Chapter Ten

Here’s the next Chapter of Lost and Found. This Chapter, and the next one which I’m working on as we speak, will be taking care of some scene-setting and character building, so they won’t be full of action and dialogue. There will be plenty of action and dialogue coming along soon, though, so don’t give up. I’ll get the next chapter up the first of the week.

Went to see the Dayton Philharmonic last night. The feature was a Premier of The Songs of Rumi, composed by Jeff Olmsted. It was fabulous! Jeff Olmsted lives close by in Miamisburg, Ohio. He directs the Dayton Ohio Peace Choir. The entire concert was wonderful.

Don’t forget to fill out the “New Chapter Notice” form on the right if you’d like to be notified by email when I post a new Chapter. — And, tell your friends! — Thanks!!

Be well — be in peace…

Ron Rink
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Both my mother and father were raised in the strict, Calvinistic, Dutch Reformed Church. The beliefs of this faith left little possibility for avoiding what they considered to be sin. Just about any behavior of a youngster, or anyone, for that matter, would fall into the category of being sinful. The religious teachings also gave parents complete control over their children, although my father had taken the concept far beyond what most other fathers in their church would find acceptable.

However, child rearing was not a subject which was discussed openly. These matters were private and were considered the business of the family unit alone. I believe this is why my father was able to get away with as much of his abuse as he did, plus the fact that harsh, physical methods for punishing children were still the norm at this time—even in the schools. Getting a good “whap” across the back of the head or a ruler across the back of your hand or a paddle across your rear, were common forms of discipline in school. There were some teachers who even carried it further without any risk of criticism from their administrators or the parents.

One of the other factors which made my parents different from those of most of my friends was their complete lack of ability to show affection, not only to me, but also to each other or to any of their acquaintances. I have absolutely no recollection of ever being held, stroked or kissed by either of them. I also have no memory of seeing my mother and father kiss or hold each other—not even holding hands. Their demeanor towards each other was always stiff and formal. Even general conversation between the two of them was rare and consisted of a minimum of words. I would sometimes see my father joke with other men around the church, but my mother was always stern with everyone.

They had very few friends; only one or two couples with whom they would play pinochle from time-to-time.
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