This web site contains stories of physical, mental, emotional, and sexual child abuse.

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"Where is Kiser?" yelled the matron to one of the boys who lived in the orphanage with me.

"I don't know, ma'am. He was just here a minute ago," he answered.

"Kiser!" she screamed at the top of her voice.

I felt a little sick that day after eating breakfast. I was sitting on the toilet, because my stomach was not right and it was hurting really badly.


"I’m right here, Mrs. ma’am. In the bathroom," I hollered.

Within seconds, the matron entered the bathroom and stood directly in front of me.

I looked down at the floor, embarrassed. I never did like to have anyone see me sitting on the toilet. To me, there was always something real personal about having to use the bathroom.

The matron stood there, her arms upon her hips, towering above me like a large city skyscraper.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, that I didn't ask to use the bathroom this time, but I was hurting real bad in my stomach and I didn't know if I could really use it or not."

I placed my hand in front of me so that nothing private would show 'cause she was a lady.

"Get up. Right now!" she demanded through gritted teeth.

"I'm really sorry that I didn't ask permission. I really am," I said.

She reached out, grabbed me by the arm and jerked me off the toilet. I tried as best I could to cover myself. My little short pants fell all the way down to the floor. About that time, the worst thing that could happen did. I had a little accident on myself.

"Don’t you move, young man!" she yelled in a slow, drawn out manner as she headed out the door.

I will never forget how embarrassed I was that day. I stood there afraid to move a muscle. Very slowly, I reached over and pulled off a line of toilet paper to cover myself in the front. I did not try to clean myself, for I was afraid to move. I looked up and saw my naked self in the large bathroom mirror, and started to cry.

When she returned, she beat the holy hell out of me for more than 15 minutes with a polo paddle. I spent the entire day cleaning up the terrible mess that was made in the bathroom, because of that beating.

Fifty years later, I have never forgotten what I saw that day in the mirror. A little 7-year-old boy that was almost naked, with his pants down around his ankles, and he was afraid to move a muscle.

I will never forget what it felt like for an innocent little child to have to ask permission to use the bathroom or get a drink of water. Many people associate freedom with different types of things. But there are those of us, many are orphans and abused children, who appreciate ‘freedom’ because they have been given something that most people take for granted every single day. That 'something,' is having the right to get a drink of water or to use the bathroom in private, without having to ask permission.


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