My memory of my first childhood hurt has been clear to me for my whole life. I was about ten years old. I had watched my father teach my older brother, Bill, to play chess. It looked interesting to me and I asked my father to teach me. “Your brother can teach you,” was his response. I was stunned. At that moment I realized my father had no time for me and that hurt, deeply.
My second childhood hurt, at age fourteen, is also clear. It happened at church. I was standing beside my father when another member, Henk Kleinnibblelink, approached my father. He asked if it would be okay for him to offer me a summer job. “Yes, but he may not be much good to you; he is not a very good worker,” replied my father. This time I did not feel hurt; I felt anger.
At one point during my rebellious teenage years, probably around sixteen, my father told me that I should think about enrolling in the army so that I could be taught some discipline.
At age seventeen, after having graduated from high school I secured my first permanent job. Pa asked me how much they were paying me. $300 per month, I replied. My father informed me that he thought that that was too much, more than I was worth. Soon afterwards something happened that upset my parents, but I do not remember the specifics. I was told that as long as I lived at home I needed to obey the rules. I moved out.
At age eighteen I informed my parents that I was moving to British Columbia. I never forgot the last thing my father said to me on the day of my departure. “You will be back in no time. You are not mature enough to make it on your own.” I never moved back. I never regretted my decision to leave.
These incidents are put in a proper context in My Experience with Pa.