Why? Because he could, that’s why.

November 4, 2011 at 1:13 PM (Uncategorized) (, , )

Regarding Judge Adams’ beating his daughter with cerebral palsy with a belt because she downloaded forbidden music….

for any newer readers to this blog,  my bona fides on this is that I’m a woman with cerebral palsy myself.

I had to take a day to respond to this.  You’re still not getting all of it.

My feelings for what should happen to this judge are NSFW and not safe for the entire internet.

And it’s not just the beating, which frankly I cannot watch.  It’s a trigger.

Good God!  The slant of the statement by the judges attorney…

“Well, the reason she released it NOW is,” detailing her anger about her father threatening to cut off support or threatening to take the keys to her Mercedes….

I don’t give a shit *why* she released it. *Why* is less than nothing.  He admits this was punishment he believed was his perogative as her father.

While I always fight for us, people with disabilities, to be represented as people first and not as fragile little creatures to be taken care of…

There is a baseline of obligation that you have to a physically vulnerable child. (meaning, all children.)

All children are weaker than adults.

Vulnerable to them.

And as children and adults with disabilities know…we (as a group)  seem to have an extra sign on our backs that lights up when predators are near.

E ** A ** S ** Y P ** R ** E *Y

This creature Adams didn’t need a reason to hit his daughter.  He could, and so he did. That’s it.

My father did spank me once when I was three, for smushing french fries under the car seat.   Spanking was accepted at the time, but the way he did it (grabbing me by my ankles,  holding me by my feet, spanking me and sitting me back down.) caused my Mom to let him have it.   She made it clear that this was a no corporal punishment household.  (I did get paddled at school three years later after  a day when I had been a beastly little brat. ) I didn’t consider either incident relating to me as abuse, per se.

So, fast forward to the near-miss, that this Adams’ incident resonates with for me.  I’m 17.  It’s summertime, 1979.

The single time my father nearly did raise a hand to me.

Mom was out of town on a job conference.

She had asked me to clean our bathroom.  Commode, sink, tub, and floor.

My memory is that I did a kinda half assery job at it, but that I did work on all parts requested.

He came home drunk, his natural state.

Wen’t into the restroom and the flood of cursing and name calling sent in my direction was unusual, even for him….I won’t reproduce it here.  He came out to the back room, the one with the wall full of windows in it.

“You little **it!  I ought to beat you up!”

And, as has been the case for decades now, when the chips were down, I did something insanely stupid.

I straightened  up,  cricked my neck to make sure I could at my father’s face up there eight inches taller than me… and yelled back:

“I’d like to see you try!

Come on!

Hit me!

The minute you’re  done,  I’m calling the cops!  Or a lawyer!”

His face got all funny.  He backed away,  put his head in his hands and began weeping.

I walked to my room and shut the door.

The only reason it went that way instead of Judge Adams way, is that my father was not a predator.  He was not a sadist.   The alcohol had turned him into an emotional abuser, but there was still enough of the original guy left over that he couldn’t physically hurt a kid.

I don’t see Judge Adams as a human being.  He’s like some cold souless alien from a ’50’s sci fi film.

In keeping with that characterization, I submit that creatures like Adams   deserve only one thing.  A cold slimy black steel barred cage in the bottom of a deep deep hole.

And just a warning:  Don’t  *beat* on any of my tribe where I can see it or there will be consequences.

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