, just what she was doing.
She would do bizarre things. One time I had a crush on one of my older cousin's friends. We were all going out to dinner together and, on the way from the car to the restaurant, she calls out LOUDly from like 20 feet away "Ging, did you remember to change your tampon?". And she wouldn't let it go, she went on to note that I was wearing white pants and how unfortunate it would be to have an accident.
She tortured me emotionally and then blamed the effects on all these wild parties and drugs that I'd never even seen or dared to try for fear of getting put in the Program.
I could go into a lot of detail here about how my dad changed ever so slightly over the years from being completely hostile to Art Barker, another "professional alcoholic". But I doubt anyone really wants to read all that. So I'll cut to the chase.
When I split the program for the final time, I didn't know it, but my dad was making headlines. He had been wrongfully fired from the Postal Service and, after about 5 years of not making any progress through the normal channels of grievance and civil court, he staged a PR stunt to bring attention to his case. The PS folks had claimed that he was physically disabled and refused disability retirement and so that's why they had to fire him. So he walked right up US1 from the Pompano Beach, Florida post office all the way to the Postmaster General's office on US1 in Washington, D.C. with a hand made sign on his back pack that read "DISABLED HELL!"
I found out about this when I got to my brother's house in Stone Mountain, Georgia. Dad was passing through S.C. about that time and my brother drove over and picked him up so he could come visit and rest for awhile before continuing his treck.
I didn't know it at the time, but Dad was absolutely furious with the damned program once again. All those years he'd emptied his pockets, solicited donations of cash and food for them. Now that all he needed was a thousand bucks or so so that he could spend more than on in 7 nights in a hotel and a little publicity, instead he got condemned by the parents group for endangering the lives of all of their children by trying to selfishly divert money and resources from the Program to his stupid, quixotic grudge trip.
Never the less, more than he hated those people and their ways at that time, he sincerely believed that I was going to die if I didn't go back and sit in that warehouse till Staff deemed me done to a turn, even if it took
another two years. Mind you, I was not out selling my ass or binging or anything like that. Never have. I had just tried to enroll in high school, but couldn't because my mom refused to release my school transcript from Florida. So I got a job at Arby's instead.
The day before I was to start work, I decided to go clock my walk to the nearest bus stop to make sure I'd be on time. Just about the time I got there, a cop pulls up and asks me my name, where I'm going, what I'm doing, etc. I didn't know exactly what, but I knew something was up. So I was very polite, not to mention very frightened!
It turns out, my dear old dad, who normally never told a lie (unless it was a funny story) had called the police and told them that he'd seen me, a known addict, in a store. He knew I didn't have any money (which, thankfully, was an error on his part) and so he was sure I was there to shoplift. He thought that if he could get me arrested, the Program supporters in the Cobb County force (where the newest Straight facility had just opened) would make sure I got put back in Group.
Carey, my dad was a brilliant man just on raw intillect. He was one of those hard assed WWII Navy vets who had become a man under fire. He held himself to the highest standards of responsibility and ethics straight out of the Bluejacket Manual, which he kept on his book shelf instead of a Bible. And he had an extremely low threshhold for bullshit from people who habitually failed to meet his standards.
And Carey, the man was brainwashed. A year or so later, he was, indeed, very sorry for his part in putting 5 out of 6 of us kids through the wash. He told me in words one day that it had been a mistake, he'd been taken in and how he should have seen it coming and we never spoke of it ever again. We didn't need to. He showed me by his actions that he was sorry. For the rest of his days, regardless of what the rest of the family thought, he treated me with respect and affection and I remain so very grateful to him for snapping out of it and, finally, choosing me over those brainwashed zombies.
Differnt folks have different ways. Some want to fight through the legal system. Some let sleeping dogs lie. I have no reason to doubt the sincerity of the parents who are now suing WWASP on behalf of their children. You should understand that it's not like ordering a pizza. It's an excruciating proccess, very expensive and very risky. I hope they win and I hope a little more of the truth trickles or floods out as a result.
Power concedes nothing without a demand. The limit of oppression is determined by the extent of the endurance of the oppressed.
--Frederick Douglas
_________________
Ginger Warbis ~ Antigen
American drug war P.O.W.
10/80 - 10/82
Straight South (Sarasota, FL)
Anonymity Anonymous