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1
Was
a
Victim
of
CHILD NEGLECT
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Here is the vivid personal account of an adolescent who found a way out of
the trauma of child neglect.
It
is also the story of those
who helped Ernie "Doc" Knapp become a successful adult and parent.
1
WAS BORN
in Tampa,
Florida, in 1948. That
much 1 know- because
it's on my birth certificate.
1 have no memory or certain
knowledge of what transpired
over the next few years. 1 was
told once by a social worker that
my mother left me in a train
station in New York City when
1 was 18 months old and that 1
was placed in an orphanage
somewhere in the state of Con–
necticut.
My earliest memories are from
when 1 lived at the Turners' foster
home in nearby Walnut Beach. The
memories are vague. My brother
Paul, · who was three years older
than 1, lived with me. 1 do remem–
ber running on the sidewalk in the
rain pretending 1 was a jeep, my
right arm moving as a windshield
wiper. 1 remember, too, sneaking
around in the kitchen. 1 tasted flour
and was greatly disappointed . The
same was true of cotfee grounds.
There were times when 1 sat and
tried to cry. 1 had fearful night–
mares about being chased relent–
lessly by steam shovels all through
the house. These are the only emo–
tions 1 have memory of. 1 think that
by the t ime 1 was 4 years old 1 had
already learned the art of blocking
26
out, repressing emotions. But
I
think 1 really wanted to feel. 1 don't
know if 1 was physically abused
during that period, but 1 know that
1 was on my own mentally and
emotionally and that l was too
young to bear that responsibility.
1 used to spend my lunch money
to huy cigarettes and run down to
the beach and smoke them with my
brother and a few other kids.
I
recall throwing rocks through the
windows of people's bornes for no
reason. 1 don't remember my ear–
liest school years; 1 must have been
an outcast.
Back to
My
Father
1 went to live with my father when
1 was around the age of 7. He had
remarried. 1 can't remember feel–
ing loved except for one time when
J
was ill. My stepmother prepared
sorne lrish cotfee with lemon to
help me sleep.
School life was a disaster. The
teacher had a char t with everyone's
name on it. Each day the students
would get a certain color star-gold
was good, red was poor- as a rating
for cleanliness and appearance. 1
always gota red star. 1was a sloppy
writer and otherwise did poorly. It
was a horrible experience. One day
1 was walking to school and had on
a torn pair of pants. 1 cried all the
way. A woman stopped and asked
me what was wrong.
I
explained to
her that 1 was looking at the sun
and that was why 1 was crying.
1 once went over to my school–
teacher's house on a weekend. She
fed me hot cereal.
I
don't remem–
ber what we talked about; she may
have asked about my borne life. 1
do remember that being in her
house made me feel warm. lt was a
place
I
wanted to visit often.
My father found out that 1 had
visited there. He told me not to
visit there again. 1 was confused
and did not visit again.
When l try to understand that
now it appears as though our quasi–
family was staying true to the line
that
family business stays at
home.
I think my teacher could
have helped me somehow to lift the
feeling of a never-ending cloudy
day, of being detached from the
rest of the world. 1 had truly
become-and would continue to be
throughout the rest of my child–
hood- locked inside myself, un–
knowingly unable to connect to
another person, to know
what
others were feeling, or
that
others
were feeling. 1 did whistle and that
gave me great pleasure. 1 made up
the tunes.
In an lnstltutlon
When 1 was around 8 my father
gave me up again. 1 remember him
The
PLAIN TRUTH
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