understanding the need to go and sit in an uncomfortable building and listen to a priest preaching endless biblical stories and analogies intended to make one see the error of their ways, and become a better person for it. I believed that being a good person came from within and was measured by the way we treated others, not in how often we went to church. I didn’t have the guts to tell them how I felt, so continued to go, as was expected of me, but all the time resentment was growing inside, like an unborn child getting stronger every day. Then one day, I decided that I needed to tell them how I felt. It wasn’t a flippant decision, but one that I had considered long and hard. Surely they would respect me for being honest, and for having my own mind? But they didn’t react in quite the way I had hoped. They both broke down, telling me that they must have failed me by doing something wrong, if I felt this way. I was mortified! In their eyes I had ruined their lives, bringing shame and disappointment and driving it into their hearts. I felt confused, rejected and above all riddled with guilt. I wish, in hindsight, I had had the maturity to talk to them more about how I felt, and that they had been less devastated and more able to accept that I had a mind of my own. Nevertheless, that’s not how it happened, and from then I obliviously went on to rebel against everything by seeking unsuitable boyfriends and living in sin with them, knowing deep down it was against everything my parents stood for. I didn’t set out to hurt them more, but I guess on some level I felt the need to break away and prove a point, only managing to drive the growing wedge between us deeper still. This then became a pattern for our relationship, where I would shut down, telling them as little as I could about my world, always fearing their reactions, but doing things I knew they did not approve of, thus feeling that I at last had control of my own life.
My brother, by contrast, appeared to all intents and purposes to be the sensible son they had hoped for, but was simply cleverer than I was at living his life as he saw fit. He was able to be diplomatic in his approach to any clashes, a trait for which I had great admiration. Somehow, he was able to let my parents know just enough of how he wanted to live his life for them to accept it, even though he may not have their full approval. He didn’t rush headlong into baring his soul to them and risk their disappointment, but had the knack of presenting a good case that was unarguably well thought out and seemed at least justifiable even if not desirable. As far as my parents were concerned, he had all the right credentials for being a model son. He had a very respectable job as a bank manager, and was getting married to a good wholesome girl from a religious family. So although, on the face of it, he never rebelled in the way I did, neither was he quite the straight-laced son he appeared to be. Consequently, he acted as a great buffer between my parents and me during the years when I created friction, by talking sense to me, and defending my corner to them. I looked up to him and often sought his advice, as he had my respect but also gave me room to be who I wanted to be. I adored my parents – they were the sweetest people on earth – but I don’t think they ever really understood me, as they seemed to me to be from an entirely different world. So there was no way I could let them know the truth about where Saul was, or what was happening to him. I knew there wasn’t a shred of hope that they might understand, or even let me go if they found out. Additionally, I had another reason to withhold the truth from them. My dad had not been a well man, having suffered a fairly major heart attack only a few years ago. He had undergone successful surgery and now lived a normal healthy life, but stress was something he needed to avoid at all costs. When I went home, I had to be prepared to lie to them very
My brother, by contrast, appeared to all intents and purposes to be the sensible son they had hoped for, but was simply cleverer than I was at living his life as he saw fit. He was able to be diplomatic in his approach to any clashes, a trait for which I had great admiration. Somehow, he was able to let my parents know just enough of how he wanted to live his life for them to accept it, even though he may not have their full approval. He didn’t rush headlong into baring his soul to them and risk their disappointment, but had the knack of presenting a good case that was unarguably well thought out and seemed at least justifiable even if not desirable. As far as my parents were concerned, he had all the right credentials for being a model son. He had a very respectable job as a bank manager, and was getting married to a good wholesome girl from a religious family. So although, on the face of it, he never rebelled in the way I did, neither was he quite the straight-laced son he appeared to be. Consequently, he acted as a great buffer between my parents and me during the years when I created friction, by talking sense to me, and defending my corner to them. I looked up to him and often sought his advice, as he had my respect but also gave me room to be who I wanted to be. I adored my parents – they were the sweetest people on earth – but I don’t think they ever really understood me, as they seemed to me to be from an entirely different world. So there was no way I could let them know the truth about where Saul was, or what was happening to him. I knew there wasn’t a shred of hope that they might understand, or even let me go if they found out. Additionally, I had another reason to withhold the truth from them. My dad had not been a well man, having suffered a fairly major heart attack only a few years ago. He had undergone successful surgery and now lived a normal healthy life, but stress was something he needed to avoid at all costs. When I went home, I had to be prepared to lie to them very
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