The Meeting with My Parents
by Elouise
Diane and Elouise standing by the Savannah River
20 Nov 1993, the day after meeting with my parents
On 19 November 1993 I met with my parents in Savannah, Georgia. A gift to myself on the eve of my 50th birthday.
It took 1 ½ years to prepare for the meeting. It wasn’t a declaration of war. It was an attempt to see whether my parents and I could begin talking about my childhood. Put another way, could I hold my own viewpoint without trying to change my parents’ viewpoints?
The biggest unknown was how my father would respond. His habit was to talk over and down at me.
Now I’m in Savannah. My father is sitting directly across the table from me, with my mother next to him. I’ve asked a pastor we all know to be present. He convenes the meeting and turns it over to me. David is on my left hand; my sister Diane is on my right—both instructed not to talk or try to argue on my behalf.
I read from a single-spaced, 1 ¼ page statement. Here’s the heart of what I said about the way my father punished me as a child and teenager.
The spankings were abusive. I was very small; you were very big. I had no power; you seemed to have all the power. The spankings happened regularly for most of my growing-up years. They were terrifyingly predictable. I dreaded nothing as much as I dreaded being spanked. Worst of all, the spankings were administered in a way that shamed, humiliated, and silenced me. . . .I have been lost for most of my adult years. Lost in a sea of shame, humiliation, and fear–fear of opening my mouth and saying directly to you what I need to say: I did not deserve to be shamed, humiliated, and silenced.
Though my parents were in this together, my mother wasn’t in the room when I was being punished. My question for her was simple: What was it like for you when I was being punished? Where were you? What was it like to hear us crying and pleading? She didn’t remember hearing anything.
From my father, I wanted one thing: an apology for the way he shamed, humiliated, and silenced me. I asked for an apology, which was immediately denied. Thankfully, getting an apology wasn’t my goal.
There was one unexpected disruption during the meeting. My father abruptly walked out of the meeting, left the building, and sat in his car. We could see him through the window. No one said anything. It was my meeting. I waited several minutes. Then I signaled to David to come with me for moral support. We stood on the sidewalk beside the car while I talked with him for a long time. Eventually he agreed to come back and finish the conversation. I was astonished and relieved.
After this meeting, D and I visited my parents (in Savannah) on several occasions. I always had a list of questions to ask. I learned a lot from these informal conversations, though my father was clearly set in his ways and unwilling to change. Still, these conversations were a gift I hadn’t anticipated. Not surprisingly, many of my father’s rough ways reflected my grandfather’s unpredictable, harsh beatings of my father. A sad legacy.
Thanks for stopping by today.
Elouise♥
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 8 November 2021
Photo taken by DAFraser on 20 November 1993; Diane (on the left) and I are at the Savannah River waterfront.
Telling the Truth 
Thank you for sharing this, Elouise. All these years later, I remember the “bigness” of that initial meeting with your parents. I’m glad for you that you did that, and kept doing it. What you learned, and continue to learn from those times has given you different lenses through which to see your (and your family’s) story. So many of us do not have that. Your sharing may help someone find their own way to asking about (and gaining clarity on) things that, though unseen, have impacted, and continue to impact their lives. Yours is a work of determined hope. Thank you!
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What a kind comment. You’re so welcome, Debbie. Yes, I remember telling students what I was going to do in Savannah (not in detail). Even though I’ve blogged about this meeting a few times, I hadn’t described what it took to get ready for that meeting, or what happened afterwards. I hear a lot of talk about dealing with the past. Sadly, I don’t hear a lot of talk about what that costs victims and victimizers who are still living. It’s a difficult call, yet I’m convinced we can do more to support women and men (not just children) who are still fighting or trying to ignore or ‘get beyond’ yesterday’s battles with themselves or others. The pandemic seems to have made things much worse–along with unhelpful comments and behavior from public figures who call themselves leaders.
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One would think that growing up in abusive situation, or with heavy smokers, drinkers, etc would cause a child to go 100% in the other direction, but it is a sad statistic that those who have been physically or sexually abused in childhood are likely to become abusers themselves, as you experienced with your father.
In my case, you will find from my book, that my brother in his misguided way, thought handing out “spankings” was the right thing to do to curb my teenage behaviour. Sadly, it only caused me to rebel more. At his scattering of the ashes, his mate told me that he had tried to get him to stop, telling my brother that it would only drive me away. My brother replied, ‘I just want her to behave differently’. Well, it had a part in driving me away – at sixteen – and we didn’t speak again for ten years. When we reunited, we never spoke of those years, and we never settled our feelings. I’m proud you found the ability to do so.
My biggest regret is that this taught me to expect violence from men if I didn’t do everything their way. After leaving home, my next two relationships simply increased the level. Until I finally broke away in my early twenties and put space between men and my need to be loved. Even then, it was a wobbly time until finally settling in my early thirties.
As you see, I am following the unfolding of your journey with keen interest. Even now, in my mid-sixties, there is still time to learn and adjust further.
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What a sad set of choices. I can see why you wish you and your brother had talked about this before his death. I’m 1/3 of the way through your book (hard to take in big pieces, and well worth the effort). Being silenced is horrendous. Breaking silence can also be deadly. Your “biggest regret” is heartbreaking. I didn’t expect violence from men; I did, however, fear their power. Usually they were professionally in a position of power over me. My one exception was Dean Erwin Griswold (Harvard Law School), my best boss ever. He was a Quaker, a gentleman, and not afraid to do the right thing. If I could change one thing about my academic and professional life, I would “rewrite” the times I buckled under the power of bosses when I knew the path they wanted to take wasn’t appropriate or helpful to the institution. I firmly believe my clergy father’s upbringing succeeded in planting fear of men in me, even though I knew my father weak and wounded from his own sad and sorry upbringing.
I also don’t think it’s ever too late to change–not just my behaviors, but my willingness to talk about truth. Whether people are listening carefully or not, my major goal is to stand up, speak up, sit down, and let the outcomes (usually institutional cold-shoulder treatment or punishment) play out. For women here in the USA, standing up and speaking out is rarely rewarded. Yet somewhere out there is a child, teenager or woman whose life was messed up by any number of family power struggles. I must also say that most of my colleagues at the seminary were supportive of me then and now. It’s difficult not to be supportive, when you realize how many students are struggling with secrets and lies they’ve believed about themselves.
Well…I could go on, but won’t! Thanks so much for your comments, Gwen. Mid-sixties is a great place to be! So is writing–giving wings to your words, and letting them go.
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Elouise, thank you. For being wise and brave and compassionate in 1993 and for giving us the gift of seeing what wise and brave and compassionate looks like.
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You’re welcome, dw. Thank you for your kind words. I can’t say I felt wise, brave or compassionate at that moment. It’s almost as though I became, overnight, another woman. I didn’t have a clue how things would progress in the next years. Not just with my parents, but with my three sisters. I can say, though, that I never once regretted what I did.
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Whew! I can tell this was HARD! I appreciate what you said: could I hold my own viewpoint without trying to change my parents’ viewpoints? That’s where I tend to get stuck. I want to convince my parents I’m right, and they want to do the same, and therein lies the battle!
I hope you’re feeling okay, even though you can’t do things you want to do. Thinking of you, Natalie 💜
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Thanks, Natalie. I’m in the one-thing/one-day at a time mode. My body is finally directing the traffic–or not! Yes indeed, the meeting in Savannah was difficult. However, following the meeting, every time David and I visited with them (not right away, mind you), we had interesting conversations about things I wanted to ask. David added his comments and questions as well, even taking on my father’s naive way of explaining why he treated each of us (daughters) as he did.
The sad reality is that neither my mother or my father grew up in healthy homes. Whatever they did with each of us (daughters) was almost spur of the moment action to keep things under control and to make the best of our financial situation (never good). With each of these post-meeting conversations, they softened a bit–realizing that I didn’t hate them. My mother actually began understanding me (after reading twice my Confessions of a Beginning Theologian). My father never read the book at all, though he and David got along well, right up to the end. His “son”-in-law.
Praying for you and your parents as you navigate your own post-meeting realities. I believe family history (including our parents’ upbringing) is part of what’s happening between generations. Today’s realities here in the USA and elsewhere aren’t reassuring, no matter how we feel or what we believe regarding what’s right.
Greetings to your David!
Elouise
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