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

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"And just what seems to be your problem today?" asked the psychologist, as I sat down in the chair in his office.

"Just what makes you think I have a problem?" I replied.

"That look on your face," said the doctor.

"Well, to be perfectly honest doc, it's my 14-year-old son."

"What's the problem?" he asked.

"The kid is nothing but a bum. He just will not clean up his room. I mean his bedroom is a total disaster. I have talked until I am blue in the face. Nothing that I say or do does any good whatsoever."

"Well, from many of our past conversations, I know that you kept your room spotless when you lived in the orphanage. Right?" he asked.

"That is absolutely correct. I was a perfect little soldier," I replied.

"And when you were in the reform school you did the same?" he asked.

"Correct again, doc," I replied.

"Then you and I both will assume that the way the orphanage and the reform school raised you was a correct and proper manner?"

I could feel the blood in my head start to boil from his remarks.

"WELL, OF COURSE NOT!" I yelled. "They were too damn strict. I mean everything had to be kept in perfect order or you got the crap knocked out of you."

He looked directly into my eyes and said, "Then why are you trying to do the same damn thing to your son?"

I almost fell off my chair after hearing his comment. At that very moment a light bulb came on inside my head. I got up out of my chair, walked over to the doctor and shook his hand. Then I turned around and walked out of his office without saying a word.

I learned a very good lesson that day - a lesson that told me adults are not always right, that the way children do things is just part of being a little kid. I realized that I, as a child, had always had to do things exactly as adults would have done them.

When I returned home, I walked directly to my son's bedroom. I looked at the books that were all out of order. I looked at the CDs spread across his dresser. I looked at the posters that had been hung on the wall. Each had been hung a little crooked.

Slowly, I turned and walked out of his room. I closed the door and smiled. For the first time in my life, I had enjoyed the 'kidís bedroom' that I was never allowed to have.

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