My family joined ATI when I was five in 1984. We were members of the pilot family program (the first 100 families). I don’t know what ATI is now, I only know it as it was for me: A very strict Christian home school program. I hear they have changed some things, but that doesn’t really directly concern me.

My siblings were pulled out of school before I started school, and we started working through the curriculum together, while using Bob Jones books and A.C.E. PACEs for our subjects. I remember the day my dad told us that we had been accepted into ATI. I had really been looking forward to going to school. I was always so jealous that my brothers and sister were going to school while I stayed home, and I was so excited about finally going. So I was confused when I was told I would not be going to school. I remember saying, “I want to go to school!” right then in that family meeting. But I was told that God had opened a door for us, and touched us with His blessing.

From that time on things were different. I did my schoolwork. I memorized a LOT of the Bible, like the entire book of James from end to end, Matthew chapters 5-7, etc. Before I knew it, the Seminars came around, and we were traveling across the country for my parents to attend their first Basic Seminar.

I’m not really sure what they learned in there, but something started clicking inside them. It was like someone flipped a switch, and suddenly there were so many possibilities of losing salvation and being inhabited with demons that it was a “must” to become warriors against evil. The person who flipped that switch was Bill Gothard during the 1984-1986 time period.

Next thing I knew, when we got home, it was time to light the grill. We were told that we must burn anything that could bring demons into our home. My dad informed us that he had learned there can be demons inside of toys in our rooms, and checked with each of us to see if our toys were talking to us. Then he proceeded to burn Simon & Garfunkel, the Beatles, and every other “demonic” music album that we had, as well as other books and things I can’t remember. This was one of many burnings we had. But this scared me–I was just 5 years old, and I was worried. I remember being alone in my room and looking at my teddy bear, wondering if it had a demon in it, if it was alive, and was watching me.

When I got a little older, sometime between 8 and 10, I watched my two brothers as they were whipped on their backs, not their behinds. At the ages of 12 and 16, they bled from these whippings on different occasions. Today, they still have scars from those beatings, high upon their backs.

The Bible uses the phrase, “and with the stripes of the children of men” (2 Sam 7:14). Keep in mind that during that time, stripes meant to have a whip applied to your back in a single stroke so as to remove the skin. This is confusing why God would tell parents to be that violent in their spankings of their children. It was confusing to me then, as it is confusing to me now. Then there was a contradiction later on which says, “It would be better for a millstone to be tied around your neck, and you be cast into the sea, than you hurt one of my little ones” (Luke 17:2).

This is very confusing to me. I grew up hearing my parents interpret this Scripture as a license for them to spank us together in the same room, naked, at an age way past when this is “just silly to be worried about being naked.” They would spank their 2-4 year olds for up to 30 minutes, then request that the child stop crying for a specific amount of time before they would stop spanking  them (supposedly that showed that they’d given in and were sorry). But how could they stop crying when they were still being spanked? It’s a catch-22 which led to 30 minute spankings, and kids trying to hold their breath just to keep from crying. I’ve seen a spanking where they used a tree branch as thick around as my arm to strike my brother in the hand and stomach… the list goes on, and this was done in the name of the above Scriptures, and in the name of God.

On some days we would be told, “You and your brother will get spankings when dad gets home.” Then I would feel sick all day, just waiting. I would listen to the screams of my siblings while I waited for my turn, and I wanted to save them. I wished from the time I was young and these things started happening, that I could show my dad and mom what it felt like physically and mentally to go through the things they put me through. When these things started, I began having violent thoughts about my parents from a young age. I hid an iron bar under my bed and dreamed of using it on them.

All I had to do was pick up the phone and call someone for help–Child Protective Services, the police…. anyone. But instead I just remember feeling, “What’s the use? They won’t believe me, and will just call it a family argument. After that they will leave us alone and then I’ll really be in trouble.”

Well, I’ll skip ahead a few years. I was in many arguments with my parents between the ages of 13-15 years old–mostly related to the spankings of my new younger siblings (Bill Gothard had paid for my mom’s reversal). I was in one major argument with my parents when I was 15, where I told them I didn’t want to live there anymore. They sent me to the ITC (Indianapolis Training Center), and I was accepted as an LIT (Leader In Training) in the spring of 1994.

The ITC was basically nothing more than an old 13-story hotel which had been converted into a study center for young teens looking to work in mission areas throughout the city, as well as a reform school. The LIT’s were the smaller percentage of kids at the Training Center and were made up of court assigned juveniles as well as the “bad kids” from within the ATI (Advanced Training Institute) home school program.

I was placed on the construction crew, with a group of other LIT’s and a few early-to-mid-twenties guys who were supposed to be good Christian ATI folks. Basically, I was thrown to the lions den when I was put on that crew.

To understand this, you have to get a good image of me at 15. Picture a boy, walking into the ITC lobby, with his luggage, he sets down his bag and looks around. He’s about 5’4″, brown hair parted on the side and slicked all the way to his head with hair spray so that his hair appears black. He’s wearing gold glasses, with big frames, and his pants are two inches above his shoes. He hunches his shoulders with poor posture, and looks at the floor. When you speak to him, he can’t bring himself to look at you, for lack of social skills. If you had attempted to shake his hand, his grasp would be quick and loose. He will only speak back to you in short sentences, and mumbles when he talks. This was the product of my ten years in ATI, by the time I was 15 years old.

The LIT’s on the construction crew in ITC were mostly assigned to ITC by the courts. I was of a different breed. These kids had grown up in public school. The other LITs destroyed me, physically and mentally. But the worse part is, the Christian ATI guys on the construction crew watched and laughed.

I am going to explain right here what changed me forever, and keep in mind I’m referring to the construction crew I was on when I speak of the Christians at ITC. At that time, when I was being beaten by the other kids, all that it would have taken is for someone to befriend me, and really have some heart-to-heart talks with me, and to watch out for me when the guys attacked me. They saw what was happening to me, but they did nothing.

I found my friend though. I found my “friendship” in that group of LITs. While I was there, any of the Christians could have befriended me, but I was too strange in social behavior for them to want to be seen with me in the dining areas, and they themselves were trying to “be cool” with the LITs.

My roommates were not on the construction crew, but they were too busy working with kids on the streets of Indianapolis to care about me. There was someone hurting just as much as those kids, right there in front of them, sharing a room with them, but they didn’t want to be seen with me. I could tell by the way they would try not to make eye contact with me when I sat down to eat that they hoped I would not sit with them in the dining area, because they were embarrassed to be seen with me as well. They would make suggestions about things I should do differently about myself, but they never wanted to be my buddy, or have a heart-to-heart talk, unless it was as a father figure, which scared me.

When I started seeking friendships with my fellow LITs, that changed my life forever. It was my fault completely. But I sure wished someone else was there for me. I did foolish things daily, just to impress by “LIT buddies.” I made a complete fool of myself. They were impressed enough to beat me even more. Once in a while, I would feel like I was part of a group of friends, because they would let me hang out with them before they beat me. It was in those brief moments that made me feel like it was worth it, just for those few moments of false feelings of acceptance.

But it wasn’t worth it.

I learned everything that was hidden from me all my life from those LITs, while the Christian ITC construction crew and my roommates could have been helping me down another path. I longed to try every indulgence that they spoke of, and when I finally convinced my dad to bring me home (by lying that I was ready to come home), I tried them all. This led me to the self-inflicted destruction of my life for 6 years.

For now, I now know my life in 4 stages. My childhood (0-5), the childhood I had stolen from me (5-15), the years I made a fool of myself (15-21), and the years I’m attempting to balance living a life with goals for my future and the future of my family (21-current).

I feel like I’ve only begun to live over the last 7 years. Everything before that is a blur.

Yes, I am hurt. Bitter? I’m not sure, and I don’t really care for the classifications on what bitterness is and how to be rid of it. I know not all Christians are bad. I’m sure people can find good anywhere, even in ATI or Bill Gothard. I know people even today whom I respect as good Christian people. I consider myself spiritual. But I guess I just got the bad luck of the draw and happened to bump into some really poor examples of Christianity.

Most of these examples seemed to be so engrossed in carefully performing each of their actions/speech so that other Christians around them would be impressed by their commitment level and would respect them more, that they did not take time to do what I needed, and what others like me may have needed. They did not take time to be real, to be a friend, to show love for others.

If you want to write me and talk about God’s grace, or bitterness, or how much Jesus Christ will show me His love, that’s fine. I’ve heard it all, and done it all, prayed the prayers, got the t-shirt, etc, and here I am again. I’ll take any love or prayers, or whatever Jesus or anyone wants to give me. But any words that you write will not change me, my thoughts, or my past. The hurt is here, and it will stay.

NOTE: ITC solitary confinement – http://www.rickross.com/reference/gothard/gothard3.html  (This is real – I’ve been in solitary, they made it like a prison cell in the ITC)

UPDATE: I have just began to mentally recover my ability to be there for my immediate family after learning last year that my father had read scripture to a girl under the age of 12 while molesting her as my mother looked on. This happened when I was very young but the betrayal is a huge impact obviously.

I actually called CPS on my father last year when I found this out and attempted to have my younger four siblings taken from him if they wished to go. All of them wished to stay with him and my mother and are no longer speaking to me. It goes without saying that I am not in contact with my parents as well. My younger siblings may feel I ruined their social lives due to the CPS investigation. They may understand when they are older and appreciate the courage that I had to make the call that no one made for me.

I feel that Bill Gothard’s “umbrella of authority” program needs to be revamped to teach children what to do in case they need to reach out from the umbrella. My brother has asked Bill to do this and we have not received a response past something about him talking to my dad about it. I welcome the opportunity to discuss things with Bill in a civil manner for the sake of the children in that program, but I doubt he would be interested.

The hurt is no less then it was when I wrote the words in 2008, and I am glad it has not lessened. I feel that if the hurt goes, I go with it. You see, a large part of me is devoted to holding true to the memories of those young siblings I still hold so dear and to remember the suffering we endured. I wouldn’t have it any other way.