Girls never lie boys never tell the truth.

[michelle2025]

My dad was a constable for our township. In case you don't understand, it was the lowest office, being lower than county government in the state of Minnesota. He also used the excuse that his fingers had gotten smashed while putting a belt on a thrashing machine, to get out of work. I don't recall what I was doing, but I was working alone and went to the house to get a drink of water. Unknown to me my dad was doing target practice in the house, using special plastic bullets in his revolver. I stepped into the house, turned towards the sink and got hit in the chest by a plastic bullet. It was very painful and stung. I turned around and walked out, without getting my drink of water. He never did apologize.

I sometimes wonder as this seems to be an era where movies show men being hunted by other men. Or maybe the gunfight out in the street.

At any rate, this could be a reason I get anxiety when I see a police officer at the fairgrounds.

 

[michelle2025]

Sometimes it may be best to check the past. My dad was born of German parents, so he would have the German traditions. I wasn't there so I am just guessing that there might have been beer served with the meal. Born in 1930, his parents were in their 40s when he was born, and he was the youngest of the family.
My mother was the opposite with anger towards her father for being drunk and she had to clean up after him. Picture the Irish female yelling at her father for drinking. But she is two faced, the subject of my dad drinking never comes up until after they are married. She then lays down the law, he is to quit drinking, and he says never, which leads to the evening arguments about his drinking. She claimed her ancestry as English, Irish, French, and Dutch. Just now wondering about her Ideas of being from the civilized countries, such that we had to learn the proper etiquette. Another thought about her continuing the war against the German every night.

 

[michelle2025]

My paternal grandfather accidentally lost his fingers climbing up the back of a Caterpillar tractor. At that time there would not have been rural electrical power, so that would have greatly affected how he would milk the cows.
My dad claims that his fingers got smashed while putting the drive belt onto a thrashing machine. Of course, since his fingers have been smashed, he is unable to help milk the cows.
If I was to claim my fingers had been smashed, that would be an insult, mocking my dad. And he would see right through the attempt to get out of work. One day my dad says to me, " I heard that someone at your grandma's house got their arm in the clothes wringer. Knowing you, you probably just kept cranking the handle." In my dad's era, the wringer had a hand crank. This one was mounted on the washing machine and powered by the electric motor.
The incident had been forgotten, until I read something about someone doing self punishment by putting their fingers into the wringer. That's when the nightmares began. In the nightmare, I am cranking something and there are fingers going through the gears. After several nights, upon waking, I wonder if it really happened. In my childhood the only crank I knew of was on the bale elevator.
Finally, I am able to figure it out. I have carpel tunnel because it was my arm that went through the wringer.
About ten years ago, I asked my mother about the wringer. Her response was that she didn't know who got their arm in the wringer. "It definitely wasn't you."

 

[michelle2025]

This one is about a death in the family. First a reminder that I was assigned male at birth. And the possibility that I also have Klinefelter Syndrome. Being the firstborn puts me in a unique position when the next born dies. That would made me the survivor child. I was 2 years old when this sister was born. I was told that she had been full term, but was small enough to fit in a shoe box. She also had the cleft lip and missing palate. She was born in December of 1952, in the house on the farm. I was told the she got pneumonia with her first breath.
I don't know what the temperature would have been, but my sister had to go to the hospital. That means getting a 2 year old dressed for the winter weather. I was also told that she lived for 24 hours.
When she dies, we will start the blame game, even though ancestry shows that there had been another baby death in my dad's family just 1 month before. I start to hear stuff like if she would have lived, she would have gotten the necessary operations, and you could sleep in the barn where you belong.

Then the replacement child. It kind of makes sense, where I am now treated like a girl. On the other hand, I may have been treated like a girl before my sister's death. I remember my mother saying that I would make a good house wife while I was sweeping the floor.
I referred to it as competing with a ghost, If she would have lived then she would have gotten straight A grades in school, so there is no reason you can't get straight A grades.
I think the replacement child can also be done by the grandparents. Perhaps with the result of me helping my grandmother wash clothes.

 

[michelle2025]

After graduating from high school, I later got into a trade school. After school I would go visit friends. One day my dad said he knew I was having sex with the girls I knew, and asked if I wanted to talk about it. I indicated no. The following week, I was accused of speeding with his pickup, and that I had been seen speeding. I was tired and wanted to get some sleep, and he was not accepting no for the answer. I finally said I might have passed a car. That was what he wanted to hear, and I lost my driving privileges. I often thought the two were connected. That I was being punished for not telling him the details of my sex life.

I later learned the speeding was a joke from one of his friends. But now I know it was an excuse that he had been looking for to punish me. Without my driving privileges, I could not go and visit my friends. The very idea that because I am a male I should tell him what kind of sex partners the girls are.
Had my dad been more observant, he might have seen how feminine I looked. Maybe he believed his own lies, I'm sure he used the situation to brag to his buddies how I had two or three girls around me. The truth is, I was not a threat to the girls, I was one of the girls.

 

[michelle2025]

Thinking that might be where the idea, "never admit you're wrong, it is a sign of weakness" may have come from. About the narcissist.
Another thing was the need to brag about something. The preteen child wins a pair of clamp on roller skates in a raffle. The roller skates disappear, but since nobody took them, she never had the skates. While her dad has friends over, she wanders into the man cave, where her dad is explaining to the buddies how, as a child, he won the skates in a raffle and skated up and down the sidewalk in front of his house. After he dies, her brother wants his dad's skates as a memento. The truth was that the dad never had skates as a child. The skates and the memories were stolen from the child.

 

[michelle2025]

I reserve the right to change my opinions when I learn new ideas that may change my perspective of how I was treated.

Yikes, a narcissist father with a badge and gun. Did he take the opportunity to prove that he could shoot me, because he had plastic bullets in his gun? Now it was no longer just a threat that he would shoot me if I turned out to be gay.
And if the bullet had been real, I had stepped in front of the target.

I'm not the narcissist, I'm the scapegoat. I'm also autistic. I am very confused, If I was born a boy then why do I look like a girl? And being autistic, I was a slow developer, meaning delayed development. For some reason my mother chose to put girl clothes on me. There could be all kinds of reasons. One being to punish a boy, make him wear dresses. And one thing the boy can't do is avoid being punished for being born a boy. Since I was the first born, I wonder where the dresses come from. Were they hand-me-downs from a girl cousin? If so, why would they be given to my mother to put on me? Did my aunts actually think I was a girl?

I think there was a scene in the movie "Robots" where he had to wear the hand-me-down top from a girl cousin.

 

[michelle2025]

It might have at the age of ten, somebody asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I had not thought about it, but dad had the answer. I was going to become a radio/tv repairman. I will add here, I was not given a choice, that was my dad's decision.
Later when I had entered a trade school for radio/tv, my dad gave me his lessons from a course in electronics. I was learning the same stuff he had learned. I found out later, his plans were that I was to get a repair shop, and while I repaired the electronics, he would be at the front greeting customers.
A couple of flaws in the plan was that army duty interfered, and later there was no profit in being a radio/tv repairman. we were in an age of if it broke, throw it away and buy a new one.

He then decided that since I did not use the education for the intended purpose, I should reimburse him for the tuition paid. That did not go over very good either. He would have received thousands of dollars for an investment in my education that he never made.

I think it might have been the same with a car that I owed money on when I went into the army, since my mother paid for it while I was gone. The money I sent home every month, he just pocketed, and was not used to pay for my car.

 

[michelle2025]

I mentioned that I am autistic, not to be confused with artistic. I know it is part of a joke. That means I am a bit slow to respond. My mother has told me about how I had delayed development. Looking at the photo of me standing at one year old. My hand is on the bumper of the car next to me, meaning I am supporting myself with my hand on the bumper. One other thing is terminology, that is not a dress, it is a jumper.

I wonder how much anger my dad had because I did not respond fast enough. Then when my sister is born, and needs to go to the hospital, there is more anger at my slowness. Speculation now, my sister dies, I become the survivor child, and a reminder of my sister's death. There was so much blame that I believed I caused her death. I wonder about my mother grief, and if I became a substitute for my sister, the replacement child. I don't really know because I was treated like a girl before and after my sister died.

Sometime in the next 2 years, I get s abused by my dad's partner, my dad is running around wanting to know why the birth defects, and my dad's partner is chased off the farm by my maternal grandfather. I get dropped off at my uncle's house while my parents go on a trip out west. There are rumors about why they went on the trip, one being he went to get my mother back. I don't know how many months they were gone, but I think it could be considered child abandonment.
It appears to be a strong possibility that my next sister is fathered by the partner. I found a photo of her naming the partner as being the father. And interested in genetics for science class, one of us has the wrong eye color, my mother says don't say anything.
Michelle

 

[michelle2025]

30 years later when the partner returns to our farm, there is no problem with him sleeping with my mother, other than me of course. When he returns he tells me not to let anyone know he is back in this state. And he asked me if I remembered going out west with my parents. I don't remember going out west with my parents because it never happened. I have a deep hatred and anger towards this man, and apparently it showed. Later I would be told by my brother-in-law that my anger was because he was taking my mother away from me. Imagine, a person that went to school for psychiatry telling someone that, biased on an assumption. I ended up with a mental breakdown later.

I started waking up during the night with severe headaches. More like a burning sensation at the top of my head. Once I realized it felt like my hair was being pulled, I said show me. What I saw was not much, but enough to know my mouth was used for his sexual enjoyment, and why I knew a child could drown that way. The pain went away when I said let go of my hair.

If I let things go, and imagine what would happen if it was true that the partner was my sister's father. Add to that, that my dad knew about it. I don't see any changes in the way things went. My sister becomes my mother's favorite. Everyone is told that I don't tell the truth, just in case it slips out that we don't have the same father. My dad becomes overly protective, so he is not blamed for anything because he is not her father. He too tells everyone that I lie.

A therapist once asked about the possibility of my dad being sexually involved with my sister. At the time I said no due to he was totally against incest. If he is not her real father then there is no incest, but he is on her birth certificate. I would still say no, if nothing else would stop him, the thought of what my mother would do is enough.
Michelle

Depending on the age of his daughter, at that time he had not reached the statute of limitations. In other words, the partner could still be arrested on a warrant for s abuse of his own daughter.

 

[deno]

I just wanted to say—I see you. Your words landed deeply. You've survived so much and still found a way to tell your story. That matters. You matter.

What struck me most is how your voice comes through so clearly, even after years of being told not to speak or being called a liar. The courage it takes to write all of this… that’s not small. That’s real strength.

Something you said reminded me of an image I heard recently that helped me: the idea of “sticky hands on the steering wheel.” It means those parts of us shaped by early trauma can still try to drive our lives today. But with compassion and care, we can say: “I see you. I hear you. But I’ve got the wheel now.”

I relate to what you said about being told who you were, rather than being asked. About people rewriting your story and calling it truth. That happened to me too, and for a long time, I believed they were right. But I’m slowly learning—they didn’t get to define me. And they don’t get to define you either.

I hope you keep writing, Michelle. You deserve to be heard, and I’m really glad I read your words today.

 

[michelle2025]

There was something about one of Shakespeare's plays called Othello, I think. In the play is a reaction to a accusation. The reaction is not from being caught, but rather that such an accusation would be made. Some other thing I learned was that the accuser is trying to confuse by accusing the person of something the accuser is doing. If I accuse her of this then she won't believe I'm doing it.

My dad accuses me of being lazy because he is lazy. He is using the excuse of his smashed fingers to get out of helping me with the chores.
I do wonder how he could use this excuse when his dad actually lost his finger in an accident.

My dad is a narcissist, with an ego that needs to be inflated by tearing others down. He needs to brag about things. One day it happened, he bragged to me how he fooled all his friends. The sword had his initials on it because he used a grinder to put them there. The branding Iron he found on a hunting trip that had his initials, was really made for him by a blacksmith.

Where my sister is concerned, I did not know that she had a genealogy DNA done, when I had mine done. Mine was done at a different place and the two were never compared. Hers shows her father to have Russian DNA. Mine has no Russian, mostly German. As far as she knows, the difference is due to being from two different companies. I have thought of having a test done through the same company as hers, then they would be compared. I suspect she would get the results the same time as I would, and I have no idea how learning that the man who raised her is not her biological father would affect her. So, I will keep my silence.
Michelle