As a young child growing up on the farm, my mother says I was very sensitive and tender toward justice. She tells me that at age 3, I would be busy playing when my older brother would take my toys. (Charlie was 10 months older than I). Mom would hear what happened and would come to spank Charlie to make him return my toys. To this she says I would protest. “Please don’t spank him! I don’t want that toy, he can have it. He can have that toy.” I do remember that horrid pain of seeing someone hit another. Years later, I felt the injustice when a teacher would spank a child. My whole body would tremble, my heart break every time someone or something was hurt. I could never have imagined back then that one day I would be crouched in the corner while my husband beat me with a steel rod.
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