Les Dawson Quotes

Maybe sometimes, when I see some kids, you know, with their families. It's making me cry. You know, maybe when I ask them, sometimes, like, 'How does it feel to have a dad?' And, you know, they tell me this great answers, and sometimes I wish my dad was here.

Mama stroked his dinger, Daddy got stinky finger.

When I was a kid, my mother's parenting style teetered between benign neglect and intense bouts of violence.

My parents just neglected me, I wasn't abused or anything.

Most of me was glad when my mother died. She was a handful, but not in a cute, festive way. More in a life-threatening way, that had caused me a long time ago to give up all hope of ever feeling good about having had her as a mother.

I was an abused kid.

There was mental and physical abuse in my family.

I had a really good childhood up until I was nine, then a classic case of divorce really affected me.

I had a very rocky, difficult, emotional childhood with my parents.

My stepfather was fond of letting me know, quote, 'I ain't your... damn daddy.' That was something that was painful, to put it mildly.

I remember when I was a kid I used to come home from Sunday School and my mother would get drunk and try to make pancakes

We never had a pool, right. So one summer, I remember. My dad, to make me happy. You know I was bummed out cause we didn't have the pool. So one summer he bought us this thing. It was yellow, you laid it on the lawn, sprayed it with the water, run across. Slip n' Slide. Yeah. Would have been fun if dad checked for rocks before he laid it down! Slip n' Bleed from the anus they should have called this ride.

Many of the twisted minds and crippled characters in the world were made by careless parents who kept their children away from knives and fires, but put permanent scars on their souls.

Innocence eroded into nightmare. All because of very bad touch. Love, corrupted.

My Papa's Waltz: The whiskey on your breath Could make a small boy dizzy; But I hung on like death: Such waltzing was not easy. We romped until the pans Slid from the kitchen shelf; My mother's countenance Could not unfrown itself. The hand that held my wrist Was battered on one knuckle; At every step you missed My right ear scraped a buckle. You beat time on my head With a palm caked hard by dirt, Then waltzed me off to bed Still clinging to your shirt.

crawling up into daddy's lap when dad was still DADDY nodding my head against his chest soaking in the comfort of his heart LISTENING to the thump...thump somewhere beneath muscle and breastbone I remember his arms their sublime ENCIRCLING and the shawdow of his voice "I love you, little girl. Put away your bad dreams. Daddy's here" I put them away, Until Daddy became my nightmare that one that came HOME from work everyday and instead of picking me up, chased me far far away

My parents didn't like me. For bathtub toys they gave me a blender and a transistor radio.

You grow up with your father holding you down and covering your mouth so another man can make a horrible searing pain between your legs.

Though she doesn't remember any trauma, she said that her parents told her she cried on a daily basis and her grandmother resorted to passing out candy so the kids would play with her. Though it was a humorous moment, Mila said, "I know, God bless her. She's an amazing, amazing woman."

Folks working late, I had a babysitter. I ain't about to sit here and name her. I was almost 8 when she came in late, woke me up with a game to play. Did a few things that it's hard to say. Told me to keep that secret safe. I'm trying to act like it ain't real. Had my innocence just stripped from me, and I still don't know how to feel.

A seven-year-old girl can take only so many walks with her grandfather.

You know . . . a lot of kids at school hate their parents. Some of them got hit. And some of them got caught in the middle of wrong lives. Some of them were trophies for their parents to show the neighbors like ribbons or gold stars. And some of them just wanted to drink in peace.

No child is born a delinquent. They only became that way if nobody loved them when they were kids. Unloved children grow up to be serial murderers or alcoholics.

I never saw my mother happy with me and proud of me for doing something: She only knew me as being a wild kid running the streets, coming home with new clothes that she knew I didn't pay for. I never got a chance to talk to her or know about her. Professionally, it has no effect, but it's crushing emotionally and personally.

It's still hard for me to talk about the day I visited a shelter for children who were victims of a domestic-violence household. The kinds of abuse they had suffered, and what it had done to them physically and emotionally ?- I don't have words for what I saw. This has to stop.