Good morning, dear reader. What shall we talk about today?
When last we met, I was babbling on about my immediate family dynamics, and I ended my post with the birth of myself and my little brother. I suppose thatâs as good a place to start as any.
Like I said before, I was born on Friday, July 20, 1979. My mother told me that my original due date was at the end of August, but that I was born several weeks early. My mother hemorrhaged while giving birth to me, and needed an emergency c-section. I am told that I cried incessantly because I was too thin and could not hold my own body heat, so Mom put a hot water bottle in my bassinet with me to keep me warm.
My bassinet was large and black, and converted into a victorian style pram, with chrome decorative mounts on the sides and hood. Mom made both yellow and green skirts for it, with satin ribbons and matching sheets. She loved to sew when I was little. She made our clothes, dolls, doll clothes, pillows, and curtains. I still have one of the dresses Mom made, and my daughter Katie wore it when she was around 9 or 10. I cry every time I see the picture of her wearing it.
I donât remember much of my early years. My very first memory is sitting on the living room floor, watching my Dad read the newspaper, and trying to get his attention. I must have been around four years old. I remember my Mom being pregnant and losing the baby. She named the baby Robin, because she didnât know if it was a boy or a girl, and she spoke of them once in a while when she was especially sad. And then when she became pregnant again, I remember how scared she was of the baby making it. But he did make it.
Nathan was born April 19, 1984, and I remember spending several days at Baka*âs house while my Mom was in the hospital. I liked being with Baka, except for her religious fanaticism. She was old world Polish, and she cooked homemade perogi and borscht, which the smell of makes me sick, even to this day. And seaweed. Always this woman with the boiled seaweed. She swore it made her strong. She was strong. Thereâs a story of Baka buying herself a kitchen table set from a yard sale, and carrying it home piece by piece. She hurt her knee once when walking home from the grocery store, when she tripped over railroad tracks, and she limped all the way home. Groceries and all.
After Nathan came home from the hospital, life got interesting. Mom had had another c-section, because in those days once youâd had a c-section, that is the only way theyâd let you deliver from then on. Sheâd hemorrhaged again, and I remember the blood issue coming up for the first time. Whispers in the hallway and at our worship meetings about whether or not my mother had received a blood transfusion, were hushed whenever I got close enough to hear. I donât know if she did or not.
Why is this a big deal? Because, dear reader, now comes the first âunbelievableâ part of my story. You see religious fanaticism was not just a flaw of my grandmother, it was a flaw of the entire community of people I was raised with. It is an affliction that three of my aunts and two of my uncles suffer from to this day. It is the affliction of two of my childrenâs paternal grandparents, and the affliction of multiple family members of dear friends, who have since escaped the horror we grew up in.
When I say the word âcultâ people instantly think of scenarios like âHeaven's Gateâ or âThe Manson Familyâ. Compounds with barracks, polygamy, hundreds of children fathered by a handful of men, and escapes delicately orchestrated by social workers and the FBI.
My life inside the cult was not nearly so dramatic, nor was my leaving. No news cameras, no guns, no blood, no poisoned kool-aid. Nothing but the pounding of my own heart as my two little girls clung to me. No husband, no job, no home, no family, no money, no electricity, no heat, no phone, and a car I had no way to pay for. Leaving was silent. And the silence was more terrifying than gunshots.
But Iâm getting ahead of myself.
The cult my family belonged to was an extension of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society. The Jehovahâs Witnesses. This religious organization estimates some 8.5 million members, although Wolfram Alpha estimates that number is closer to 16.6 million people who identify themselves as Jehovahâs Witnesses worldwide. They have 119,954 congregations in 240 countries.
âBut thatâs not a cult!â, you say.
I can hear you, dear reader. Rolling your eyes? Let me guess. You have a mother, brother, best-friendâs cousin who is a âJehovahâ, as so many people refer to them?
âTheyâre the nicest people Iâve ever met!â, you say. âI work with a guy whoâs a âJehovahâ. Heâs such a hard worker! Always on time, never swears, never a bad word from him about anyone!â
Yes. Iâm sure all of that is true.
âBut Iâve been to a few of their meetings! Theyâre so nice and welcoming! Theyâve even been to my house and prayed with me. They study with my daughter and she loves it!â
Yes, yes Iâm sure that has been your experience. There is a reason that has been your experience. And over the course of this narrative, I will show you what that reason is.
The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines religion as âa personal set or institutionalized system of religious attitudes, beliefs, and practicesâ and also as âscrupulous conformityâ. I find both those definitions fascinating. I wonder what religion means to you personally, reader?
When I was born, I was born into a strange world. There were five religious meetings a week, split into three sessions, held on three separate days. Monday was our âBook Studyâ meeting. A bible based publication produced by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, was studied in sections, once a week at the home of an approved congregational member in good standing. It was conducted by a male Elder, who was assisted by another male who read aloud from the selected publication. This reader usually held the title of âMinisterial Servantâ or âBaptized Publisherâ.
Wednesday was the night of the âMinistry Schoolâ and âLocal Needsâ meetings, held back to back, generally beginning at 7pm and ending between 9 and 9:30pm. This was the meeting that tested the backsides and skull resilience of every infant, child, and teen in the seats. Children were expected to be quiet and well behaved. Even infants were subject to physical discipline if they misbehaved. Children over the age of four were expected to sit up straight and pay attention to the speaker, regardless of the subject. My friend Johnâs father used to flick the back of his childrenâs heads so hard it could be heard several rows back. Every child within earshot would sit up straighter so the same wouldnât befall them from their own parents or other congregation members within flicking range.
I remember very young children with pajamas on under their suits and dresses. Females were not permitted to wear pants during ANY religious event, regardless of weather, health, etc. Sleepy children with sore backsides, desperately trying to stay awake through the incessant droning of the speaker to avoid another lashing with the ruler or wooden spoon that stood straight up out of  their parentâs book bag or briefcase pocket. A proud symbol to the congregational Elders, and anyone else, that discipline was swift and merciless in their household.
These wednesday meetings were where constituents learned how to talk to âwordlyâ people, to âshare the good news of Godâs kingdomâ. Basically it was recruitment training. Congregation members were warned to appear âblameless in all thingsâ as ânot to bring reproach on Godâs nameâ. To be âno part of the world as Jesus was no part of the world.â Here male adults and boys as young as eight were called upon to give âTalksâ or sermons that they had wrote themselves, and then publicly critiqued by an Elder. Role play for female adults down to very young girls about how to use charm, modesty, and bible knowledge to gain entry to peopleâs homes and start bible studies with the families they met in their door to door âteachingâ work. These role play sessions were also critiqued publicly. Disabled and elderly congregation members were encouraged to write letters or make phone calls to families who had recently lost someone, and âteachâ them about how they could see their loved ones resurrected. These families were found through obituary listings and newspaper articles, and by picking names out of the phone book.
Nothing like preying on bereaved families at their most vulnerable. The thought of it now makes me sick to my stomach.
Sunday held the âSunday Talkâ and âWatchtower Studyâ meetings. The sunday talk would consist of an Elder from another local congregation giving an hour long sermon, the subject of which was selected from a list of approved outlines, and then approved by the congregation âTalk Coordinatorâ. After the âTalkâ, the congregation studied a preselected article in the âWatchtowerâ publication, which was a thin magazine, written and produced by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, that was also used in their door to door preaching. This meeting was conducted much like the Wednesday night Book Study meeting, with an Elder presiding, and a Ministerial Servant reading. Pre-written questions were asked by the presiding elder, and microphones were passed to constituents who wished to answer those questions, often by reading the answer verbatim from the article.
After the Sunday meeting, congregational members were encouraged to participate in the door to door preaching work. There was also preaching work on Saturday morning, usually beginning around 9am. Â This âworkâ was to the dread and embarrassment of every school age member in attendance. We lived in fear of knocking on a door and finding a classmate, or worse a bully, on the other side. Congregation members who did not participate in going door to door regularly would be chastised by Elders, shamed by their peers, and ostracized by the congregation as a whole.
My entire family lived with the label of âBad Associationâ due to my father no longer attending meetings beginning in 1984, and my motherâs severe and obvious mental health issues. My mother suffered from Agoraphobia, Social Phobia, Claustrophobia, Depression, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and may have also been schizophrenic. All of which were exacerbated by my brother Michaelâs suicide in 1990.
Mental health issues were not adequate to excuse you from your duty to preach door to door, participate at meetings, or to appear âblameless in all thingsâ. Sufferers of mental health disorders (including Homosexuality, and Gender Dysphoria) were counseled to pray. If prayer didnât work, they were shamed by the Elders and other congregation members for not praying hard enough, because Jehovah their God would save them from their suffering, if they only had faith. Mental health sufferers were forbidden to seek outside counseling, use psychiatric prescriptions, or speak of their struggles as not to âstumble other members of the congregationâ.
My brother died, because of this heartless policy.
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