My Life

Juanita’s Story

Part 1

I was born in a minute town in the mid-western state of Ohio, during the depression. By age 1 my mother was divorcing my father and she took me and my older sister down to live in the capitol. My father was a brown-eyed handsome man, and in the Navy. My mother was young, inexperienced, and had missed a good bit of her education—schoolwise—but she knew how to clean house and cook. So that is what she did for many years to earn our living. She earned in white folks’ houses.

From Kindergarten on I read every book I could get my hands on. Words to me were like a kind of food, so I ate them. This eating frenzy of mine caused some disruption at school since I read so voraciously that I left the class and the teacher behind me. I loved school, the reading part of it anyway.

In the 40’s the city of Columbus held various “pockets” of community locations for Colored people, the busiest being Mt. Vernon Avenue and its surrounding area. Many and varied Colored businesses produced and sold all manner of good things familiar to Colored people. Some White businesses were there too, but their owners did not live in the community, and they employed Coloreds.

I don’t remember much of anything impressive during my first three years of schooling, besides my discovery of the endlessness of the written word, the teasing (cruel) of the other children about the odd shoes I had to wear to correct my feet, and the advent of World War II bursting upon us. My mother was doing day work while my sister and I attended school. When we came home the neighborhood “watched” us and other kids whose parents weren’t home. (Throughout my childhood there were always old ladies living with somebody, who were all eyes and therefore saw everything and would both correct you AND tell on you at the drop of a hat.)

From the earliest, we were taught to mind our elders and not “talk back.” If we didn’t like something a grown person did or said, we were to speak of it to our parents. ALL grown people were Mr. So & So and Miss So & So. You did NOT call grown-ups by their first names—it was utter disrespect! These rules and other rearing practices followed us into school. Teachers knew your parents and could confer with them easily. And when a grown person said something to you, you BETTER answer with a “ma’am?” or “sir?” You better.

And so I grew up with a distinct awareness of what authority was. It was something that I, as a child, did NOT have; it was something that commanded obedience; it was something to be respected, it was something that parents and teachers and older people had; it was something that let you decide things for yourself and nobody could make you do different—like—WHEN to go to bed, and WHAT clothes to wear, and the WHO, WHERE, and HOW concerning your ownself.

By third grade the war was in full swing. We moved to an outer edge of our particular pocket, and this meant changing schools for my sister and me, while a change of jobs happened for Mama. She went to work in a factory production line supplying the war effort. The place was called “Curtis Wright,” and has since been renamed two or three times. Most of our daily goods were rationed, including food staples and such. School children were given little booklets that held coins for saving towards buying War Bonds. Our neighborhood was full of Victory Gardens too, worked a lot by us kids. At school we were subjected to many Air Raid Drills. The bigger kids scared the smaller ones with warnings about bombs falling on us while we slept. I was really scared for awhile. I’m sure that the rationing of gasoline was quite hard on the White people, but there was not an abundance of cars amongst us Coloreds, hence, less privation for us in this area.

The principal at the new school was a darling man, white, and interested in the well-being of the children. Whenever a couple of kids reached the point of hitting one another it was deemed a fight and the next thing was two parents, each with their kid by the scruff of the collar—with Principal B. behind them—getting to the bottom of who did what to whom and STRAIGHTEN IT OUT now! “I’m sorries” were next, and friends again—if they were before, yet sometimes it was the start of a friendship. I will never forget that man and his way with fights between kids.

Even though we were in a different neighborhood, we still remained in the same community, somewhat stretched. We associated closely, and everyone knew everyone else. I don’t think anyone’s parents were unknown to the school. And a church seemed always to be right in the vicinity of the school. Church was a staple of most every family, and between church and school as back-up for home training, we kids were pretty well structured in obedience to authority. I’ve had my hands tapped with a ruler, and my butt smacked with a paddle on various occasions at school. Plus, the added indignity of a switch applied by mother at home upon her hearing of my misdeeds from my teacher. Discipline and training of the neighborhood children was a shared affair, and these people did not play. No one begged you, bribed you, or really—ASKED you to do whatever. Your were told to do whatever, and you better move it! Don’t roll your eyes at that neighbor lady either, when she scolds you about something you did wrong, cause then you might hear the most dreaded words of ALL—“I’m gonna TELL YOUR MAMA on you.” At that time, it was unheard of for youngsters to go about, cursing at or calling ANY grown-up out of their name. And school was not a place you went to so you could misbehave. It just was not tolerated, by the parents or the teachers both.

Early on, I got into writing poetry. My sixth grade teacher encouraged me a lot, and I continued it throughout school as a hobby of sorts. Jr. High brought changes that veered sharply from my earlier school experience. But, I guess it was to be expected since Jr. Highs gathered in students from several pockets, some more tame than others. There were a few “known” rowdies, and the school lost no time in showing who was boss. It’s funny now to remember how a couple of male teachers were strong and hard-eyed. They could quell a rowdy boy by a look and a muscle flex. Still, the rowdies kept as much mischief going as they could, most of it out of sight and sound of Teacher.

High School brought change of a different kind. Along with the several pockets, there was also a mixed bag. Some WHITE along with the Coloreds. In my life, perhaps for most of my generation, change can be measured in the fact that I was not exposed to white teachers and students until I entered high school; while years later, my first born had that served up in kindergarten. Is that progress or what?

Between my schooling and my children’s, there was a gradual shift in the various factors that contribute to demographic and societal change of such significance. In the rearing of my children, however, I carried over some of the old ways—those within my jurisdiction. For the rest of the “good” of the “old days,” well, it remains mine, because I lived it.

Part 2

Since only around a year elapsed between my graduation and my first marriage, I had no chance at all towards independent living, as an adult person. However, having been born with an independent spirit, I made inroads with a different status I assigned to myself while yet in my mother’s house. A conglomerate of issues caused me to assert the difference between my former child status and my new grown-up status—a difference that somehow seemed to have escaped my mother and other adult members of my family. My one visible criteria for solid support of my stand was found in these 2 words: “I work!”

“Your Honor, the defense Rests.”

I was released from dinky jobs by my marriage and subsequent child-bearing; a different kind of work but just as poorly paid. But Motherhood is not without its rewards and its… lessons. I learned how to lose my mind—twice! This marriage lasted 12 years and 6 pregnancies during the first seven. I stirred up within me all of my mother’s wonderful money-managing skills and ways of making little do LOTS. I had always been a responsibly-minded person once I outgrew childishness. After awhile, though, no amount of penny-pinching or talking with creditors could stem the tide of debt inflicted upon me and my children by a Gambling Man. Married at 19, divorced at 31. This was my life.

Well. What to do now? Scared out of my wits I was. I could have dealt with being on my own had it just been me, but I had four stair-step arranged children (2 miscarriages) attached to me. Shortly, depleted in every area of strength, I fell prey to a second marriage in hopes of making life better, but if before was Bad, then now was Worse, and believe you me, that ain’t Good.

He was a batterer, my marriage was a farce, and I and my children were trapped. But his treatment of us started me thinking (and whining) about the way of things in life, and what made it so. Being the independent person that I am, it all got real old, real soon, and I was at the point of desperate measures to end it. But then I got religion. More than that I had a Spiritual awakening that brought me Divine Inspiration rooted in the very subject matter that had perplexed me ever since I first realized that some adults boss other adults around, and the manner and the rule of what, when, WHY, escaped me in all its complexity.

Well I’ll tell you—it got real PLAIN and plainer even, as I travelled that road of discovery. The Rules of Application began in the house with the batterer, and then proceeded outward. And as I grew in the wealth of knowledge, wisdom, and understanding contained within the principles of this theory, it became an integral part of how I deal with life, period. Since that initial success, (treasured above all the rest because it saved my life AND my batterer’s) I have accumulated countless others, both minor and major, and have not ceased in my efforts to bring this gift of understanding to “whosoever will.”

To that end, I entered college at the age of 42. I was a better student then, than when I was a child. Four children to raise and two divorces under my belt by age 37 had made me serious in areas I had not been before. It was during my first two years at school that my understanding of authority and power was recognized as theory. During this time also, the problem of men beating their wives leapt from behind closed doors to the public eye—in the twink of an eye—and began pushing its way toward national recognition.

Under the auspices of my school, I interned at the shelter for battered women in my city. I was also helping battered women in my private life. For two decades I traipsed about, mostly in Ohio, but a number of other states as well, doing workshops and seminars aimed at empowering women through teaching the practical applications of the theory. By now I am into the writing of books, one done and others to follow.

In 1983 I crossed paths with Ms. Carolyn Cutler; she joined the staff at the shelter. From the time that I first introduced the theory in her hearing she had insight into the massive potential for across-the-board application of its central and basic tenets, and she fellowshipped with me in the pursuit of excellence in the study of such. My focus centers upon the sociological while Ms. Cutler directs her activity towards the field of education. Presumably, now would be the time to get into a detailed explanation of our theory of Authority and Power, but instead, since that happens elsewhere in this book, I will leave you with a few choice illuminating statements of overall dimensions and impact.

Illuminating statements 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7

Authority and Power are two perfect spiritual forces of God. With these He created heaven and earth.
When these forces were translated to human usage, perfection did not accompany. We are not God.
The Theory of Authority and Power is a God-given precept upon which ALL human relationships are based. Our relationships subscribe (whether we know it and agree with it or not) to both Spiritual and Natural Law set in place to govern. When these laws are broken our relationships break, and in comes trouble—abuse; oppression; manipulation; enslavement—all of that and more. But the theory embodies the knowledge, the wisdom, and the understanding that enables one to blamelessly defeat oppression (my basic area) and/or really learn how to help others make positive headway (Carolyn’s basic area) in teaching and learning.
Right. Something as heavy as this requires a platform strong enough to support its weight, which brings us to something called The Primary Natural Law (PNL). This Law states that there are two categories (classes) of people—and goes on to delineate the valid discriminating differences between them. That is the sole purpose of the existence of the PNL. Now. One might categorize the two classes as that of male and female. Wrong. Rather, it is the classification of Adult and Child.
Spiritual Law notes a finer and of course, intangible difference between Adult and Child, but I do not discuss it here. Still, it is upon the spiritual understanding of Adult/Child issue that The Theory of Authority and Power demystifies the strategies of oppression—especially that of batterers—and offers loving strategies to end it.
Hear me. It is due to man’s incredibly arrogant insistence upon discrimination—NONE of it valid because it is AGAINST and not between—whole groups of people as a means to deny them their Adult rights (reduce them to Child status) by adding other categories such as:
sex
color
religion
nationality
economic status…
that misery and violence run amok across the whole of the human race.
The PNL smacks us all with its basic tenet at birth—the requirement that we go on to attain maturity. In short: grow up. And yet, we are not doing it—worldwide.

When I am asked, as people are fond of asking these days, “which do you consider to be the greatest problem facing American society today—drugs? Crime? Education? Child porn and abuse? The economy? What? Well, all of them and more. Not as problems in and of themselves, but as collective, highly recognizable symptoms of The Problem: failure to grow up!