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

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"You are about as worthless a little bastard as I have ever known," said Mrs. Castille, the matron of the nursery.

I just stood there with my head down looking at the floor, so I would not upset her any more than she already was. I had been sent over to the nursery building to help clean up the bathroom toilets and sinks. Now that was done, we were told that we had to scrub and wax the floors in the hallway.

"Yak, yak, yak," Mrs. Castille went on and on and on.

I never paid much mind to what the adults had to say to me at the orphanage. Maybe that is why they all hated me so much. I never could understand why 5, 6, 7 and 8-year-old kids had to work all the time. There was school, there was church and there was work. There was very little else in between.

The next thing I remember, I was lying on the bedroom floor with a wet, soapy mop being jabbed into my face.

"Your just a fat, mean old lady," I yelled as I jumped to my feet.

I grabbed the mop by the handle and dipped it into the water bucket. Then I lunged the head of the mop in her direction.

"So you want to fight, you little f%$#er?" she screamed.

"No ma'am. I don't wanna fight with you Mrs. Castille, No ma'am," I replied.

She grabbed the metal bucket full of water and threw it at me as hard as she could. The bucket grazed my shoulder and then hit the wall, making a large hole in the hallway wall.

"I'm gonna tell Mrs. Winters that you made a big hole in the wall and you'll get fired," I yelled.

Just about that time, Mrs. Winters, the head of the orphanage, came walking down the hallway.

"You had best keep your damn mouth shut, you little creep or I'll cut your damn throat while you’re sleeping. Do you understand completely?" said Mrs. Castille.

I just stood there not saying a word.

"What is going on in here?" asked Mrs. Winters.

"Mr. Roger Dean Kiser will not do his work like he was told," Mrs. Castille said.

"Is that true, Roger?" she asked.

"No ma'am. I did my toilets and sinks and I did'm good too. Now she wants me to clean and wax the hallway, and that's not my job. I did my job. You can come and see, Mother Winters," I said pointing toward the bathroom(s).

Then she saw the large hole in the hallway wall.

"What the damn hell happened there," asked Mrs. Winters walking over to the hole.

"Mr. Kiser threw the bucket at me as I was instructing him on his duties," said Mrs. Castille.

"Do you realize how much it will cost to fix that young man?" she hollered.

"I did no… " I whimpered.

"Shut your damn mouth! Mrs. Winters is still talking," Mrs. Castille said.

Yak, yak, yak, yak yak," went Mrs. Winters, on and on and on.

I had this special way of shutting out what any adult would say to me. What grown people had to say was totally worthless to me anyway. Adults were nothing more than a bunch of rude, selfish, stuck-up snobs. Basically, they were just a bunch of lying bastards, who cared about nobody except themselves and their jobs.

"Yak, yak, yak, yak yak," she went on and on.


’BAM’ went my head as it crashed into the hallway door, as she slapped me across the face as hard as she could with her open hand.

"It's not NICE to say that you hate someone," said Mrs. Winters.

"Now you stand up and tell Mother Winters that you are sorry," said Mrs. Castille.

I rose to my feet and looked both of them straight in the eye.

"I HOPE SOMEBODY CUTS YOUR THROATS!" I screamed out as loud as I could.

I was locked in the hallway closet, until the ‘authorities’ were called. Then I was picked up by a police car and taken to the Duval County Juvenile Shelter where I was locked in a wire cage. The next day, I was taken before Judge Marion Gooding.

As scared as I was at 8 years old, I tried to explain to him what all had happened. I also tried to explain to him what the grown-up people were doing to us kids at the orphanage, especially at night, but he would not believe me.

He just sat there staring at me as if I were only saying, "Yak, yak, yak, yak, yak."

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