A New Concept
It did turn out to be as I hoped, although, it was clear this would involve me in something I'd never thought about properly, but had already been through myself as a kid and youth. The two weeks passed passably enough and I remained in Canada. On Easter Sunday 1996 I popped the question, as it really was a question of get married or go back to the UK. By this time, despite the realisation that my future wife had some severe emotional issues due to the abuse by her first husband, I had become committed. We were married on June 15th 1996. Her three boys were wonderful, very intelligent, but carried the scars of abuse too. One, the middle one, was in Foster care and , following meetings with the welfare officers, was to start working on a return home by spending weekends with us,

During the winter of 1995/6 I began to write this story and spent many hours early in the morning typing away on the increasingly familiar keyboard. Normally, the first I knew of the awakening of my wife, was through the hot air ducts as she bellowed into it "ADAM", (name changed), "Wake up and get your ass upstairs" Vulgar would be one description I reckon, abusive, the other. It was time for more education in the effects of persistent domestic abuse and how it affects the behaviours of the abused thereafter. My life was taking a dramatic new turn.

The breakfast war would start, normally ending with mother beating son, or sons. I tried to stick with the programme, keep the peace, and be supportive of both sides,whilst erring towards the maternal authority. That was a real tester, let me tell you. I found myself embroiled in conflicts deliberately set up by my wife. If I raised my voice in response, she would flinch. If I stood in anger, she would shrink back in her chair, expecting a thrashing, that was not going to come. If, heaven forbid, I took the side of one of her sons in a dispute, all hell would break loose.

School days were always a battle and one or other boy would find it necessary to seek the negative attention of their mother. I saw the eldest having his mouth washed with soap, and heard the same boy being pummelled on his back, as his enraged mother sat astride him on his bed. There are too many occasions to mention really, but suffice to say, this pattern of abuse never stopped, whilst he lived in the house. I talked with him regularly about the problems and how he could think.

The middle son was different. We attended regular counselling sessions with him. He was obviously quite disturbed with a profound sense of justice that he would almost die for.

It was during the weekend visits that I began to learn about Greg,(name changed) the middle son. Not a weekend would pass without a major conflict between brothers, with Greg at the centre. On occasion, his eyes would glaze over and he would become extremely violent, requiring passive restraint. Eventually, he would pass out, coming too a little while later, not remembering what had happened. I found it very unnerving, despite the workers', assigned to Greg, explanation that this behaviour was attention seeking as a result of the abuse and in anticipation of further abuse. The poor kid just "flipped out", when he was being brought to book about some misdemeanour or another. Meantime, I was trying to get my head around the fact that abused people always look for abuse as they go through life. Worse yet, I learned that abused people will seek out an abusive partner, ensuring similarly abused children, who endure a vicious circle of pain and heartbreak as they unwittingly continue the cycle. SO much for removing negativity from my life!

This marks the end of what was written for the original story. I am currently working on the remainder,which will be published here.