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lb_leePrevious Chunks: see index!
That is a power that no one should have. But in our family, everyone but the ultimate loser had it. Everyone in the hierarchy except that one poor schmuck would have nigh-absolute power over somebody (and us and Bro switched places enough that we could be kept at each other’s throats, fighting not to be on the bottom).
Evil in stories has a core of tragedy and motive, but in reality, it’s a screamingly frustrating emptiness. Maybe when you read about us beating up our brother, you projected fiction’s sensibilities into it—we were doing it because we’d been brutalized ourself, we did it to get control, or because Dad made us, or any one of a million things that could make it comprehensible and less awful.
But that’s not why we did it. We did it because it was easier. It was easier to beat up our little brother than it was to question our family rules, say, “no,” or even think for ourself. We could’ve easily walked away; he was too small to run the fight himself. But we didn’t, because that required effort.
In our family, evil is effortless, an intense moral laziness, refusing to look too carefully at one’s actions or motives. It defies all attempts at rationalizing and justification, because it is based on avoidance of reason or care. I doubt our parents thought about what they were doing much at all.
It is not at all hard to find historical precedent of groups of people rigging up their rules to allow horrendous acts of sexual violence and taking advantage of it without ever being considered evil or bad. If you’re interested in learning about folks who managed it in other contexts, and often on a way larger scale than our family, check out McGuire, the Investigative Staff at the Boston Globe, and Scully and Marola in the Recommended Reading Section in the back.
Another thing to be aware of is, our family was rewarded for their behavior. It benefited them. Our father and grandfather got to have sex on exactly their terms, with whoever couldn’t stop them. They never had to compromise, be vulnerable, or experience rejection. Our mother got to have similar privileges with her children, if not her spouse. All three attackers got to vent their emotions at the lower-downs whenever it was convenient for them, at whatever intensity they felt like. They didn’t have to show self-control at home, the way other people do. And everyone below them coddled their every whim, knowing the penalty should they stop.
And as for us and Bro… we got to brutalize each other and rest easy in the assurance that if we just waited until we got old enough, soon we would be the top dogs, and we too would get all those privileges. We could even pretend we’d earned them, by virtue of nobly climbing through the ranks over the years.
When we think of our little brother breaking into our room at night, once he got bigger and stronger than us, part of us thinks that he did it because we taught him. We chose to hurt him and in the process, we taught him that the hierarchy was right—that it was eat or be eaten, rape or be raped.
We made that choice as children. Now we’re adults, and we will make choices to insure we never, ever become that person again.
The Tragedy of Our Family
The worst part of all this is, we are only one small part of a much greater tragedy, the vast majority of which we will never know. The horror-train chugged up steam long before we were born, and it will barrel on after we’re all dead. All we can do is take cold comfort in having escaped.
Though after AllFam ended, we did get to learn one thing about our mother’s family, from our last conversation with Bro, who drunk-dialed us:
So, that might explain why our mother’s family was so tight-knit, why they never turned on Grampa. He was not only their sole economic support (Grandma was sick); he was their sole protection from foster care. Child Services may have only given the kids back because they thought Grampa would keep Grandma in line! And even Grampa may have been fleeing from his own predecessor—family legend had it that he lied about his age to fight in World War II, which doesn’t suggest a happy home life.
As monstrous as our mother became, she’s a tragedy. She went from one abuser to another, became one herself, she’s miserable, and she’s never going to escape or change. She, of all people, would know the effects of heinous abuse on a child… and she still brutalized them anyway. And so did Lois, and Uncle J, and Bro, and on and on and on. It’s like our family is cursed to eternally cannibalize itself.
Our Family and Their Response
Lois and Mom’s Family
Lois has left teaching. AllFam 4 came out in January 2016, and she left her position in May, despite being too young to take retirement. She moved to Hawaii. (Though from what I can tell, her house, which she inherited from Grampa, is still in the family’s possession, if not hers. So maybe she’s living off rental income.)
We have no idea if she left due to AllFam, or if it was coincidence. We’ll never know. But we’re glad that she’s no longer working with children. We don’t know if she was dangerous without Grampa’s influence, but we’re pretty sure that she fed some of her students to him. She taught underprivileged, mostly immigrant children, who are more culturally acceptable targets and have more to fear from going to the police, and white women are rarely considered sexually dangerous. Her public persona of “super teacher” who won awards and grants would’ve made her seem less likely an attacker. And those children’s shorts she and Grampa just happened to have on hand came from somewhere; none of our relatives were the right size, but her students would’ve been… and they also would’ve been squarely in Grampa’s preferred victim age. (She taught mostly third and fourth graders, and we were probably eleven at the time.)
None of our relatives on Mom’s side have attempted to contact us. Why would they?
--to be concluded in PART 14!
Murder Grampa transcript
2016, February 3: Bro drunk-dials us, going, "So, did you hear about THE MURDER?"
Blobby LB sweeps all their crap off their desk and flail for pencil and paper. "Uh, no Bro... why don't you tell me about it?"
"Kay!" he goes. "Y'know how Mom always said her real dad committed suicide when she was two? Nope! MURDER! Grandma got charged! So Mom'n'all were all put in foster care for one and a half to three years! Crazy, right? (hic)"
As he talks, pictures of Grandma and Grampa's gravestones appear. Grampa's reads Beloved Parents, while Grandma's says Together Again. Not even joking, swear on their graves. Bio-grandfather's tombstone has only an invisible shape--it doesn't exist with the other two.
Meanwhile, Rogan is at front, holding the phone to his ear and slumped over the desk, with hastily jotted notes in front of him. He looks resigned; nothing this family does surprises him anymore. "That... explains a lot, Bro," he says. "Thanks."
Meanwhile, M.D. just stands there, hands spread and mouth open, but uncharacteristically stunned silent. What do you even SAY to that?
But Bro keeps talking. "'Ey! 'EY! Why you lie 'bout us, sis? Why you make up all'a this... this stuff?"
Rogan's expression chills. "I'm not lying, Bro."
But that just upsets him more. "YES YOU ARE! (sob) YOU FUGGIN' LIE! YOU WERE THE SMART ONE! AND NOW YER A CRAZY LIAR!"
The words hit home; it shows in Rogan's face. But then Bro says, "YOUR FAM'LY LOVES YOU AN' YOU STAB US IN THE BACK, SIS!" And Rogan rages out.
Zoom out to Biff, who's outside the room, but whose attention is drawn by Rogan shouting, out of view, "Our family is full of rapists, and EVERYONE KNOWS IT BUT YOU!"
Biff comes into the doorway and leans on it, exchanging looks with M.D., who hunches uncomfortably in the background while Rogan continues bellowing, tears streaming down his cheeks, "ASK GRANNY! ASK MOM! Ask ANYONE, and they'll fucking tell you about Grampa!"
"Now, don't get upset, sis..."
"I'M NOT UPSET!"
M.D. fidgets uncomfortably and stares on wide-eyed; she's never seen Rogan wig out like this before. Biff puts a comforting hand on her shoulder while, off-panel, Rogan says, quiet now, "I'm not upset..." and hangs up.
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Date: 2019-10-03 03:09 am (UTC)