I was a week off my fifth birthday when I entered the orphanage. Our
mother
had died just weeks before of meningitis. I
was the third youngest of I2 children - a normal, fun loving little boy
with no
physical or emotional impediments. Yet, when I left that orphanage, I carried
the emotional baggage that no nine year child should ever have to carry.
The emotional abuse - whether it was intentional or not - started from day one of entering the orphanage. It was the policy of the nuns to immediately separate brothers so Frank and I were not allowed to talk
to each other, play with each other, or even to be seen to be near each other.
The nuns were paranoid about this.