Robert Sherriff Reflections of Pain

Robert Sherriff - Australian - Poet -Author - Singer - Actor - American Historian – Photographer Shadows to Light-Reader Advisory: The following narrative depicts domestic abuse and its aftermath. Proceed with care. Reflections of Pain When you're seven, trying to understand the world is like navigating a tapestry woven with shadows and light. My childhood home was shattered by my father's violence, leaving a broken home, broken bones, and bruises—a past that felt like an unwanted prize in a game of chance. My father once told me, shortly after an attack, that the only person he feared was me. It took years to decipher his words. But I refused to be a mere victim, finding resilience where there seemed to be none. I found God early. In 1961, the justice system branded my father a "vicious creature"—a description that echoed the terror I felt whenever he approached. At seven, his presence induced panic so intense that tears, sweat, and tremors became my constant companions. Yet, despite the horrors, I never begged him to end my suffering. Looking Back, March 19, 1977, seemed poised to herald happiness. Yet, that illusion crumbled when my father ended his life in his car. I wept not only for what was lost but for the relief of knowing he couldn't drag us into his tragic end. That year, marked by Elvis's passing and the birth of my second son, 08/08/1977, left me feeling robbed of a revenge I never actively sought. Despite being instilled with fear from a young age, I made a courageous choice. I chose forgiveness over resentment, seeking affection from hands that had only known how to strike. This choice, requiring immense courage and strength, was my first step toward healing and reclaiming my life—a choice I hope to inspire others facing similar challenges and empower them to take control of their healing journey. A Journey Through Darkness: At seven, I was a mere shadow, my body no more significant than that of a five-year-old. When the State of South Australia intervened, I became a ward—a symbol of safety yet steeped in shadows. From ages seven to sixteen. I endured abuse from those charged with my care, leaving scars far more profound than skin. But even in the darkest times, I found the strength to endure—a resilience within me that carried me through, a resilience that I hope can bring hope and encouragement to others. 'Sex abuse. Trust eluded me, yet I found solace in helping others. Even as a street kid at eleven, people shared their problems with me. Before finding a medical team that saved me, I survived on instincts honed by my mother's urgings when young—stealing food was survival. Love was absent, replaced by harsh words and degrading labels. My father deemed me "stupid," and my mother tried to tell me I had brain damage. Yet a misplaced loyalty kept me bound to them despite the pain. Peter, my twin, passed away on June 13, 1980, a year marked by Lennon's departure. A Light in the Abyss. One day, I mustered the courage to ask my father why he didn't love me, hoping my wishes upon a falling star would bring change. Instead, I met violence. But unlike him, I chose a different path for my lineage. Today, I'm blessed with six children, thirteen grandchildren, and four great-grandchildren, all of whom are treated with love and respect.