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

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The feeling I get when my grandchildren come to visit is truly amazing. The feeling appears to become stronger and stronger as I watch the kids learn and grown.

Sometimes I sit on the porch swing and watch them as they play. I see how innocent and free they are. I know that each and everything I say and do will somehow influence their lives.

Sometimes I wonder why no one had these same feeling for me when I was a little boy. Was it me that caused this to happen? Was it them? Maybe it was no one's fault.

Are these the wonderful feelings that most people feel all their lives? Are these the feelings that make life worth living, even through difficult times? Are these the wonderful feelings I always missed in my life?

They say that many who were abused as children will become abusers themselves. If this is true, then why did I not turn out to be an abuser of my children? Other than those who were killed... I know of very few who were physically, mentally and sexually abused more than I was.

I suppose the main reason I did not abuse my children is because I felt I would actually be abusing myself. That what would be left of me, through my children and grandchildren long after I was dead would be the same feelings I have had to bare my entire lifetime.

One day, I made a promise to myself that those horrible feelings of abuse would one day die right along with me. I have by no means been a perfect father. How could I be? I never knew what a father was supposed to be. What is a father's role in life, other than to work and take care of his family? Not one single day in my life was ever spent in a home with a mother or a father. There was nothing in my life except the orphanage.

When I became a father, I was just a man who had a child because hed had sex with a woman. I had no feelings about my children at all. I was somewhat amazed by the miracle of birth, but that was about it. All I knew was that I had a job to do and had taken on a major responsibility.

I was always kind and I never abused my children. I cannot even remember spanking one of them. I supplied a good home and all the comforts. We did, and had anything and everything, as every other family in the neighborhood. At least that is what I thought.

I never hugged my children... not one time. I did not see the purpose in hugging. What did hugging someone mean anyway? Was there a feeling that goes along with wrapping your arms around someone? If there was, I never knew about it. The act always seemed stupid and rather embarrassing to me. For some strange reason, all that has now changed. I hug my grandchildren hundreds of times each week. I hope they get the same feeling from me that I get from hugging them.

I suppose my mother and father thought I was not worth hugging. I felt that to be true for many, many years. Now I look back on my life and try to understand why I did not hug anyone.

I can clearly see now that when an adult does not hug a child, it is actually the adult who is the one not worth hugging.

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