~ "Causing Pain" ~
ARROGANT MONSTERS -12
My younger brother, Steve, was adopted from Vietnam as a baby when I was a teenager. I had not kept him informed. Before Tom’s phone call with my therapist and me, I had established a cell phone call with Steve for the day after.
I briefly filled him in. At 3:00 p.m. on a phone in my office at work, I listened as Steve said very calmly, “Well, let me tell you what happened to me. Tom molested me when I was thirteen.”
All hell broke loose. The e-mail I sent to my brothers and sisters entitled “Brotherly Love” is printed in this paper [and below]. I sent my son to Canada to spend a week with Tom one summer when he was eight. I had trepidations. Something in my gut told me better.
But Tom was insistent and I thought my sister’s boys would be there as well. I put my son on a plane alone to visit his uncle – a pedophile.
I was in a panic. I was in a rage. I got physical symptoms - rashes, backaches and the insomnia got worse.
From LIP, Special Edition, INCEST – A Family Tragedy, December 2003.
I got other major symptoms as well. Some are too embarrassing to mention here.
What have my parents been doing for the six years my life has been turned upside down and in turmoil? They called me “delusional.” They stand in peace vigils. They helped to organize the “Eyes Wide Open” exhibit at Franklin & Marshall College against the war. My father was named in the Lancaster Newspapers. It was also reported in the monthly minutes of the Lancaster Friends Meeting (Quakers) that my parents wrote a booklet for the event titled, “How to Begin the Peace Making Process.”
They have not done one thing to begin the peace making process in their own family. It is so ludicrous and hypocritical it makes me sick to my stomach and very, very angry.
Later, in other minutes and after I had begun my website, it was noted that my mother found a small loom while house cleaning and was offering it to anyone who wanted it.
That was mine and she knew it. I still have some of the headbands I wove on it as a teenager. I’m also sure I paid for it. They never bought their children anything. My parents knew I was reading the minutes and they did this strictly to hurt me as much as they could.
They sent me letters saying no one would believe me. They were also busy writing letters to the editor of the Intell about peace. My father wrote one in March last year decrying this country’s role in torture. He tortured his family his entire life. What absolute frauds these people are.
They had their children, who were told all of their lives you could never, ever say anything bad about the wonderful Charles and Millie Holzinger, call my friends to tell them I was crazy. They had their children write my therapist repeated, threatening letters and in one said they were “all in agreement that I was mentally ill.”
They sent emails behind my back to my son telling him I was crazy and offering their phone numbers in case he “needed to talk.” It was my son, who after their first letter to my therapist devastated me, said “Mom, your one brother molested your other brother.”
They had my sister send me emails saying I was “destroying” the family. She told me I was causing the family “pain.” No, I was only causing my parents “pain” because they were being exposed as the despicable incest perpetrators they are.
Not one person in my family ever asked if I was okay. Not one. Not ever in six years of unbelievable pain. Holzinger children don’t care about each other and we aren’t important. We were taught the great anthropologist and his Radcliffe educated wife and maintaining the “good Holzinger name” were the only things that were important.
This totally dysfunctional family was already destroyed by incest. Anne, who sent me the emails, hasn’t talked to her own sister, Emily, in forty years. And Steve was molested by his brother and there’s obviously no love lost there. What was there to “destroy?”
Meanwhile, my parents were busy trying to explain all of this away by telling people I was “filled with anger” and “spewing hatred.” And I read about my father in the Lancaster Papers who was quoted as saying he was going to “stand as a witness for peace.”
My mother, last year, wrote a letter to the editor of the Intell to make sure the public knew these wonderful people were supposedly sending their second donation to the people of Pakistan after a landslide. And as I noted on this website, they were busy, busy sending 160 pounds of books to the children in Africa.
And during that same time, they sent me a pack of GPC cigarettes with eight in it.
It came in a small, flat box two summers ago. The Post Office sent me a note rather than delivering it. I was scared when I picked it up and drove to where my son was working to have him open it. My son could not believe it. A post-it note said they found them while cleaning and assumed they were mine. The cigarettes had to be at least five or six years old if not many years more than that. They spent $.60 to mail them. They don’t spend $.60 on anything. And, of course, they had always wanted me to quit. It was an absolutely clear message that they would rather have me dead than have their reputations questioned. If you find that hard to believe – it is the absolute truth. I immediately mailed them back.
Their most recent “recommendation,” sent via my brother, was that I change my last name. Yes, that will take care of not “ruining” the good Holzinger name!
For decent people, it is almost impossible to fathom the evil of these people, just as initially, people could not accept/believe that my father molested me or his son. It goes against everything decent people want to believe. And we almost never read about incest.
I recently heard the expression about parents only being as happy as their saddest child. I laughed. My parents have never cared about the happiness or wellbeing of their children. Only they matter. All they have ever done is belittle and criticize us and tell us not to embarrass them.
And when the total realization of all of this fully sunk in, the pain was overwhelming and it was literally paralyzing.
And while this process was going on for six years, I read in the papers about these two people who molested me and my brother at a minimum, who adopted a baby from Vietnam who was molested by my brother, who sponsored a teenage Vietnamese refugee who was also molested by the same brother, talking about peace and civil liberties and social justice. Yes, it infuriates me.
Several years ago, when I met with my lawyer for the first lawsuit, he asked me what this had done to my life. It’s the only time during our meeting I cried, and I couldn’t really respond. I sent him a fax the next morning. I have it somewhere in my 10 boxes of emails, correspondence and clippings but I will paraphrase a portion of it:
I used to plant flowers around my house and enjoy them. I don’t plant flowers anymore. I used to buy nice clothes and worry about my appearance. I don’t care anymore. I used to clean my house and take pride in it. I don’t do that anymore. I used to enjoy having friends over and cooking dinner. I don’t do that anymore. I used to go grocery shopping. I don’t do that anymore. I used to enjoy going out with friends. I don’t do that anymore. I used to like my job and feel I was good at it. I can’t concentrate anymore. I used to have a life. I don’t have a life anymore.
Just two months ago, these arrogant monsters sent a letter to Brown University thinking they could explain all of this away by saying I was “mentally ill.” I have to worry my brother, and/or my father - on one of the very few times my son spent the night at my parent’s home alone when young - may have molested my son. Can you imagine living with that? Can you imagine this in your own family? This is why I’m telling the incest story. This is an absolute horror and tragedy – and I haven’t even begun to tell how this affected my entire life before my actual memories returned or how this sickness may go on to future generations.
If anyone has a copy of my parent’s brochure, “How to Begin the Peace Making Process,” please mail it to me. These people are incredibly arrogant, extremely evil, monsters. They did, after all, molest their own children. And they could care less. They believe it was their house and their children and they could do whatever they wanted.
BROTHERLY LOVE
(I sent this email to my brothers and sisters on May 2, 2002 following the phone conversation that begins this article and it was also printed in the special edition of LIP: “INCEST – A Family Tragedy; The Holzinger Story.”)
Hello Emily:
I understand that our family has been keeping yet another secret. Tom molested his own brother Steve and you knew. I think it would have been nice if someone had told me before I sent my son to Canada for a week by himself. Very nice.
I come from a normal, nice home, but I have a brother who molested his younger brother (by the way that’s a CRIME) and his “foster” brother. But let’s keep that a secret so everyone thinks we’re the nice, normal family that’s better than everyone else because our father is a PROFESSOR.
And you are surprised that my therapist immediately saw sexual abuse – and you say it couldn’t have been our father. I wonder what other secrets are out there.
Why didn’t you ever suggest to your twin that he gets help – before he lands in jail? Shit, the Catholic Church has nothing on the Holzinger family.
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The full "ARROGANT MONSTERS" series is here.
LIP News will be on Spring break beginning tomorrow and will return to daily publishing on Monday, April 9th.