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

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"Get over here right now young man" Said the house parent, as he tightened his jaw and motioned at me with his finger.

Slowly I walked over to where he was standing and I stopped directly in front of him.

"What is that?" He questioned as he pointed down at my pants.

"I'm sorry but I wet myself a little." I told him.

"Why didn't you ask permission to go to the bathroom?" He asked me.

"I couldn't find you and I had to go real bad. I tried to hold it in. I really did." I exclaimed.

"Get your little ass up to your room and you wait until I get there. Do you understand? He asked.

"Yes Sir." I told him, as I headed toward the white, brick dormitory building.

Through the side door of the building I went. Up the stairs I traveled until I came to my room. I walked in and took off my short pants and my underwear and I laid them on the floor next to the doorway. Then I sat down on the side of my bed and I covered my naked self with the corner of my bed-spread and I just sat there waiting. All at once he appeared in the doorway holding a five foot piece of bamboo in his hand.

"Am I gonna get a another beating?" I asked him, as I started to shake.

"How old are you now?" He asked me.

"I just turned six now." I replied.

"Six years old and still pissing in your pants." He said.

"I don't really wet my pants. Really I don't. I just hold it until I can't hold it no more. When I can't find you to ask permission then it ain't really my fault." I told him, as I began to cry.

As I looked up I saw something that I had never seen in his face before. It looked as though he was actually feeling sorry for me. Slowly I got up off the bed and as I wiped my eyes I walked toward him. I stopped directly in front of him and I justy stood there naked. All at once I grabbed hold of his leg and I hugged it. The large man just stood there not having any idea what to do. All at once he reached down and he grabbed me by the nose and he slowly raised my head up so that he could see my face.

"Come down stairs and I'll give you some fresh clothing." He told me, in a soft voice.

"Does this mean that I ain't gonna get no beating?" I asked him.

"Come on." He said, in a tender voice, as he placed his hand on my shoulder and walked me down the stairs to the clothing room.

As we walked along I remember being somewhat confused about the situation. Something had changed that had saved me from getting a beating. That had never happened before. I remember thinking that this feeling called "love" was a special tool. Something that could be used to protect one's self from the world. Yes, I had found a wonderful tool that day. A tool that later on in life helped guide me through all six of my marriages.

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