theletter

The Letter

There is an upside and a downside to having a parent who is famous. The upside is, you have the coolest house in the neighborhood, lots of really cool things, and some of the best vacations ever! The downside is, when good things happen, it rarely makes the headlines, but when something bad happens, everyone in the free world knows about it. Most of the time, its twisted and not anything close to the truth and that's what this letter is about.

All of the negative things printed in magazines or things that come across on the tv, we rarely see because our dad does his best to protect us from the media and, what he calls "misrepresentations of the facts" It worked great when we were younger, but now that we are older, we hear kids talk, or they bring magazines to school with our dad on the front cover, holding someone in a headlock or slaming someone in the ring. We never talk about it at home and we never tell him, that we've seen these things, but my Dad is well known for being the bad ass of the WWF. When asked, we never agree, or deny if it is true, but it is! We know who our dad is and what he does, he just prefer for us not to see all the false things floating around about him and our family.

Now our Dad is a badass in the ring. That is his job and he makes a hell of alot of money beating the crap out of people who think they are equal to him, but they aren't. Though he never puts us in a headlock or slams us to the ground, he is no pushover. The media reports say that we are all spoiled brats, or that it must be tough living under his roof because he kicks ass in the ring. The truth is, No one out there could possibly know what its like to be his kid. We have rules and chores just like any other kid in any other home in America. He is a great father, takes the time to listen when you have a problem, is patient when you disobey most of the time, but won't hesitate to punish you if he feels it's necessary. I guess you could say, Dad can be sweet as an apple pie or as sour as lemons. I have seen him be both. Kind and sweet, yet stern and scolding. I like to think, Its not as if we choose trouble, but more like trouble chooses us.

Like i said, he does his best to protect us and keep us out of the media frenzy but sometimes that isn't always possible. Given the events of this past week, and my unintensional participation, we are once again at the center of the media frenzy. Some things I've read are, "I'm the worst brat ever." That i've been shipped off to military school. That my dad can't control me. I even read "I'm the wild child from hell." That Dad "kicks ass in the ring" but has no control in his own home.

I think the only thing my dad can be quilty of, is not setting the record straight but I want people to know the truth about me, my family, who my father is, and what its like living in his house. I know this letter is only going to get me into more hot water, hell i'm in over my head already so if I am going to dig myself a grave, I may as well do it right! I won't hide the fact that I'm angry and upset that he punished me for my participation in the New York situation, but we will get to that later.

I am the middle child of seven, I just turned 12 and I think i am beginning to realize exactly how much power my father has in the media and in the homes of millions, every Saturday night and for that matter, in our own home. On these nights, we watch faithfully, If our homework is done, and our chores too, then we grab some popcorn, snuggle under the blankets on the sofa with Mom, and watch Dad pound the crap out of anyone who pisses him off. The lectures and scoldings he gives in the ring, his opponent knelt before him asking for mercy, makes all of us laugh because it's funny as hell. Dad knows we're home watching too. One day I overheard Dad telling mom, he never looses because he doesn't want us to be upset. It never occured to me until that moment, he could actually lose, and be the one to get a beating. Even though his beatdowns on tv make me laugh, the possibility of the tables turning, is never far from my mind. It's one converstaion i wished I'd never heard.

My sister Stephanie is the oldest and just graduated from NYU. I was only six when she left for college so I don't really remember her being home much, but she's home now and just in time for our oldest brother Bretts graduation from High School. I know he's been looking forward to this all year. I think he looks forward to the idea of college and the freedom that brings. He will be going to NYU in the fall. I know its been tough for him being the oldest boy and I know Dad is harder on him and my brother Jesse, than he is on the rest of us. I remember when i was 10, Brett and Dad had words about curfew and half of his junior year, he lost his car privlege because of missed curfew one too many times. I remember the afternoon Dad took his keys, my brother Jesse, told Brett he knew where Dad put the keys and he could get the for him if he wanted him to. Brett told Jesse "You should know by now, there is a line with Dad that you don't cross. If you cross that line, be prepared to get your ass whipped." He wasn't kidding!

My brother, Jesse, is 14 and two years older than me and just about to enter high school. The first year of jr high had been pretty tough for him. Not the Jr high aspect of his life, but his life at home has been rough. He didn't listen to Brett about the line you don't cross with Dad and he crossed it all the time, in fact he spent most of 7th grade, grounded. Jesse had a problem following the rules and an even bigger problem staying put when Dad grounded him. He got caught sneaking in and out on more than one occasion, and when he did, Dad took off his belt. Jesse is a pretty tough kid and i admire that, but the sounds i heard coming from Mom and Dads room, sounded like they weren't coming from anyone very tough at all. Late at night i would hear Jesse crying and Brett trying to help him deal with the lingering effects of our fathers belt and what it left behind. I tried to feel bad for him, thought i didn't understand at this point in my life exactly how hard Dad whipped Jesse, though I knew Brett did.

I know by now, if you're still reading, your thinking "What is this girls problem? Does she have it in for her family or what?" Really i don't. I love them, but i just get so sick of the things said in the media and right now with me at the center of it all I just have to say something. Everyone is wanting to know what happened and because they don't have the true story, all the lies are surfacing and it's pissing me off. I have three younger siblings and as their older sister, i feel like it's my job to protect them from all the lies but I contributed in a major way with my New York stunt, and I can't take it back. All I will tell you about my three younger siblings is, my baby sister Janie is 8 and my twin baby brothers , Cole and Mason are 5, and although they get swats now and again, Dad is great with them.

I don't know how many times i've paused while writing this letter, thinking it's what I have to do, or if i'm doing it because i'm angry. I think its a little of both, but at this very moment, it's leaning more toward me being angry and this is my way of clearing the air and feeling better about what took place after New York. I don't think i learned whatever the lesson was, my father tried to teach me, because i still don't see what the big deal is. I am sure if my dad ever hears this letter or sees this letter, he won't find it amusing one bit nor will he be amused with the fact, to my claim, no lesson was learned, and if that happens, i'm as prepared as I can be. Well, I know everyone wants to know, so here's the real truth behind New York.

School has only been out six weeks, and alot has happened in my life with Stephanie moving the New York and Brett moving to our beach house in The Hamptons for the summer. Everything is changing and I am not the same person I was six weeks ago because of it. In fact, my life changed drastically, four days ago when I returned home from a three day trip to New york City. I didn't run away and I wasn't kidnapped and I didn't meet anyone of the internet. I had gone there with my two best friends under the pretence of a lie. It was just the three of uswanting to explore New york City without parents. Like i said earlier, i don't choose trouble, it chooses me. We all lied to our parents. Kids do it all the time. We said we were all spending the night at each others houses, then we took the L into Manhattan. Not only had we lied about whose house we were staying, but I also stole about $200 bucks of my dads money and yeah, he already knows.

I've read and heard different stories in the media about what took place and the only partial truth floating around is the one about the spanking my father gave me when we got home, but there is so much crap being said, I don't think anyone believes it really happened but the truth is, I am not a brat and me and my butt paid. I guess with all the shit i've done, i'm pretty lucky to have made it 12 years with only an occasional spanking from my Dad. Though I didn't know it at the time, Lucky to only get a few swats with his hand or that stupid ping pong paddle he keeps in his sock drawer. I thought they were horrible events at the time, but not anymore.

So onto New York, which was fun, by the way, until we saw our photos on the tv in a store window. We were missing! Then i saw my Dad turning to the very people he hated. He was talking to the press and my mother crying. Our parents were frantic and I am sure, imagining all kinds of horrible things being done to us while we were off running wild through the streets of the Upper West Side. The look I saw on my dads face was one of worry and I felt horrible. Well that pretty much ruined New York, so we found an officer and told him who we were.

Everything that took place between that moment and the moment my father picked me up at the police station, is a blur. You want to know what I was feeling? I literally felt like I was going to vomit in the car all the way home. I was more scared than I thought I'd be, and I was really worried about him finding out about the money i took. I kept thinking back to the conversation Brett had with Jesse, about the line you don't cross. I wondered if that was where i was right now. Knowing who my Dad is, you would think he would be yelling, and actually yelling would be better than the silence, because at least you know where you stand. My Dad never said a word to me the entire time we were in the car. I couldn't look at him but i could see his face and i'd seen that look before with both my brothers just before he beat their ass. I didn't want to think about it at all.

Everything I've read in the paper and heard on the radio has been a guessing game and everyone thinks they want to know the truth but can rarely handle it. I just hope everyone reading this, can handle the actual truth about my Dad and what he did. Then everyone can stop talking about it and get on with their lives. I know I want to!

When the car stopped in front of our garage, dad just sat there staring out the window, hands clutched to the steering wheel. I wasn't sure if i should get out of the car or what, so i just sat there too. About a minute later my mother came to my side of the car, opened the door and told me to get out. I wasn't sure what to expect from her but she had never struck me before so i didn't think she would start now in spite of what I had put her through. She took my arm and pulled me close to her. She squeezed so tight I could barely breathe. Even thought I couldn't see her face, i could tell she was crying and that certainly wasn't going to help my case when facing my dad. When we upset mom, its never a good thing. All she managed to say to me was, how much she loved me. I think she was about to say something else, but at some point in this little reunion, my father had gotten out of the car. I didn't know he had, I only heard him tell her to let me go. What I really wanted was for her to hold onto me forever because I did not want to look at him. When my mother finally let me go, I did turn and face my dad. What else could I do? The veins in the side of his neck were bulging as he tightened, then loosened his jaw. Yeah, I'll tell you exactly what he said to me "Get your ass up to the bedroom, now!" Most kids wouldn't, but I was actually hoping for some sort of lecture or scolding. At least I'd know what my chances were, but that statement pretty much cleared it all up for me. I'd crossed that uncrossable line and there was no question about it. He was going to beat my ass.

At first i just paced back and forth hoping I wouldn't wear a path in their floor. I couldn't sit still and i couldn't get my stomach to calm down either. I also couldn't make out everything being said downstairs. Not only had I upset my mom but now they were fighting because of me. When the door finally opened, My feet stuck to the floor and i thought i was going to pass out. With your stomach in your throat, its hard to breathe. My Dad pointed to their bed, followed by one word "Now". I knew this was bad, really bad because in my entire life, Dad has never been a man of few words.

I don't even know how I managed to get myself over to that bed, but I did, and I can't begin to describe to you how scared I was. How can so many emotions be wrapped up into one single moment. It's confusing and frightning at the same time. I stopped right next to their bed because my Dad spoke to me. He said he wanted to know just two things. What possessed me to do such a thing and where did we get the money for the three of us to go to New York. I just wanted to freking die! Why did that question have to come up now! I tried to swallow my stomach so i could at least answer him before he smacked me upside my head. I told him i didn't think it was a good or bad idea, we just did it, not thinking at all. We just thought it would be a fun way to start our summer. Now I honestly don't know where all that came from, it just came, and if you are wondering, yes, there were tears running down my face, cause I was scared as hell.

As for the money, I had practiced in my head how I would tell him in the car ride on the way home if it ever came up. I thought it would be easy to tell him i had taken it from his drawer, but the words stuck in my throat when he asked me again about the money. He grabbed my arm and squeezed. The words squeaked past my vocal chords and through my lips. Dads veins bulged again as he clenched his jaw. I don't really think he was expecting the answer I gave. He let go of my arm, reached down and unbuckled his belt. He didn't say anything, he grabbed my arm again and turned me toward their bed. I really wasn't trying to piss him off, but I couldn't bend over. I was too scared and I didn't want him to hit me with that damn piece of leather. Because of my brothers, I know what its capable of and I just didn't want to go there. Would you? Unfortunately he didn't tell me again. As soon as my face met the covers on my parents bed, all my fears came out. I clutched the covers in one hand and wiped away tears with the other, crying as if I'd been beaten within an inch of my life and he hadn't even struck me. Maybe it was a last ditch effort to get him not to do what he was about to do, I don't know, but if that was the plan, it didn't work. He grabbed the waist of my jeans and as they came down, i grabbed them, because I didn't really want him to do that. He yelled at me, told me to let go and to keep my hands out of the way.

There aren't enough words to describe the pain I felt or the horrible sting that comes from a very worn leather belt, hitting the bare butt of a 12 year old girl 1/4 the size of her pro wrestler father, but i will tell you this. However bad you think being whipped with a belt will be, it's actually ten times worse than that.

I don't know how I managed to get through the past few days. I stayed in my room the entire first day, crying from the pain and just wanting to be alone. Dad was gone on business all day and mom was busy with the little ones. Jesse checked on me a couple times, but i pretended to be asleep. Mom came up that night to talk to me but all i could do was cry. It bothered me alot that Dad didn't come see me. I needed to know he wasn't angry.

It's been four days now and It's getting easier, but i can still feel the stings of the strap marks left on my butt every time i sit in a chair or lay in my bed, or change my clothes. Its the most horrific pain anyone can endure, but there is more to it than that. It's what it does to who you are as a person. It changed me. On the second night, Dad finally did come talk to me. I won't tell you what he said because its to personal to share.

You know, I think i was wrong when i said, i don't think i learned anything or that there wasn't anything wrong with us going to New York. Writing this letter over the last four days has helped me to see, what i did was totally irresponsible and really stupid. I know I won't ever worry my parents like that again.

So now you know what happened. Anything else you read anywhere else, is a lie. I also want you to know, I love my Dad and even though I was pissed that he whipped me, It's not my intension to slam him in the media, the public, or with his fans. He is my Dad and he did what he felt he had to do. I think I understand it and am ok with it now. It's hard to accept an even harder to say, but I deserved every lick.

I don't know what will come of this letter or what my Dad will say to me, when word gets back to him about it, but i know it will. My only hope is, he will understand.