The Lost Child; Pt. 1

11/14/2013 § 2 Comments

I was 7 and my brother was 5. We were playing in the backyard and Mom stormed in completely pissed about something; I don’t recall what. She pulled us into the laundry room while holding a wooden mixing spoon. She bent me on her knee; my brother standing frozen beside me. Then she pulled down me britches and started whacking away. 

I remember being  surprised how little it hurt. My hide must’ve gotten tough; i wasn’t a little boy any more. She actually broke the paddle on my mighty behind. For one brief moment I thought it was done. 

She pointed at both of us and shouted, ”Don’t you go anywhere!”, her face red. We didn’t. I was sure she was going to get the really big wooden spoon, but instead she came back with a wired coat hanger. I actually thought, this isn’t going to hurt, until I felt it cut into me. I don’t actually remember her doing the ol’ Joan Crawford, but I do remember my little brother’s face; his mouth contorted, his skin slick with tears, his eyes red and swollen, wailing in fury and pain, when he got his. I’ll take that memory to the grave.

But he doesn’t remember it! He doesn’t remember any of it! Of all the emerging details of our dysfunctional Narcissistic family, this one leaps out at me. How do you forget something like that? Do two years age difference mean so much at that age! I guess they do.

We talk about different patterns a Child of Narcissists can fill. There’s the Golden Child, who is worshipped by the Narcissistic Parent as a proxy for his/her self. My younger sister Ashleigh is our Golden Child. Then there’s the ScapeGoat; that would be me. But my younger brother Reggie and our younger sister Vellum are neither. As a boy, Reggie was a prankster, always making little cuts on us, especi
ally me, his older brother the scapegoat. Dad used to tease Reg for always denying he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, ”I didn’t do nuttin’!” Dad would mimic. Reggie was decades ahead of Shaggy! He is still saying ”I didn’t do nuttin”’ tl this day, albeit with different words. I think he’s determined never to get caught because in the dimmest recesses of his memory the Holy Mother srands before him wielding a wire coat hanger.
Reggie’s not a Scapegoat nor a Golden Boy. He’s caught in the middle, receiving neither sufficient positive nor negative attention from the rest of the family. I call him a ”Lost Child.”

Recently, I found this passage in Wikipedia under ”Narcissistic Parents.” <"Children of a difficult, more stubborn temperament defend against being supportive of others in the house. They observe how the selfish parents get his needs met by others. They learn how manipulation and using guilt gets the parent what he or she wants. They develop a false self and use aggression and intimidation to get their way. These children grow up to be Narcissistic themselves.>”

So Reggie is a Narcissist. The description fits him perfectly. Makes perfect sense. What a damn waste. No wonder I can’t get to him.
Next: Why I can’t get to him.


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