Child abuse: Stupid is as stupid does, Sir!

By Steve Simpson

‘You are one stupid kid, you know that? Stupid and useless! Why did God curse me with a moron like you?”

I can still hear those words as clearly as if my father was standing across from me in the kitchen, beer in hand, snarling and cursing. I was defiant and acted as if the words meant nothing to me.

But whoever said “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” didn't grow up in my house. The words were weapons that almost drove me to take my own life. It's simple. Tell a child he's stupid and useless often enough and he'll believe it. I did.

In school I struggled. I called myself a “Z” student - as far away from “A” as possible. I didn't try and I didn't care. Instead, I made jokes or picked fights to get attention and worked hard to cheat on tests.

The problem was self-esteem. I had none. I honestly believed that even if I studied I would fail. I honestly believed I was stupid and useless.

My father was a violently abusive alcoholic. I endured the physical abuse by developing thick skin and a high tolerance for pain. But I never developed adequate defenses against the verbal abuse.

Even though the logical part of me believed my father's abusiveness was wrong, the child in me believed I deserved it. I believed I was a bad kid and God's curse on my father. Like so many other victims of child abuse, I thought I was responsible for my father's drinking problem.

Eventually, I ended up in foster care, and it literally saved my life. My new school's administration hadn't received my previous transcripts. The new teachers didn't know I had been a lousy student.

On the first day, I received a creative writing assignment. Even though I had struggled in school, I loved to write. I would ditch school just to sit in the public library reading and writing poetry. It was my lone peaceful outlet.

When the teacher read the short story I'd written, she told me I was a talented writer. Compliments were not a part of my childhood lexicon. Eventually I allowed myself to accept what she had said. I was talented, right?

Shortly thereafter, I joined a support group for teenagers who had similar backgrounds. One of the counselors asked why I felt stupid and useless. He had seen some things I had written and told me only an intelligent person wrote the way I did. I told him I was stupid and useless because my father told me I was.

As the words left my mouth, I had an epiphany: My opinion of myself was based on the angry rants of alcoholic man whose life was totally unmanageable. He was not me and I was not him - and I was neither stupid nor useless.

By the end of the term, I was an “A” student. By the end of the year, I was a track MVP.

I had overcome the demons planted in my subconscious by an alcoholic. The demons were not in charge anymore. I was, and I still am.

Today, I lead a support group much like the one I attended so long ago. I've dedicated my life to helping children who are abused and neglected.

My message is simple and consistent: “It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault.”

Steve Simpson of Levittown, N.Y., is a Realtor and the author of “Runaway.” He has been recognized by President Barack Obama and Nassau County, N.Y., for his efforts on behalf of abused children. Comments: steve@

stephenwsimpson.com