(no subject)

I got upset not long before I wrote that last post, and was listening closely to decide if I needed to call the police. (Actually, my first impulse would have been to march over there, but that likely would have only made the situation worse.) These houses are rather close together, and the acoustics are strange, so that we can hear most of what is said on that side of their house if both sets of windows are open--in more of the house if it's loud--and I assume vice versa.

We have a new neighbor next door; she can't have been there more than a few weeks. With one notable exception [1], she has been very quiet and inoffensive up to this point. Tonight, she started yelling and screaming terrible things at her little boy, who can't be more than four years old. The woman sounded as if she'd been drinking, and she was yelling obscenities and insults in quite an abusive manner. (Being harried and snapping at a child is one thing; this was something entirely different, completely beyond the bounds of any reasonable idea of propriety.) My mother and I were in the same room hearing this, and started listening carefully for signs that things were escalating into physical violence. Thank goodness she seemed content to curse and belittle, as if that's not bad enough.

When my dad walked in and we hushed him, he informed us that she'd been at it most of the day, since 10:00 this morning, at least. (Maybe she'd been incidentally quieter about it while Mom and I were home.) Mom doesn't intend to let it slide, at any rate. That sort of verbal abuse isn't exactly legal, in itself. I generally hesitate to call the police on neighbors, or otherwise get authorities involved, but when it involves someone who can't defend himself, it doesn't bother me. There are few other (legal) alternatives.

This incident had a particularly bad effect on me--I'm getting a little worked up just writing about it now. It reminded me far too much of dealing with my deranged stepmother and my "real" father who went just plain crazy. The worst of their verbal (and other) abuse was reserved for my stepbrother, who lived with them all the time--and who had no other real backup or comparison--but I received a share of it. No child, nor naturally any other human being, should be treated like that.


[1] Several nights ago, there was quite an argy-bargy next door, with a man's voice involved--also several loud thudding noises. To our knowledge, a man hadn't been living there, and, from what we could hear, he sounded like an ex-husband or ex-boyfriend. This, as the main incident mentioned above, hardly required eavesdropping; half the neighborhood must have heard much of it (and apparently at least one thought to call the cops). It sounded very much like a not-so-nice ex had found her new address after she left Roanoke. By the time I'd made up my mind to grab a handy blunt object with a good grip and stomp over there--she really did sound in danger--the police came pulling up right after the thudding noises got going full tilt. Quick response, I have to give them that. So much for a nice, quiet neighborhood!

(no subject)

I hadn't thought of my stepbrother, Joey, in a while, and that last post reminded me. I may not have seen him since 1986, but I still think about him reasonably often, and wonder how he's doing. Risking a touch of melodrama, I wonder if he managed to turn out passably sane and functional, given the conditions in which he was raised.

I liked Joey. He may have been four years older, but he spent time with me and seemed to regard me as an equal when I was forced to visit. Part of this may have been due to the fact that his mother and Bill Brewer (the most neutral term I've found to refer to my "real" father) strongly discouraged him from having friends--and who would be jealous of their attention being shared? As I mentioned, he came in for the worst of it, even when I was there, but he didn't seem to resent me for it. I suspect he was too cowed and under some impression that he deserved such treatment. Even at the time, I recognised that Joey was emotionally damaged/not very strong and would take the blame whenever I could for (generally imagined) transgressions. I didn't grow up under those conditions--I'd always known that I was loved and valued--and I have a firm core of stubbornness, so the treatment didn't have the same effect on me. Which is not to say that it had no effect.

Joey is extremely bright, and must have learned to cope in school, despite the Nutballs' pulling him out of Special Ed for a couple of learning disabilies. (As an aside, Mr. Nutball strongly objected to my being placed in some accelerated courses, including one university-level one, as a "waste", within my hearing. Similar things were said about my pursuing instrumental music and dance instruction.) A couple of years back, I felt an urge to see if I could find anything on Joey through Google (his last name is just unusual enough for that not to be a waste of time). I did find that he'd graduated in 1990 from a high school in the area in which the bunch was last known to be living. I had heard that he had joined the U.S. Army (probably seemed one of the better career options), and at last check, through a DOD payroll search, he was a Sergeant. I couldn't help but be pleased that he'd gotten away from those poisonous people and made a good start at making a life for himself, in spite of being told all his life that he was worthless and stupid.

I've felt some urges to get in touch with the man, though the idea makes me nervous. I may have felt a connection with him when we were younger, but have no idea how much we might have in common now, and I'm not entirely sure he'd be pleased to hear from me. Particularly based on so little knowledge, I am also wary of his mental and emotional state after living with those people so long, with no guarantees that he's gotten any sort of help or come to healthy terms with it on his own. I like to think that he's made a break, but it is also possible that he hasn't, and I do not want news of our talking getting back to them. This is one of the somewhat rare cases in which it really is better not to go stirring in a nest of vipers and draw their attention. (And I do not tend to be afraid of conflict.) This "get in touch or not get in touch" quandary has periodically bothered me for several years now, and I fear that there is no easy answer.