By
Steve Simpson
“You are one stupid kid,
you know that? Stupid and useless! Why did God curse me with a moron like
you?”
I can still hear those
words as clearly as if my father was standing across from me in the kitchen,
beer in hand, snarling and cursing.
I was defiant to a point and acted as if the words meant nothing to
me. But whoever said, ‘sticks and stones may break my bones, but
words will never hurt me’ didn’t grow up in my house. The words were weapons that almost drove
me to take my own life…almost. It’s
simple. Tell a child he’s stupid and useless often enough and he’ll believe
it. I did.
In school I
struggled. I called myself a ‘Z’
student – as far away from ‘A’ as possible. Besides, what chance did a stupidand useless kid have in school? So I didn’t try and I didn’t care. Instead, I made jokes or picked fights
to get attention and worked hard to cheat on tests. It’s ironic. I was smart enough to be a good cheat
but not smart enough to be a good student.
My friends would say, “Why don’t you study instead of trying to find ways
to cheat.” I thought that was bad
advice. The problem was self
esteem. I had none. I honestly believed that even if I
studied I would fail. I honestly
believed I was stupid and useless.
My father was a
violently abusive alcoholic. I
endured the physical abuse by developing thick skin and a high tolerance for
pain. But I never developed
adequate defenses against the verbal abuse. By the time I started the first grade I
believed I was a failure. I also
formed a negative opinion of adults around me and was consistently aggressive
with teachers. The aggression was a defensive reaction to my fear that they
would say or do something to me. Even though the logical part of me
believed my father’s abusiveness was wrong, the child in me believed I deserved
it. I believed I was a bad kid and
God’s curse on my father. I thought
the problems in the house were entirely my fault. Like so many other victims of child
abuse, I thought I was responsible for my father’s drinking problem.
Eventually I ended up in
foster care…and it literally saved my life. Since my foster home was in a different
area, I was sent to a new school.
My new school’s administration was complaining because they hadn’t
received my previous transcripts.
(I’m quite confident the previous school had burned them for fear I would
return.) Bottom line, the new teachers didn’t know
I had been a lousy student. On the
first day, I received a creative writing assignment. Even though I had struggled in school
and firmly believed I was stupid and useless, I loved to write. I would ditch school just to sit in the
public library reading and writing poetry.
It was my lone peaceful outlet.
When the teacher read the short story I’d written she told me I was a
talented writer. She might as well
have been speaking Latin.
Compliments were not a part of my childhood lexicon. Eventually I allowed myself to accept
what she had said. I was talented,
right? She told me I was. Was this possible?
Shortly thereafter, I joined a
support group for teenagers who had similar backgrounds. It was incredibly cathartic to listen to
other young people tell similar stories.
I was not alone. One of the
counselors asked why I felt stupid and useless. He had seen some of the things I had
written and told me only an intelligent person wrote the way I did. I told him I was stupid and useless because my father told me I
was.
As the words left my mouth I had a
life-changing epiphany: My opinion
of myself was based on the angry rants of alcoholic man whose life was totally
unmanageable. He was not me and I was not him…and I was
neither stupid nor useless! By
the end of the term, I was an ‘A’ student.
By the end of the year, I was a track MVP. I had overcome the demons planted in my
subconscious by an out of control alcoholic. The demons were not in charge
anymore. I was…and I still am.
Today, I lead a support group much
like the one I attended so long ago.
I’ve dedicated my life to helping children who are abused and
neglected. I tell the young people
in my group they too can overcome the demons that cripple self esteem. My message is simple and
consistent: ‘It’s not your
fault. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.’ I’ve said it a thousand
times…
…and I will continue to say it until
every young person has the same epiphany I did.
Steve Simpson is the author of the young adult novel Runaway.
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