I had a talk with my sister. Frankly, she has always been the perfect one. Dad’s favorite. She did everything right. Joan did not have to do the dishes or work on the yard. She was exempt from vacuuming, cleaning, yard work, or household chores. Dad’s favorite. That was for boardheads like me. The one that he would tell to hit my head into a brick wall and knock some sense into it
. Joan would be the one to keep the windows up to keep her hair pretty. I would be told how stupid I was. Dad would shake his head. Laugh. Make fun of me. Then I would cry. Dad would start slapping me around then. It was at one of those times Joan came home with her boyfriend. I had just been slapped around. Dad asked mom if Joan need to be spanked. If she had done anything. Dad had hit me so hard I had peed in my pants and there was pee on the floor. Joan had remembered one of her friends sisters that had been raped by their father. The friends sister defended the sister that had gotten rsped against the dad. Joan felt like she should defend me. However she was more embarrassed that this was being said in front of her boyfriend. Joan left me in shame. Not realizing this happened every day. How could we be in the same household and Joan not realize that abuse was an everyday occurrance?
I was afraid to fail. I knew Dad would shame and put me down. You never succeeded in my house. You only failed if you were my brother or I. However, Joan was taught to stand up for herself. She was taught to stand up as a woman. When others weren’t standing up, she should.
Funny, mom wasn’t allowed to stand up. Dad put her down. She was not smart enough. Raymond and I were just boardheads. Stupid. We would not amount to anything. Hit your head into a brick wall and wake it up.
Joan was the one Dad praised. She became the one who judged others by her standards of perfection. It was the rest of the world that were stupid. Not as Christian. Not as perfect. I saw her as Dad most of my life. My nemesis. I talked to Joan the other day. I have come to terms with how Dad treated me and how he treated her.
I realize we are only responsible for the choices we make. Dad will never understand how his choice affected my self-esteem. How I spent years trying to prove I was good enough to a cruel daddy that would never see the best in me. Now I have dealt with my Joan complex. I can move on.
