"The Truth About Me..."

I know whoever created this intended it to inspire a very different response...

But when I saw this, all I could think of was my father and one of the last times I said, "Yes, sir." to him.

At my age now, I 'm shocked to realize that my dad was probably the first parent my school principal ever called the police on to report suspected child abuse. I wasn't abused as a child (at least not by my parents), but my father knew how to walk right up to that line in disciplining me. In looking back, I'm thankful for the correction and glad I had a father who loved and cared about me. But seeing this, I was immediately transported through time to a day when I was 13 years old...

I remember it like it happened just yesterday:

Two uniformed Detroit Police officers standing over me...

Who did this to you, boy?

What?

Who beat you and put all these marks on you?

Oh, my dad gave me a whipping because I didn't want to come to school.

Earlier that morning, I'd told my dad I wasn't going to school anymore, because I was a man (I was 13 afterall), and he could whip me if he wanted to. It was a pretty bold thing for me to say to my disciplinarian father and when he turned towards me, I was prepared to duck, just in case he decided to treat me like a man (BTW, he never hit me with his fist or hands). To my surprise, he turned and calmly said, "Okay, a whipping it is." He put his hand on my shoulder and walked me to living room where his whole demeanor changed. I'd had many whipping from my dad over the few years that preceded that day and I thought I was immune to them. But I guess my insolence awaked something in him determined to prove me wrong. That day I learned I'd never really had a "real" whipping from him before, although I'd had dozens for the same infraction of not wanting to go to school. Standing there completely naked and ashamed, my father whipped me with his 40 inch belt until he couldn't draw his arm back anymore and I couldn't draw enough breath to reply "Yes, sir." to his query of "Are you ready to go to school now?" When I'd recovered enough to say, "Yes, sir, I'm ready to go to school." Dad told me to put my clothes on and get ready to go.

On the drive to school (only a quarter mile or so from home), Dad explained why I was now covered with bloody welts and bruises, He said, "If you don't get an education so you can make something of yourself, that was just a taste of what the world will do to you every day of your life." "Don't ever say what you said to me this morning again." Surprisingly, I wasn't angry, but understood what my father meant and I knew he loved me. What I thought he didn't know and what I was afraid to tell him was why I didn't want to go to school. I realize now that the reason he never bothered to ask me why is because he probably felt he knew. I was relentlessly bullied because even though I wasn't in any way effeminate, kids could just see in me what my parents refused to acknowledge; I was different, I was gay.

Later in the school day while changing for gym class, the gym teacher saw the state of me and whispered in my ear, "Put your clothes back on and wait for me at the office."  When Mr. Crews came to the office, he motioned for me to stay seated and wait. He went into the principal's office, and a minute later the principal was standing in his doorway just looking at me.  A few minutes passed and then Mr. Crews came out and said to me, "Wait here, your father is coming." As I sat there waiting for my dad, the police arrived. They went into the principal's office, and a minute or two later, the door opened and the principal called me in. As the door closed behind me. One of the officers said, "Son, take your pants down and raise your shirt." "Now turn around." "Okay, pull your pants up and tuck your shirt in." Then the other officer (the older one) asked me, "Who did this to you, boy?" and I gave my answer above. The principal sent me back to wait in the outer office and about 15 minutes later, my father arrived. 

Asking the secretary why he'd been called to the school, she simply told my father he could go right into the principal's office. I fearfully wondered what would happen next. I'd never heard of the police being called because someone's father had given them a whipping. I'd have a long wait that seemed like an eternity as I counted the 22 minutes that the principal's door stayed closed on the school's master clock on the wall across from me. When the door did open, my father and the principal and the two police officers came out smiling and laughing like they'd been old friends their entire lives. The principal told me to go to class and I paused in the hallway to see my dad and the other men exchanging congenial handshakes, before watching my father walk out the doors.  I wondered if my dad would be angry when he got home from work that night. But nothing happened. Although I dreaded the thought of being there, the next day I went to school without complaint. My homeroom teacher had me stay behind to tell me I was excused from gym and would spend that period in the library from then on.

As for my father and I, we never spoke of that day again until 27 years later, when I asked him, if he knew why I didn't want to go to school. It was on the day I came out to him. He said he had no idea I was bullied or that I was gay, or that any of it had played a part in my nearly successful suicide attempt at school later that year. , I accepted what he said although I never believed it. He told me he loved and accepted me and wanted to meet the man I told him I was in love with. Just a week after coming out to Dad, he met the beloved one and received him like a second son. I remember thinking at the time, "All those whippings were worth it to have arrived safely at that time in my life."