As a child...
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J MacDav
@JMacDav
I FREAKING LOVE PATRICK STEWART. If only all people could truly make this statement! @SirPatStew #fem2 #VAW pic.twitter.com/2FhURNbH9x
http://theobamadiary.com/
Patrick Stewart, what an amazing man.
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treestar
I appreciate him so much myself.....
Love that guy. 
Thank you. I believe that he is indeed one of the good ones.
The abuse witnessed or experienced at such a young age can define who we are. We can grow or we can continue an unhealthy pattern of abuse.
provoked or not.. there's never an excuse to hit a woman or a child for that matter.
Violence is not an Option.
thanks she
His words are healing, Cha.
Patrick Stewart: the legacy of domestic violence
As a child, the actor regularly saw his father hit his mother. Here he describes how the horrors of his childhood remained with him in his adult life
My father was, in many ways, a man of discipline, organisation and charisma - a regimental sergeant major no less. One of the very last men to be evacuated from Dunkirk, his third stripe was chalked on to his uniform by an officer when no more senior NCOs were left alive. Parachuted into Crete and Italy, both times under fire, he fought at Monte Casino and was twice mentioned in dispatches. A fellow soldier once told me, "When your father marches on to the parade ground, the birds in the trees stop singing."
In civilian life it was a different story. He was an angry, unhappy and frustrated man who was not able to control his emotions or his hands. As a child I witnessed his repeated violence against my mother, and the terror and misery he caused was such that, if I felt I could have succeeded, I would have killed him. If my mother had attempted it, I would have held him down. For those who struggle to comprehend these feelings in a child, imagine living in an environment of emotional unpredictability, danger and humiliation week after week, year after year, from the age of seven. My childish instinct was to protect my mother, but the man hurting her was my father, whom I respected, admired and feared.
From Monday morning to Friday tea time he worked as a semi-skilled labourer, and was diligent and sober. Often funny and charming, he was always rich in the personal stories of warfare and adventure that thrilled me. But come Friday night, after the pubs closed, we awaited his return with trepidation. I would be in bed but not asleep. I could never sleep until he did; while he was awake we were all at risk. Instead, I would listen for his voice, singing, as he walked home. Certain songs were reassuring: I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen; I'll Walk Beside You . . . But army songs were not a good sign. And worst of all was silence. When I could only hear footsteps it was the signal to be super-alert.
Our house was small, and when you grow up with domestic violence in a confined space you learn to gauge, very precisely, the temperature of situations. I knew exactly when the shouting was done and a hand was about to be raised – I also knew exactly when to insert a small body between the fist and her face, a skill no child should ever have to learn. Curiously, I never felt fear for myself and he never struck me, an odd moral imposition that would not allow him to strike a child. The situation was barely tolerable: I witnessed terrible things, which I knew were wrong, but there was nowhere to go for help. Worse, there were those who condoned the abuse. I heard police or ambulancemen, standing in our house, say, "She must have provoked him," or, "Mrs Stewart, it takes two to make a fight." They had no idea. The truth is my mother did nothing to deserve the violence she endured. She did not provoke my father, and even if she had, violence is an unacceptable way of dealing with conflict. Violence is a choice a man makes and he alone is responsible for it.
More
http://www.theguardian.com/society/2009/nov/27/patrick-stewart-domestic-violence
Tears, Cha. The memories as a child will always in some way remain. For better or for worse they remain.
I was there. Only when we tried to protect our Mom we got it, too. Terrible way to grow up. 
Glad it's being brought out into the open and so many people are determined to put an end to it, she Bless his heart for speaking out so eloquently on his experiences that are helpful others.
I wouldn't talk about it either for the longest time. Too embarrassed. We were lucky, we never "got it" for standing up for mom. So sad the abuse and the scares that it carried for all of us into adulthood.
I remember the recurring nightmare I use to have as a child. I was sitting on top of the small roof to the basement. Our kitchen door was only a few feet away. There was a storm and I had to make it to the door before the lightening flashed again or I would die. I never once made it in time.
and
Dreams are facinating.. good to have woken up from that dream!
But I'm just an old regenerate hippy, and so are most of them!
Have as much as ya want!
Not always, however it can be a haven.
peace~
