Fear

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From From Shame to Sin: The Christian Transformation of Sexual Morality in Late Antiquity (2013)

  Coition was anything but a vacu- ous physical act without eff ects beyond the circulation of heat and moisture. “He who joins himself to a prostitute becomes one body with her.” Paul’s demand was simple: “fl ee fornication.” Th e stakes were pitched deliberately high, and in an idiom of Mediterranean piety that gentile converts would immediately understand. “Th e fornicator sins into his own body. Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you?” Forni- cation was an act of pollution in the sacred space of the Christian body.  Paul’s refl ections on fornication, like a stone on the river bottom that suddenly catches the light, reveals the unexpected depths of the term’s mean- ing. Fornication was not just a marker of ethnic diff erentiation, providing a  FROM SHAME TO SIN template of sexual rules setting God’s faithful apart from the heathens. Paul’s understanding of fornication made the body into a consecrated space, a point of mediation between the individual and the divine. When Paul heightened the term’s meaning, he also foreshadowed a certain narrowing of the term porneia and its scope in gentile Christianity. Th e specter of sexual lassitude presented by the libertine faction immediately suggested not the establishment of a free love commune but the traditionally harmless and “lawful” outlet for male sexual energies: prostitution. Th e availability of dishonored women traced the profoundly diff erent foundations of sexual morality in the outside world. It was almost inevitable that fornication would come to identify, ever more narrowly, the types of extramarital sex- ual license entrenched in gentile society, centered on bodies without access to sexual honor. In First Corinthians, Paul has set his sights not on heavy petting gone too far among young innocents in the congregation, nor on carnal bohemianism. Far more consequentially, Paul intended to dam the traditional canals long approved as spillways for the inevitable sexual heats of young men in the ancient world. Christian porneia would recast the harmless sexual novitiate that was an unobjectionable part of sexual life in antiquity as an unambiguous sin, a transgression against the will of God, echoing in eternity. Despite the extraordinary weight Paul places on sexual purity, his mis- sive to Corinth was a delicate act of triangulation. Word had reached Paul of a faction within the Christian community who declared that strict con- tinence was the mea sure of holiness. Paul could not register unqualifi ed disagreement. “I wish that all were as I myself am,” he writes, foreground- ing his own celibacy. For centuries Christians will elaborate on this most gentle of moral suggestions, usually with a stridency that contrasts with Paul’s cautious sensibility. Paul was not willing to disenfranchise the reli- able married house holders who held together the fl edgling church. Mar- riage was to be accommodated, “by way of concession, not of command.”

• From The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25-Year Landmark Study (2000)

  Family celebrations, 23 Family continuity, 81–83 lack of, 75 Family environment, unsupportive, 264–65 Family history, 21–23 home as symbol of, 81 rewriting, 123 Family home, 81 Family law, xxviii, xxxvi, xxxix, 314 Family leave, 303 Family relationships internalized template of, 77 Family secrets, 102–5 violence as, 103, 104 Family ties, 131–45 Family vacations, 23 Father-child relationships adult children, 134, 135, 299, 300–1 blunting of, 250–53 in divorced families, 135, 137, 138, 139–40 violent fathers, 112–13 Father-daughter relationship, 194, 286— 87 Fathers, 135–40 adult children of divorce, 66–67 and court-ordered visiting, 174–81 in custody arrangements, 212, 213 identification with, 96 involvement with children, 80, 173 loss of, in divorce, 172 and mother-daughter relationship, 202 providing support to adult children, 199–201 in second marriage, 138, 139–40 and stepmother-stepchild relationship, 274–75 and success of daughters’ marriages, 194 symbolic significance of, 136 of vulnerable children, 230, 233, 234 Fathers’ movement, 239 Fathers’ rights, 174 Fear(s), 63, 301 in adult children of divorce, xxxiv– xxxv become part of character, 62 of betrayal, 30–31 of change, xl of conflict, xl, 6, 55–57 of hurting others, 285–86 of loneliness, 73 of loss, 32, 61 of love, 62, 63 of rejection, 150 of repeating parents’ history, 31 in young adulthood, 31–32 Feelings in children, 32 cutting off, 263, 279–81 forced underground, 62, 63 Fighting, 27, 98–99, 101, 103, 104 avoiding, for sake of children, 269— 81, 287 postdivorce, 94, 175–76 Friendship(s), xl and custody arrangements, 218 early, 20 missing, in visitation, 177, 178 Girls effects of witnessing violence on, 140–44 marriages, 191–94 and stepfathers, 242–43, 244 Good Marriage, The (Wallerstein), 290 Grandparents, 38, 68, 200 Growing up, 26–38 experience of, 10 lonely, 159–73 process of, 32–33, 34 takes longer, 35–38 Happy intact family/marriage, xxxviii, 16–17 children from, xxvi Happiness, danger in, xxxiv–xxxv Heart condition, 226–28, 229, 234–35, 236–38, 256, 262 Holidays, 23 Identification with parent, 96, 125 Identity as children of divorce, 291–92 created by divorce in childhood, 62 Infants and joint custody, 216–18 Intact families, xxxiii, 15, 16 adolescence in, 108–9 adults raised in, xxvii, 300 caretaker child in, 12 children raised in, 297 children’s efforts to restore, 95 conflict resolution in, 56–57 disagreements in, 45 and expectations of future, 290 father-child relationship in, 139 father-child succession in, 251 funds provided for college in, 253 kinds of, 16–17 lack of escape from legacy of, 155— 56 loss of, 298 marriage of adults raised in, 60, 72, 74–79, 193–94 mother’s role as intermediary in, 244 parent-child relationship in, 136 parent-child relationships of adults raised in, 82–83 parental interaction in, 33, 34–35 parenting and legacy of, 79–81 shared parenting in, 173 see also Happy intact family/ marriage; Unhappy intact family/ marriage Interests, competing, xxxviii–xl, 51 Intervention for children from chaotic families, 126–27 focus on loss of father(s), 172 lack of, 106–20 need for, in violent families, 112— 14 Jealousy, 5, 42 stepmother and first wife, 280 stepparent and stepchild, 274 in violence, 142–43 Joint custody, xxxviii, 90, 112, 135, 204–6, 314 effects on children, 214–16 infants and, 216–18 older children, 218–19 Joint legal custody, 212–13 Joint physical custody, 204–6, 208–14 defined, 213 Judges, xxviii, xli, 6, 115, 294–95, 311, 313, 314 and custody arrangements, 212, 214— and fathers’ visitation rights, 174, 181 Judith Wallerstein Center for the Family in Transition, xxxiii– xxxvi, 17 Kay, Herma, xxviii Kelly, Joan Berlin, xxxii Learning disorders, 225 Learning from experience, 38, 72 Leftovers from a marriage, 47, 165, 247 Legal system, 140, 181–82, 184–85, 219, 312 “don’t criticize” policies, 115 Lewis, Julia, xxvi Life crisis and divorce, 6 Loneliness, xxxvii–xxxviii, xl, 33, 260 fear of, 73 growing up, 159–73 of youngest children of divorce, 167–70 Loss of childhood, xxiii and divorce, 5–6, 28–29 fear of, 32, 61 Love, 150, 293 fear of, 62, 63 internalized image of, 104–5 taking a chance on, 59 Love affairs/lovers, 28, 29 adult children of divorce, 32, 73 children from intact families, 72 Man-woman relationship, 46, 130 fragility of, 298 intimacy/pain intertwined in, 104 lack of template for, 54, 264, 299 nature of, 303 talking about, 47 views of, 129 Marital bond and parent-child relationship, 10 Marriage(s) adult children of divorce, xxii–xxiii, 31, 32, 58–63, 73–74, 144, 147— 49, 151–52, 190–94, 195–97, 289— 90, 300, 301 adults raised in intact families, 74— 79 adult vulnerable child, 255–57 between children of divorce, 260— 64 children from intact families, 72, 73— 74 delaying, 306 happy ever after, 57–61 good/bad times in, 43, 44, 57 images of, 74 impulsive, early, 38 as lifetime commitment, xxvii–xxviii making priority, 76, 77 people want more out of, 297 preparing for, 304–5 reasons for violence in, 103–5 rules for, 57 strengthening, 303–4 values regarding, 315–16 working for, 73, 74 see also Bad marriages; Remarriage; Second marriages Marriage model(s), 74–75, 79, 82–83 Massachusetts, 212 Meals, shared, 21 Mediation/mediators, xli, 6, 115, 309, and child’s relationship with father, 112, 113 and custody arrangements, 205, 206— 8, 214 and fathers’ visitation rights, 174, 181 Medicare, 203 Men’s movement, 253 Mental health professionals, xxviii, xli, 68, 229, 295, 312, 314 and fathers’ visitation rights, 174 Model(s), 37 for exiting, 120 lack of, 299 man-woman relationship, 264 of marriage, 74–75, 79, 82–83 provided by parents, 117, 138 rejecting, 301 Model child, 269–70 Money, battles over, 275 Money problems, 130, 163–64 Moral behavior, example of, 49 Moral issues, 113, 287, 292 Moral principles of parents, 44, 45, 46 of siblings, 145 Mother(s), 143–44, 155 of adult children of divorce, 201–2 in custody arrangements, 212 daughter(s) protecting, 282–83, 284 intermediary role of, 244 leaving violent marriages, 114–15 not wanting divorce, 272, 273 postdivorce loss of, to children, 163— 67, 168–69, 170–73 in stepfamilies, 244–45 of vulnerable children, 230, 233, 234–35, 265 Mother-child relationships, 172 Mother-daughter relationship, 202, 300 traps in, 283–84 Multiple stressors (concept), 335 n1 Muscular disorders, 230–32 Myths of divorce, xxvii, xxviii, xxix–xxxi of divorce culture, 26 No-fault divorce, xxviii, 287 Numbness, 279–80, 281, 284 Old age help for parents in, 139, 203, 301 Older children and joint custody, 218–19 and stepfathers, 240 see also Adolescence/adolescents Only children, 144 Out of control, 186, 187, 188 Parallel parenting, 24 Parent-child alliances, 115–17, 125 Parent-child relationships, 298 adult children of divorce, 81–83, 200–3, 222 changes in, 26–27, 311–12 continuity in, after divorce, 154, 208 course of, 312 and custody arrangements, 216 effect of divorce on, xxxv effect of parents’ fighting on, 270 fluctuation in, 202–3 marital bond and, 10 plasticity in, 200–1 postdivorce, 140, 235, 272–73 reworking, 121–24 visitation arrangements in, 175–81 Parent education services, 294, 302, 309–10, 312 Parental interaction, images of, 33–34 Parental love, need for, 120 Parenting, xxxv, 305 delegating, 308 diminished, 9–13 and gain/loss in divorce, 51 of infants, 216 invisible structure of, 24–25 joint, 172–73 and legacy of intact families, 79–81 in postdivorce family, 311–12 priority on, 307 Parenting dialogue, 24–25 Parents, 307–9 and adjustment in adulthood, 300 and children’s marriage partners, 193 children’s violence against, 106–7 commitment to maintaining marriage, xxxvii, 39, 71 and custody arrangements, 213, 214, 215, 217–18, 219 decision to divorce, xxxix, xli divorce of older, 83 emotional dependence on children, 10–12 gain/loss in divorce or staying together, 51 getting even with, through sexual activity, 189 postdivorce, 221, 298 role of, 24, 25 staying together for children, xxxi, 39–46, 307 support for, in old age, 139, 203, 301 taking children’s concerns seriously, 43–44 talking with, 306 tied to, 37–38 in unhappy intact families, xxxvii, 102–5 of vulnerable children, 230 want children to conform, 281 of young children of divorce, 168 Parents’ rights priority given to, xli, 115 Passivity, 182, 235, 257–59 in marriage crisis, 77, 78 Past (the) ghosts of, 284–89 repeating, 220–22 undoing, 146–56 Peer relationships, 313 importance of, 20–21 Personality, 218, 235 anxiety about relationships bedrock of, 300 Planning, 146–47 Plans for future, 48, 49 Playgroups, 310 Playing, 18–21 Postdivorce family, xxxi, xxxvi, xxxviii, xli, 298 bringing up children in, 310 caretaker child in, 12–13 children shaped by, 280 children’s problems in, xxix–xxx child’s interests in, 217–18 new family form, 10 parenting in, 51 putting children first in, 270 Powerlessness, 48, 181, 258 Pregnancies, unwanted, 189 Primary caregiver, 216 Professional help, 38 Promiscuity, 129, 130, 186, 189 Protection of children, xxxi, 49 courts and, 181, 183, 295 in divorce of children of divorce, 220–21 efforts toward, 302–3 in mediation, 207 by not fighting, 270 in situations of violence, 99–100 vulnerable children, 229, 232–34 Public policy, xxxiii, 20, 206–8, 303–4 Reagan, Ronald, xxviii Rebellion, 188–90 Reconciliation fantasies/wishes, xxxvi, 92, 237 Rejection, 233 fear of, 150 Relationships adult children of divorce, xxxv, 154, 156, 169, 181, 192, 194, 198, 235, 306 evolving, 195–203 inability to leave, 285–86 lack of template for, xxxv, 32–35, 38 staying in loveless, xx–xxi, 29–31 see also Adult relationships; Man-woman relationship Remarriage, xli, 6–7, 25, 28, 29, 51, 298, 299 children raised in, 246, 247, 265 fathers in, 138, 139–40 good, 276 parents of vulnerable child, 233, 234, 237 stepfather-child relationship in, 241, 242 violence in, 128 and young children of divorce, 169 see also Second marriages Remarried family, xxxi children raised in, 297, 310 father(s) in, 136–37, 138 mother’s role as intermediary in, 244–45 structure in, 109 Rescue, 9, 42, 143 in adult relationships, 31 self, 129 Rescue marriage, 336 n3 Resilience, 211, 220–21 vulnerability and, 264–66 Resilient children, 299 Role models, 37, 38 parents, 79, 95, 124, 290, 291 see also Model(s) Role reversal, 10–11 Routines, 107, 128, 308 loss of, 162, 166–67 vulnerable child, 232 Scapegoating, 46, 47 Second Chances (Wallerstein), xxiv, xxv Second-class citizens, children feel like, 178, 181, 248–49, 313 Second marriages, 29, 272–73, 297, 299 children from, 164 children raised in, 276–79 divorce rate, 28, 295 failure of, 312 Self-destructive behavior, 160, 186, 222 ending, 198–99 Self-esteem, 59, 129, 130 Separation, 59, 290–91, 300 in adolescence, 108 daughter from mother, 202, 283–84 inhibited, 9 Setting example, 71–83 no one to set, 52–70 Sexual activity, 186–94, 279 beginning, 28 early, 299 postdivorce, 130 purpose served by, 188–90 as rite of passage, 37 Sexually transmitted diseases, 189 Siblings, 144–45 caretaker child and, 8, 9, 167 of vulnerable child, 230, 232 Single mothers, 65–66 Single parents/parenthood, xxxvii— xxxix, 25, 246, 298, 299, 300, 308 Single young women, 289–93 Social change divorce culture in, 296–97 Social life lost in visitation, 177, 179 Social skills, 20, 74 Society childhood and, 296 and divorce culture, 309–11 Sole custody, 212, 215, 216 Soloman, Judith, 217 Special needs children, xxxviii, 25, 229 Spouse(s) children of divorce, xl–xli, 57, 60 school for, 74–79 Stepchildren, 203, 252, 298 Stepfamily, 236–53 taking responsibility in, 246–50 Stepfather(s), 175, 193, 194, 234, 237— 38, 239–41 biological fathers and, 245–46 from child’s point of view, 241–44 and mother-daughter relationship, 202 vulnerable child as, 254–55 Stepfather-child relationship, 239–41 Stepmothers, 239, 273–76, 299 loss of, 6–7 mother jealous of, 280 and visitation arrangements, 175 Stepparent(s), xli, 29, 67 moral authority of, 109 relationships with, 169–70 Stepsiblings, 29, 275 Strauss, Murray A., 110 Structure, 107, 128, 308 changes in, 305 in development, 167 loss of, in divorce, 164–67 rule-based, 108–9 Supper, 21 Taking sides, 44, 45 Teenagers see Adolescence/adolescents Temperament and adjustment to joint custody, 218 match with family environment, 265 Template(s) of family relationships, 42, 77 of intimacy, 105 of man-woman relationship, xxxv, 54, 62 for relationships, xxxv, 32–35, 38 Therapy, 144, 156, 306 Third marriages, 297, 299 Time-sharing, 213, 214, 215 Time spent with parents and psychological adjustment, 215 Transformation, stories of, 124–26, 131–32, 133, 151, 198 Transitions, 28, 216, 218 Travel with visitation, xxxi, 177, 210, 310, 314 unaccompanied, on airplanes, 182— 84, 185 Trickle-down happiness, 234–35, 273 “Trickle down” myth, xxix Trust, 62, 63 Turning lives around, 121–30 through church(es), 130 Unhappy intact family/marriage, xxvi, xxxiii, 300, 307 adults raised in, 14 adults raised in, and having children, 79–80, 81 chaotic, 117–20 children content in, xxix, 27, 228 children lack memories of playing in, 18–19 and concerns about marriage failure, 76, 79 staying in, for children, xxxiii, xxxvii, xxxix, 17–22, 39–46, 50— 51, 67, 71–72, 74, 304 violence in, 99–105 what parents should do, 43–46 Values/value system adult children of divorce, 154–55 regarding marriage and divorce, 315— 16 Violence, xli, 87–105, 161–62 child against parent, 106–7 by children, 126 children exposed to, xxxvii, 313 divorce delivers child from, 26 divorce not connected with, for children, 88, 91–92, 93, 298 effects of, on children of divorce, 89–91, 110–12, 114–15 effects of, on children of intact families, 117–20 failure to intervene in, 106–20 in intact family(ies), 97–105 intergenerational transmission of, 331 n5 keeping secret, 102, 103, 104 need for intervention in, 112–14 in remarriages, 128 residues of, 152–54 roots of, 142–43 in second marriage, 138 services for families, 310 see also Witnessing violence Visitation, fights over, 11–12 Visiting court-ordered, xxxviii, 160, 174–85, 205, 219, 252, 313–14 legal arrangements for, xxx Visiting arrangements, 135, 310, 311— 12, 313–14 father’s violence and, 112, 113–14 friendships and activities not considered in, 20, 177, 178 Vulnerable children, xxxviii, 225–35, 254–56, 257–58, 259–60, 261–63, 299 protection of, after divorce, 232–34 Vulnerability and resilience, 264–66 to sex and drugs, 187 Waiting for disaster, xxii, 36 Wedding(s), 315–16 Witnessing violence, 90, 110, 112 effect on children, 313 effects on girls, 140–444 Women divorces initiated by, 296–97 internalization of inferiority, 142, leaving violent marriages, 114–15 postdivorce role of, 95 see also Mother(s) Work, 150, 169, 301, 303 Worry about parents, xxxi, xl Young adults preparing for marriage, 304–5 relationship with fathers, 138–40 Young children of divorce, 159–73, 298 anger in, 167, 168, 169, 271 keeping things to themselves, 271— 73, 276, 280–81 loneliness of, 167–70 loss of mothers, 170–73 needs of, 308 parents’ relationship and, 217 and stepfathers, 240 and stepparents, 275–76 and visitation, 181 Acknowledgments WE WOULD LIKE TO ACKNOWLEDGE a profound debt to the Zellerbach Family Fund, which funded the original “children of divorce study” in the early seventies and has continued to support this work for twenty-five years.

• From Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption (2014)

  More than a few people had passed on to us that they’d heard angry people in the community make threats on our lives because they believed we were trying to help a guilty murderer get off death row. “I don’t know,” I told Michael, “but we have to press on, man, we have to press on.” We both sat there in silence, watching the sun fade into darkness. More fiddler crabs emerged from their holes, scurrying crazily and getting closer to where we sat. I turned to Michael in the approaching darkness. “We should go.” A Chapter Ten Mitigation merica’s prisons have become warehouses for the mentally ill. Mass incarceration has been largely fueled by misguided drug policy and excessive sentencing, but the internment of hundreds of thousands of poor and mentally ill people has been a driving force in achieving our record levels of imprisonment. It’s created unprecedented problems. I first met Avery Jenkins over the telephone. He called me, but he was pretty incoherent. He couldn’t explain what he had been convicted of or even clearly describe what he wanted me to do. He complained about the conditions of his confinement until a random thought caused him to abruptly switch topics. He sent letters, too, but they were just as hard to follow as his phone calls, so I decided to speak with him in person to see if I could make better sense of how to help. — For over a century, institutional care for Americans suffering from serious mental illness shifted between prisons and hospitals set up to manage people with mental illness. In the late nineteenth century, alarmed by the inhumane treatment of incarcerated people suffering from mental illness, Dorothea Dix and Reverend Louis Dwight led a successful campaign to get the mentally ill out of prison. The numbers of incarcerated people with serious mental illness declined dramatically, while public and private mental health facilities emerged to provide care to the mentally distressed. State mental hospitals were soon everywhere. By the middle of the twentieth century, abuses within mental institutions generated a lot of attention, and involuntary confinement of people became a significant problem. Families, teachers, and courts were sending thousands to institutions for eccentricities that were less attributable to acute mental illness than resistance to social, cultural, or sexual norms. People who were gay, resisted gender norms, or engaged in interracial dating often found themselves involuntarily committed. The introduction of antipsychotic medications like Thorazine held great promise for many people suffering from some severe mental health disorders, but the drug was overused in many mental institutions, resulting in terrible side effects and abuses. Aggressive and violent treatment protocols at some facilities generated horror stories that fueled a new campaign, this time to get people out of institutional mental health settings.

• From Etched in Sand (2013)

  With my first step, my glass fell and broke on the wood floor next to Cookie’s boneless face. My mother instantly jumped up and lunged toward me. She grabbed my hair and shouted, “You stupid little twat!” When she jerked my head back, I dropped my plate and that broke too. Gi and Norm ran into the room, and Gi pushed Cookie away from me. The fight that followed was so terrifying I could only see it as a series of frozen snapshots. There was broken glass; there was Cookie with her wooden-heeled shoe thrust into my sister’s back, and her face, and her arms, and her legs; there was blood covering Gi’s face; there was Cookie’s enormous body on top of Gi’s stringy one; there were words—Gi screaming and Cookie saying over and over again that she wished Gi had never been born; and there was Norm and me, both of us hollering, begging for Gi to stop fighting back so maybe our mother would finally stop beating her. “Please, can we have the games?” I whispered to my sisters, ignoring the social worker. “There are a lot of kids where they’re going, and there is no extra room for games,” Mrs. Brady said. My sisters gave each other a look—their expressions were so similar it was like watching only one of them in a mirror. Gi opened my bag and removed the games. Camille held Norm’s hand and Gi carried me to the car. She sobbed in my neck as her footsteps crunched across the gravel. There was a pudgy man with hair all over his face waiting at one car. At the other car, where Mrs. Brady put my and Norm’s Hefty bags, was a big pink-faced man. He opened the back door and let my sisters crawl all over Norm and me as they hugged and kissed us good-bye. Mrs. Brady got in the front seat and immediately put on her seatbelt. Her back was stiff as she stared out the front windshield. “Je t’aime, ” Gi whispered in my ear, then she and Camille got out of the car. I reached up and felt my face, wet and slippery from sisters’ tears. Just as the man was closing my door, Cookie trampled out of the house like a drunken elephant. “MY BABIES,” she wailed. The man hurriedly got into the front seat and slammed his door. A sturdy click sounded before Cookie was at the window, her fists thudding against the glass. “Don’t open the windows,” Mrs. Brady said without turning to look at us. “My babies!” Cookie cried. “Don’t worry, my babies! I’ll get you back!” I watched my mother in her spandex jumpsuit bounce around outside my window. Her insincere pleading didn’t feel real—it was like watching a play at school. Norm was as impassive as I.

• From Etched in Sand (2013)

  Becky turned it on. “Bunkroom. Obviously.” Becky pointed to the small stretch of wall where there was no bed. “Sit there an’ wait for my mom.” Norman and I did as we were told. We both kept our eyes on Becky, all curved and splatty in the doorway. After a couple of seconds she turned her head and shouted into the hallway, “MA! I’M DONE WITH THE TOUR!” Mrs. Callahan showed up, and Becky stepped further into the room. “I don’t want no trouble outta you two, you hear?” Mrs. Callahan said. Norm and I both nodded. “You do everything we say, and we’ll all get along fine. And don’t think you can be sneakin’ around behind my back ’cause I got eyes and ears all over this house.” I thought of floating eyes and detached ears bobbing against the ceiling like forgotten party balloons. “And Becky here”—Mrs. Callahan pointed at Becky, who stared at her mother with open-mouthed wonder—“sees everything. There ain’t nothin’ that gets by her. You got it?” “Yes,” Norm said, and he nudged me until I said yes too. “You wanna tell the rules or me?” Mrs. Callahan said to her daughter, who had yet to close her gaping mouth. “You,” Becky said. “Fine. Rule One: all foster things in the bunkroom at eight p.m. with lights out.” Becky smiled at the words foster things, and I wondered if she’d replace rent-a-kid with that. “Rule Two,” Mrs. Callahan continued. “The bunkroom door stays locked from eight until six the next morning. Rule Three: if you have to go to the bathroom after eight, you use the bucket.” Mrs. Callahan nodded at Becky, who smiled and rushed to the closet. She slid open the door and pointed up and down with her thick arm at the blue plastic bucket. “Can I tell ’em about bucket duty?” Becky grinned. “Yup. Make it quick,” Mrs. Callahan said. “You gotta carry the bucket downstairs,” Becky’s voice swung up as if this were a question, “and you can’t spill it or you’ll get in trouble. And then you take it in the backyard and you dump it into the poop hole.” Now she was really smiling. As if the word poop brought her particular pleasure. “Rule Four,” Mrs. Callahan continued. “You can’t use the bathroom more than three times a day. This ain’t no toilet paper factory. And when you use toilet paper, don’t use more than three squares for number one and six squares for number two.” I was wondering how she would know how many squares anyone used when Mrs. Callahan said, “Becky will know if you use too much and she’ll tell me.” “Obviously,” Norm whispered, so quietly that I felt the words more than I heard them. Norm and I spent the remainder of the afternoon on our bunk bed: Norm on top, me on the bottom. We were told the other kids had after-school activities and wouldn’t be home until late.

• From Etched in Sand (2013)

  My body sways, and I try to grasp onto the nearest column—am I so overwhelmed that I’m about to pass out? But as I lunge for support, I see the whole building shaking and people running outside with their luggage. “Bomb! Bomb!” they cry, and I join the crowd that’s running out the door. I stand there, watching the airport’s security staff climb up poles to see the damage around the airport. “It was an earthquake,” one announces, and the chaos quiets down to a murmur. Two hours later I finally climb in a cab and head to the city of Seattle. We ride in silence past remnants of the earthquake, clocking in at 6.8 on the Richter scale. The driver turns up the radio, where a reporter states this was a victimless quake. “The city built its infrastructure to withstand an earthquake of this magnitude,” we hear, and with a sense of relief, I reflect on the irony: it’s a shaky day all around. There will be aftershocks. And I trust that no matter how it works out, when it’s over I’ll still be standing. I’m just content that I’ve gotten this far. The next morning Ralph and his assistants greet me in their boardroom to discuss our legal strategy. “Regina, there is more at risk in bringing your case than just how it will turn out for you,” Ralph says. “Since this will be a precedent in Washington State and a case of first impression for other states, if the courts determine that a child is not a child at any age, but a child is anyone under age eighteen, you have closed the door for any other adult children to bring a successful paternity suit.” I rest my elbows on the table and take a moment to think. “I understand, Ralph. But this law has not been tested before because the burden of proof is high. But with all of our affidavits—Julia’s, my sisters’, my last foster mother’s, and mine—combined with the fact that Paul never denied having a sexual relationship with my mother, we are well prepared to prove that I am his child and compel a DNA test.” While we both are comfortable with the facts, I understand that he may actually have an additional concern; his credibility as a highly reputable paternity lawyer will be tested. “I’m confident that you would not be taking my case if you didn’t think that we had a fighting chance to convince the court that I am his child. A child should be a child at any age when it comes to knowing who their father is.” Ralph calls me. “Your case was filed with a judge in Whatcom County where Paul resides. The court hearing is scheduled for early summer.” Once I receive the briefing papers that Paul filed with the court in June, I’m eager to read what his defense to the action will be.

• From Etched in Sand (2013)

  I’m afraid to look at her so I don’t, but I tell her through my tears, “Thank you for my Big Wheel present.” Mama says it’s time to go. She shakes Christmas Mama’s hand and tells her to take care of her little gifts. After we all get fast big hugs from Mama and Susan, they hurry down the stairs and disappear. This visit feels different than the other Christmas visit did. I want Mama and Susan back, and I start to yell for them. Christmas Mama shushes me and takes us into a room with two little beds. My cries turn into a piercing wail. “Mama! Mama! Mama! ” Then it lands on my right cheek: a sharp front-handed slap. My head jerks toward my left shoulder but is jolted back with a backhanded slap to my left cheek that knocks me to the floor. “Stop crying or else I’ll really give you something to cry about, you little bitch!” she howls. “I’m Mom. You got that? I’m Mom.” No, no, no. I look at Cherie and Camille. “This is our mom,” Cherie tells me. She looks sad. “Listen to your big sister, you little whore. She’s right. You came from me, see this? From this belly. I’m your mom.” No. No. No. I don’t want her for my mom. “I want Papa.” “Oh, you want your father?” Christmas Mama says. “Well, he didn’t want you, and it’s no wonder, you goddamn little waste of skin. And he didn’t want me, either, so you just shut the fuck up about any papa . You got that? You do not want to get me started on that man, the arrogant, self-absorbed piece of shit.” I almost cry again but Camille runs and puts her arm around my shoulders. Christmas Mama commands her and Cherie to go outside and bring up all our stuff. “I’ll deal with this bastard,” she says. She looks mad at me, and I want to cry again. I haven’t done anything bad. Mama and Susan never yelled at me this way. Cherie and Camille stand in the door, staring with fear in their eyes. “You two go, goddammit!” she screams. When they run for the stairs, Christmas Mama tells me that she wishes I was dead, that I should have never been born. Then she bends over and grabs my right arm to yank me upright. She slaps both my cheeks again, then slams the door and locks it behind her. I’m locked in that room for days. I’m only allowed out for potty, baths, and to eat. If I start crying, my sisters come running in and beg me to stop. They lead me in counting. We count. They leave. I sleep. I wake, and I sit there bored. I count. I count. I cry. They come back. I count. The room is hot, so I take my clothes off to try and get cool.

• From Etched in Sand (2013)

  “You wanna tell the rules or me?” Mrs. Callahan said to her daughter, who had yet to close her gaping mouth. “You,” Becky said. “Fine. Rule One: all foster things in the bunkroom at eight p.m. with lights out.” Becky smiled at the words foster things, and I wondered if she’d replace rent- a-kid with that. “Rule Two,” Mrs. Callahan continued. “The bunkroom door stays locked from eight until six the next morning. Rule Three: if you have to go to the bathroom after eight, you use the bucket.” Mrs. Callahan nodded at Becky, who smiled and rushed to the closet. She slid open the door and pointed up and down with her thick arm at the blue plastic bucket. “Can I tell ’em about bucket duty?” Becky grinned. “Yup. Make it quick,” Mrs. Callahan said. “You gotta carry the bucket downstairs,” Becky’s voice swung up as if this were a question, “and you can’t spill it or you’ll get in trouble. And then you take it in the backyard and you dump it into the poop hole.” Now she was really smiling. As if the word poop brought her particular pleasure. “Rule Four,” Mrs. Callahan continued. “You can’t use the bathroom more than three times a day. This ain’t no toilet paper factory. And when you use toilet paper, don’t use more than three squares for number one and six squares for number two.” I was wondering how she would know how many squares anyone used when Mrs. Callahan said, “Becky will know if you use too much and she’ll tell me.” “Obviously,” Norm whispered, so quietly that I felt the words more than I heard them. Norm and I spent the remainder of the afternoon on our bunk bed: Norm on top, me on the bottom. We were told the other kids had after-school activities and wouldn’t be home until late. Staying away from Becky and Mrs. Callahan seemed like a wise idea, so Norm and I planned to sign up for as many after- school activities as we could the following day. Around five, Mrs. Callahan showed up in the doorway. Becky, her slumpy, open-mouthed shadow, hovered nearby. Behind them was a row of four kids varying in height from bigger than Camille and Gi to smaller than me. I quickly did the math: eight beds, six kids big and small. There was room for Gi and

• From Etched in Sand (2013)

  “Slide your feet into the stirrups, please,” she says, and I feel the blood rush from my face when the doctor walks in the door. After barely an introduction I feel the heat of his examining light between my legs, and my body clenches with the touch of his medical instruments. Suddenly I’m back in that foster home seven years ago, on the winter night when my sisters were locked out in the cold and Norm was banging on the door. “Let my sister go!” he’d screamed. This doesn’t feel much different. I feel violated, isolated, and quite certain that this makes it official: I never want to allow a boy to touch me again. It seems like no one besides Camille will give me a straight talk about womanhood, although some adults do seem to care enough to fumble through a few tidbits. On the last day of freshman year, I go home with my friend Sheryl, whose mom takes us to the park at the Wood Road School. I catch her eyeing my orange tank top before she says, “Girls, this is probably a good time to bring this up, and I’m only going to say it once: Never sit on the same swing with a boy.” Sheryl and I look at each other bewildered. “Mom, why?” she asks. “Because there are two swings: one for each of you. So you can swing, and he can swing, and you can even swing at the same time . . . but separately, you see. Never together.” We break into a fit of laughter. “Mom,” Sheryl says. “What about the teeter-totter?” “Girls, I’m serious: There will be no bumping on the swings.” “Thank you very much for that informative birds and bees talk, Mrs. Z,” I say, and Sheryl and I run for the swings, wrapping our arms around our shoulders with our imaginary swing-bumping boyfriends. That summer, Cherie is tied up with the baby. Camille’s still at the Petermans’ but often working twelve hours a day. I spend my days babysitting the kids on Addie’s street or with Sheryl and Tracey, taking the nine A.M. bus to Smith Point Beach and hopping the five P.M . bus home. We buzz about the thought of entering tenth grade and trying out for gymnastics. Secretly, I’m also excited because it’s the first time I’ll start the school year with a close-knit group of friends and a wardrobe I’m actually not embarrassed to wear. The first week of school I’m dumbstruck when the gymnastics coach reads my name off the list of girls who made the cut. “Coach,” I say, while the other girls are busy in huddled squeals. “I couldn’t even take a stab at the bars.” “Your upper body needs some strengthening, but your legs are cut and you’re strong on the beam.

• From Etched in Sand (2013)

  “Obviously,” Norm whispered. Becky didn’t seem to hear and galumphed away and then up the stairs, her feet slapping each step heavily. Norm and I followed quietly. We stopped outside a bathroom with brown and yellow tiles, a sliding shower door, and a toilet that was missing the lid. Norm and I looked at each other, holding back our smiles. We’d had far worse. In fact, as far as bathrooms went, this was one of the better ones. “Bathroom. Obviously.” This time Becky dragged out the word. As if the bathroom were even more obvious than the other rooms. “You and the other rent-a-kids have to keep it clean and you’re only allowed to use it in the day.” “What if we have to go at night?” Norm asked. “Hold it in,” Becky said. “Obviously,” Norm said. “Or use the bucket.” A jagged little smile slipped across Becky’s mouth. “Bucket?” Norm laughed, and I giggled. “You’re not gonna laugh when the door is locked and you hafta smell that bucket,” Becky said. We followed Becky down the hall to a wood-paneled room with four sets of bunk beds and a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. The switch for the light was in the hallway, outside the room. Becky turned it on. “Bunkroom. Obviously.” Becky pointed to the small stretch of wall where there was no bed. “Sit there an’ wait for my mom.” Norman and I did as we were told. We both kept our eyes on Becky, all curved and splatty in the doorway. After a couple of seconds she turned her head and shouted into the hallway, “MA! I’M DONE WITH THE TOUR!” Mrs. Callahan showed up, and Becky stepped further into the room. “I don’t want no trouble outta you two, you hear?” Mrs. Callahan said. Norm and I both nodded. “You do everything we say, and we’ll all get along fine. And don’t think you can be sneakin’ around behind my back ’cause I got eyes and ears all over this house.” I thought of floating eyes and detached ears bobbing against the ceiling like forgotten party balloons. “And Becky here”—Mrs. Callahan pointed at Becky, who stared at her mother with open-mouthed wonder—“sees everything. There ain’t nothin’ that gets by her. You got it?” “Yes,” Norm said, and he nudged me until I said yes too.

• From Etched in Sand (2013)

  BY MID -AUGUST, IT’S been six weeks since we’ve seen Cookie, and one afternoon Rosie and Norm are playing down the road when the landlord comes knocking. What would Amelia do? What would Camille do? Instantly I hide in the kitchen, ready to run out the back if he comes through the front. He knocks loudly once, twice, then three times. I hold my breath in anticipation of the sound of the doorknob turning. When all I hear is the buzz of the refrigerator, I peer around the corner to see if he’s still standing there. He’s not, but his truck is still perched in the driveway. Unfortunately, I straighten just in time to see him walk past the kitchen window, catching his eye as he catches mine. Shoot! I freeze. His face is creased and round, and what’s left of his white hair looks iridescent in the afternoon sun. I steady myself against the wall, bracing for an angry expression, but instead, concern has taken over his face. He motions for me to open the door. I debate it for a second. Then, having no choice, I turn the knob. “Your mother here?” he asks. “No,” I tell him. “She’s working.” “Oh, I see. She must work a lot.” “Pretty much all the time.” He frowns. “The rent is two weeks late,” he continues, as though I’d be shocked. “I’ve stopped by here a few times and haven’t seen anybody at home.” Now he’s studying me, but he makes no move to come inside. I’m blocking the door with my hip, leaving it only slightly ajar. I feel half naked in my striped tube top and cutoff jean shorts. Aware that he appears in no hurry to leave, I cross my arms over my chest to make it clear I don’t welcome any physical contact. “Everything in the house work okay?” he asks, peering behind me. “Yeah.” I peek over my shoulder and nod at him. “No sweat.” Something tells me this man won’t be easy to fool. Great. I’ll have to be on the lookout for social services from now on. “Okay then,” he says, starting down the back steps. “Good. Well, tell your mother I stopped by.” I don’t say anything, so he turns and walks toward the side of the house. Just before he’s out of sight, I call after him. “She works late.” He turns to face me again. “I noticed the oil tank is empty. Anybody been around lately to fill it?” “I’m not sure, but we don’t need it. It’s summer. It’s not a big deal.” After he rounds the corner, I close the door. Then I sit down with my back against it, sighing in relief as his truck pulls away. The next afternoon, when we return from the library, Norman heads out with his new neighborhood friends to play with someone’s skateboard. “Hey, Gi?” he yells.

• From Etched in Sand (2013)

  If she comes home to Rosie crying or to a cold dinner on the table, or a front yard that hasn’t been properly cut with our dull scissors, then the drinking turns into beatings. The new house gets broken in by my body as it makes dents and holes through the paneling and Sheetrock walls. I avoid her because I never know when she’ll feel like grabbing me by the back of the head and slamming my face into the table, causing relentless nosebleeds. I begin to run away again, hiding in the woods near my school or up in trees where no one can find me. Sometimes I disappear overnight, and at lunchtime the next day I tell my teacher I’m walking home for lunch. Then I head straight for the woods to search out safer hiding spaces. When I find them, I stash books wrapped in plastic bags there for me to read when I arrive later. When I’ve finished a book faster than I’d anticipated, I pass the time spelling antidisestablishmentarianism , the longest word in the dictionary. My goal is to get all the letters in under seven seconds. Then I shorten it to six seconds, then five, and when I conquer that, my mind begins to ponder how else I can keep it busy. Every few weeks Mom brings my siblings and me with her to her mandated psychiatrist visit. When we were in foster care, she spent time in what she called the loony bin—Pilgrim State Hospital. They only discharged her on account that she was good about taking what she calls her “happy pills,” and because she agreed to fulfill regular visits with a psychiatrist that would include a few visits with us kids. Before we walked into his office for the first time, Mom bent down and wrapped her hand around my arm so tight her fingernails dug tiny pink half-moons into my skin. “So help me Christ, if you blow it, Regina . . . He reads body language for a living. Lie good.” “About what?” “You know about what—about the little tiffs you and I have sometimes.” She leans in so I’m breathing the cigarettes from her breath. “Or else, you know, Regina. You know what will happen next.” I knew: The state would take us away again. I sit quietly in the psychiatrist’s office, looking at my hand against the blue canvas couch and insisting with my nods and smiles that life with Cookie Calcaterra is a day at the beach. The psychiatrist seems to watch me closer than he does my siblings, and I know he knows I’m lying. People look but don’t see, why? People hear but don’t listen, why? People touch, but don’t feel, why? After I write a poem titled “Why?” my fourth-grade teacher, Ms. Muse, suddenly seems to take a special liking to me.

• From Untrue (2018)

  What looks like propriety is, from another angle, a culturally specific form of social censure, a lesson relentlessly and falsely imparted as “etiquette.” “Some girls sit like this,” other girls told me when I was an adolescent, placing their second and third fingers together tightly. “And some girls sit like this”—here they crossed their fingers. “But girls who sit like this”—they separated their second and third fingers wide—“get this”—their third finger held up in the air, obscene—“like this!”—here they snapped their fingers quickly. They were speaking the language of the plough. So are the guys who man-spread aggressively on the subway or public bus. This can feel like an assault against our personal space and our very right to be there, because it is. If we fail to remember that the legacy of the plough is that we stay inside, or minimize ourselves when out, there are always the containment strategies of street and workplace harassment, frotteurism on the subways and buses, and sexual assault. In 2012, the World Health Organization reported that among the main risk factors for a woman experiencing sexual violence, either by an intimate partner or a stranger, were living in a culture with attitudes of gender inequality and sexual purity; having or being suspected of having multiple partners; and the prevalence of ideologies of male sexual entitlement—that is, beliefs that men are “naturally” and by right more sexual than women, that they have more of a right to be out and about, and that women should stay home. If not, they will by rights be brought back into line. Beliefs of the plough.

• From Etched in Sand (2013)

  My toes wiggle inside my shoes, embarrassed to look so awful while she looks so wholesome and pretty. She looks at me crossly, then comes at me and lifts up my sweatshirt. I don’t flinch or fight her—it will only make the pain worse. There’s heartbreak in her face when she looks up from my ribs. “C’mon, Regina,” she says. “Make this the last time that you fell down the stairs, or into a stove, or out of a tree. I read your file, honey. You are almost fourteen! You can be in control soon—you know what that means, don’t you?” I know. It means I could leave my mother permanently. I’ve heard this many times before from my social workers, truant officers, guidance counselors, and other street kids. When you turn fourteen, you reach the age of reason. That means you can choose whether you want to stay with your biological parents or choose to emancipate yourself and become a ward of the state. If I opted to become a ward of the state, my mother would no longer have any control over my decisions or me. All of them—the counselors, the officers, the social workers—seemed well intentioned at first, asking if our mother hit us; if she fed us. They’d give the impression of wanting to help, but then they’d talk to Cookie, who seemed to have a sixth sense about these things and usually returned home when we were in danger of being taken away. It wasn’t hard for her to convince them that we brought the bruises on ourselves: For social services, it’s easier to keep children with their mother than deal with all the logistics, paperwork, and drama of putting kids in foster homes. And then the cycle would start all over again: Cookie would move us into a different house, using a new combination of names to delay the state in tracking us down, and things would be really bad for a while. “Regina, she’ll kill you if you stay here. Your siblings aren’t safe, either.” She pauses, watching me, then leans over and puts her arms on the counter. “If you tell me everything, we can get you away. She will do to them what she has done to you. Do you want Rosie to look like you in a few years, to feel like you feel? You owe it to them to tell the truth. Stop lying for their sakes and tell me what has been happening here.” “What if I did tell you? What would happen to the kids?” “They’ll be taken away from your mother and go to a foster home, too,” she says. “I promise you they will be kept safe.” Before I can think twice, I give in. Without Camille here to run interference, and now, faced with the idea that my silence could put my little brother and sister in danger, Ms.

• From Etched in Sand (2013)

  They ask us to stay silent, but we are five kids in a police car without our mother, and we don’t know where we are being taken. We aren’t silent. We are children. It’s mid-December and they’ve decided to put the four of us older kids in a home together so we’re not separated for the holidays—but Rosie, just a year old now, is going to another house. The foster family sets up four sleeping bags for us on the living room floor. The parents and their two teenage boys force us to lie in the sleeping bags all night and day, never moving or complaining. If we do, they close the bag around us by zipping it up over our heads, and they beat us while we’re inside of it. If we cry too loudly, the punishment turns even worse. One day the foster mom grabs me by the head and cuts off my long curls with a giant pair of scissors. When the social worker checks on us and asks what happened, she answers that I got gum all stuck in my hair so she had to cut it out. I haven’t chewed gum since the last time my sisters and I went to the Saint James General Store. One day a package of Yodels cakes goes missing. The boys force me to open my mouth so they can smell my breath, and they agree that I’m the Yodels thief. I’m beaten again, this time by them and their mom, while Cherie, Camille, and Norman are forced to watch and stay silent. If we try to defend one another, the kid getting the beating will only get it worse. One night, while I’m sleeping, I’m suddenly cold—somehow I’ve gotten out of my sleeping bag. I wake to the realization that my pajama bottoms have been removed and the two boys are looking at my private parts. I begin screaming, but by then Cherie and Camille are nowhere in sight, and Norman—despite the boys’ threats—starts kicking them and screaming for them to leave me alone. As they drag me into their room, they yell to Norman to shut up, telling him they’ll lock him outside in the freezing cold all night like they just did to my sisters. I’m alone with no one to help me. I watch the slice of light from the hallway disappear as they close their bedroom door, trapping me alone with them inside. I begin counting. BY NOW I understand what foster care means. Susan, Mama, and Papa weren’t my real family—they were people who wanted to give us a nice home after the cops found out Mom hadn’t been taking decent care of us. Now, after the bad home, the five of us are separated into three different foster families. To me, being a foster kid is a little bit like being a dog: You have no control over the kind of family who will take you.

• From Born on the Fourth of July (1976)

  A loud crack went off next to my right ear as a thirty-caliber slug tore through my right shoulder, blasted through my lung, and smashed my spinal cord to pieces. I felt that everything from my chest down was completely gone. I waited to die. I threw my hand back and felt my legs still there. I couldn’t feel them but they were still there. I was still alive. And for some reason I started believing, I started believing I might not die, I might make it out of there and live and feel and go back home again. I could hardly breathe and was taking short little sucks with the one lung I had left. The blood was rolling off my flak jacket from the hole in my shoulder and I couldn’t feel the pain in my foot anymore, I couldn’t even feel my body. I was frightened to death. I didn’t think about praying, all I could feel was cheated. All I could feel was the worthlessness of dying right here in this place at this moment for nothing.

• From Born on the Fourth of July (1976)

  I was born on the Fourth of July. I can’t feel . . .” “What religion are you?” “Catholic,” I say. “What outfit did you come from?” “What’s going on? When are you going to operate?” I say. “The doctors will operate,” he says. “Don’t worry,” he says confidently. “They are very busy and there are many wounded but they will take care of you soon.” He continues to stand almost at attention in front of me with a long clipboard in his hand, jotting down all the information he can. I cannot understand why they are taking so long to operate. There is something very wrong with me, I think, and they must operate as quickly as possible. The man with the clipboard walks out of the room. He will send the priest in soon. I lie in the room alone staring at the walls, still sucking the air, determined to live more than ever now. The priest seems to appear suddenly above my head. With his fingers he is gently touching my forehead, rubbing it slowly and softly. “How are you,” he says. “I’m fine, Father.” His face is very tired but it is not frightened. He is almost at ease, as if what he is doing he has done many times before. “I have come to give you the Last Rites, my son.” “I’m ready, Father,” I say. And he prays, rubbing oils on my face and gently placing the crucifix to my lips. “I will pray for you,” he says. “When will they operate?” I say to the priest. “I do not know,” he says. “The doctors are very busy. There are many wounded. There is not much time for anything here but trying to live. So you must try to live my son, and I will pray for you.” Soon after that I am taken to a long room where there are many doctors and nurses. They move quickly around me. They are acting very competent. “You will be fine,” says one nurse calmly. “Breathe deeply into the mask,” the doctor says. “Are you going to operate?” I ask. “Yes. Now breathe deeply into the mask.” As the darkness of the mask slowly covers my face I pray with all my being that I will live through this operation and see the light of day once again. I want to live so much. And even before I go to sleep with the blackness still swirling around my head and the numbness of sleep, I begin to fight as I have never fought before in my life. I awake to the screams of other men around me. I have made it. I think that maybe the wound is my punishment for killing the corporal and the children. That now everything is okay and the score is evened up. And now I am packed in this place with the others who have been wounded like myself, strapped onto a strange circular bed.

• From The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25-Year Landmark Study (2000)

  Of the 131 children in this study of children from educated middle-class homes, 32 heard or saw evidence of violence during the marriage or breakup. Although there are homes where women are violent or where both parents hit each other, in these families the women were victims. The typical pattern was for the woman to sue for divorce and for the father to protest, deny the violence, or admit to only one episode. It is also common for such men to sue for joint custody. At age thirty, Joy still has nightmares twice weekly in which she sees her father enter the house with a loaded gun. He aims the gun at her mother and fires, but fortunately he is drunk and the bullet hits the sofa. The police come and take him away. She had just turned four years old when this happened. The memory remains so powerful that although she has no conscious memory of it during the day, it continues to terrorize her dreams. John told me how, at age six, he sobbed and banged his head against the wall while hearing his mother being beaten in the next room. Marsha cannot forget screaming over and over, “Daddy don’t! Daddy, please stop!” when her father pinned her mother to the floor and put bobby pins up her nose. Marsha was eight at the time. Many others say that they were mute in terror and recall being too frightened to feel anything. Twenty-five years later, the children who saw or overheard such attacks say that they felt someone—their mom, their siblings, themselves—might be maimed or killed at any given moment. After seeing Larry doing so well at the twenty-five-year mark, I went home and pulled out the family’s record and studied it in detail. There are lessons for us all in what divorce means to children, why some youngsters react the way they do, and how we might better protect children from violent households. The Child’s MindONE OF THE MAJOR themes of this book based on my findings—and I cannot stress this enough—is that divorce is a different experience for adults and children. To an adult, divorce is a remedy to an unhappy relationship. Yes, it’s a painful remedy, especially when children are involved, but every adult hopes to end an unhappy chapter and to open the way to a better life that will include the children. Naturally, parents worry about their children when they decide on divorce, but they expect that the children will understand and support their decision and that they will adjust quickly and well to new family circumstances. They do not realize how little the child shares their view and how much help the child needs to even begin to accept the changes that divorce brings.

• From The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25-Year Landmark Study (2000)

  The girls who married in their early twenties had much in common. (We’ll talk about the young men who married early in Chapter 19.) They acted impulsively because they had no idea of what to look for and no expectation of getting anything special anyway. They convinced themselves that it really didn’t matter who you marry. And yet it did matter. Deep down they knew this, but as they told me so often, they were afraid to fall in love because falling in love means you can get hurt. They were also afraid that if they hesitated or said no, they would never get another chance. So to avoid getting hurt, they threw themselves into relationships that they knew might not last. “I broke all my nevers with him,” said one young woman. “When we got married I thought, Well, if it doesn’t work, I can get a divorce. No big deal.” But then these women discovered it was a big deal. Leaving a troubled man who needed them turned out to be intolerably painful. It reopened old wounds. Anna said, “Every time I decide to leave John, who is an alcoholic and can’t hold down a job, he cries and then I can’t go. I get helpless because I flash on my father walking down the front path of our house crying after my mom threw him out when she discovered his affair.” Anna was eleven at the time. Many young women like her are trapped because it’s more painful to leave a bad marriage than to stay in it. Close to half of these poorly conceived marriages continue to this day despite their unhappiness. It was even harder to leave after children were born. But they mainly stay because they still don’t expect to do better if given a second chance. And they have no place to go. I was shocked to discover that many of the lasting bad marriages in this group were as troubled or more troubled that the marriages their parents had escaped. Their problems may have been different but their unhappiness was not. If the goal of the parent who had left the marriage decades ago was to safeguard the children, then I’m sorry to say they failed. Many of the still married but unhappy couples were mutually addicted to drugs and alcohol. There were sexual difficulties and some violence. We saw both infidelity and serious sexual inhibitions. One young woman who stayed in her marriage cut off all sexual relations after the birth of their two children. Apparently her husband accepted the ban. Another woman told me, “We don’t talk to each other. We don’t tell each other anything personal. We don’t make demands on the other.” One unhappy wife allowed her husband to bring his lovers into their bedroom. There was never any mention of divorce in these homes.

• From The Evolution of Beauty: How Darwin's Forgotten Theory of Mate Choice Shapes the Animal World—and Us (2017)

  The cost to females of forced copulations is very high. Females are often injured, and not infrequently killed, in the process. So, why do female ducks fight back so vigorously? Female ducks absorb greater direct harm to their physical well-being by resisting forced copulations than if they acquiesced, so the intensity of their resistance seems difficult to explain from an evolutionary perspective. Nothing is more threatening to the ability to pass on one’s genes than death, so why risk death by struggling? This question delivers us to the crux of the complex interaction between the female acting on her sexual desire for beauty and the male using sexual violence to subvert her ability to choose her own mate. What is at stake in these attempts at forced fertilization is more than just the direct cost to a female’s health and well-being; forced fertilizations will also create indirect, genetic costs to the female that may be even more important to the female. Why? Because females that succeed in mating with the males they prefer will likely have offspring that inherit the display traits that they, and other females also, prefer. These females will have the benefit of greater numbers of descendants through their sexually attractive offspring. This is the indirect, genetic benefit of mate choice that drives so much of aesthetic coevolution. Females that are forcibly fertilized, however, will have offspring that are sired by males that have random display traits, or traits that have been specifically rejected because they have failed to meet female aesthetic standards. Either way, the resulting male offspring will be less likely to inherit genes for the preferred male ornamental traits, and they will therefore be less sexually attractive to other females and less likely to obtain mates, which will result in fewer grandchildren for that female. This is the indirect, genetic cost of male sexual violence. — At the heart of the complex breeding biology of ducks is sexual conflict between males and females over who is going to determine the parentage of the offspring. Will it be females through mate choice based on the coevolved beauty of male plumage, song, and display? Or coercive males through violent forced copulation? In 1979, Geoffrey Parker defined sexual conflict as a conflict between the evolutionary interests of individuals of different sexes in the context of reproduction. Sexual conflict can occur over many aspects of reproduction, including who gets to mate, how often sex occurs, and the division of parental care investment and responsibilities. One of these sources of conflict is critical to the evolution of sexual beauty: the conflict over who will control fertilization, the purveyors of the sperm or the curators of the eggs.