James Kramer - The Boy In the Barn

Prologue

To us who know and remember you

Know in my heart

I will always cherish you, love you, and miss you.

This book is dedicated to my little sister, Linda, who still lives in our hearts and memories. She was with us momentarily and now rests in the arms of God.

In Memory of:

Linda Carol Kramer

Born - December 11, 1966

Died - October 11, 1967

This book is also dedicated to my mother, Mary Weil, who was strong enough to pick up her life and move on after a destructive and devastating environment that crippled her mentally, emotionally, and physically. My mother is and will always be a beautiful fun-loving spirit, even though she was humbled by her experiences by the very man who mesmerized her with his good looks and military uniform many years ago.

Most would have trouble comprehending my mothers life is story. These fear instilling events occurred during a time when domestic violence didnt have a name. It was not talked aboutlost under the soft whisper in the shadows. The fear I experienced as a boy is all but gone, but the memories remain. Years later, I learned that I experienced not only abuse, but toxic childhood stress and PTSD, which would impact my entire life. The late 1960s was a time of family fun and showing your Sunday best, hiding family problems and anything out of the norm such as drinking, mental illness, and violence. We put on our best for our neighbors, friends, and anyone else who was close. This was a time when things happened behind closed doors for fear of embarrassment or shame. To speak of domestic violence or child abuse was taboo. Marriage was a sacred bond, and divorce and broken homes were frowned upon as something that happened to the lower class or people of ill character. Many people suffered in silence and endured the abuse. Thankfully, society is changing. This book speaks of things that could not and would not be spoken of then. This book is based on my memories, my perceptions, and my feelings. This book is about a family suffering in silence, and about me, quietly living in a world of abuse, chaos, sadness, isolation, and confusion.

A world of hurt.

Chapter One

Early Beginnings

My name is James T. Kramer, and I was born in 1961 in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania. Phoenixville is a small, quaint town approximately twenty-eight miles north-east of Philadelphia along the Schuylkill River. Not shortly after my birth, my mother got pregnant with my sister Shirley, at which time my father up-rooted the family and moved to Ohio in search of work after leaving the Army. My mother gave birth to my younger sister Shirleya little girl with big bright eyes and an enormous smile. After her birth, my father moved the family from Ohio to live with his mother for a short while. We were a middle-class family living within our means. On the outside, we looked like an all-American, 60s TV family with a pretty mom, handsome father, and beautiful children. However, from the insidebehind closed doorsour life was wrought with what seemed like constant chaos and uprooting: settling and unsettling.

After a short time in civilian life, my father, Terry rejoined the Army. We then moved to Germany where he was stationed. While in Germany, my mother gave birth to my youngest sister Linda. Linda was a darling, delicate, and fragile little girl. She was born on the military base in the Army hospital. Many of the details about those days are vague. I recall only bits and pieces. My mother has helped me understand and put together some of those missing details. Since it was a painful time, I try hard not to pry the details from my mother out of respect for her feelings. When I was old enough and felt the time was right, I talked to my mother about Linda. My sister Shirley, who was only two at the time has minimal recollection.

I think back on the time our family spent in Germany. This trip could have been an amazing, adventuresome, and breathtaking time, especially for my mother, who still lives only fifty miles from her birthplace. She had never traveled, never vacationed, and for a variety of reasons, could never venture out to see the world beyond her birthplace. Her family was a mix of Pennsylvania Dutch and Native American. Her family settled in many of the nearby lands. She grew up in a stable loving home, in simpler times when family was family and home was where the heart was. The fifties and sixties were in their peak, steel was a booming industry, the 55 and 57 Chevy were the coolest cars, and the Betty Crocker cookbook was a must have. Life was good.

My mother was a petite lady, standing 4 feet 6 inches tall. The photographs from her teen years show a happy, beautiful, doll-like little girl. She described herself as a nave and sheltered girl. When my grandmother became ill, my mother decided to quit school at the tender age of 16 to care for her mother. My mother lived a good life with a large family. Her father worked hard, and prior to her getting ill, my grandmother cooked, cleaned, and took care of the children in small town America. My mother described her family as fairly traditional. Her father worked hard in the construction field and provided for the family.

My mother was only fifteen when she met my father, Terry. A neighborhood girl who was an acquaintance of my mothers went out with him a few times and introduced him to my mother. My father stood six foot two inches with a strong muscular, athletic build. He was six years older than my mother. He towered over her and seemed mature, and although he felt twenty years older in spirit, he was actually only 22 himself. My mother said that people thought my mother and father were the idyllic couple. The age difference raised some eyebrows, but no one thought much of it back then, particularly because he was in the military and seemed like a good provider. Being a good provider was one of the traits people held in high regard. My mothers parents eventually approved of this relationship because my mother was happy and my father came from a good wholesome family. Being in the military gave her family the illusion that he was stable and squared away.

My mother says that when they first were together, he seemed normal and didnt behave anything out of the ordinary. However, what does a fifteen-year old with no life experience know? She said his sister, Maureen, and him argued sometimes over stupid things, but nothing that was of concern to my mother. When I look at the pictures of my parents in their early years together, they look odd. My mother radiated a cheery, happy personality and innocence. My father was stone-faced. He had one blue eye and one green eye, was quite tall and rigid, and was rarely seen smiling, which gave him an eerie look. Although quite handsome, when you study the pictures, he appears to be somewhat hardened. Looking at the photos, I can tell there was something much deeper. The photos reflect my mother as a bubbly, funny, and energetic teenager, trying to please and play up to the handsome man in uniform. I picture my father as a tyrant-to-be. This makes me sad.

I have stared at these pictures, sometimes for hours, trying to figure them out. I have tried to determine if you can tell what someone is like by their picture or by their eyes or how they stand or smile. My fathers eyes are cold and hollow, almost soul-less. I think to myself, scary. He had the unusual feature of one blue eye and one green eye, giving him an even eerier appearance. For years, I wondered if I remembered this feature correctly or if I had made it up in my mind as part of the image of a monster. I have wondered what my mother saw in him, but I have not had the courage to ask. My wife asked my mother once, and my mothers response was that he was charming at first, but he soon changed to be controlling, mean, and manipulative. Most of his negative traits did not surface until they were married, but there were warning signs.