If you'd rather place an order by talking to one of our cheerful order desk clerks, please call 1-888-232-4444 (USA and Canada only) or 250-383-6864. From Europe, ring our UK order desk clerk at local rate number 0845 230 9601 (UK only) or 44 (0)1865 722 113.

Wearing The Skeletons In Your Closet

by Bonita Klint

124 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-0300; ISBN 1-55369-487-2; US$16.00, C$17.95, EUR13.00, £9.00

Abuse in families causes suicidal ideations as well as other bizarre behaviour problems, but there is hope for victims.

Read more!

about the book      about the author      sample excerpt      catalogue info

About the Book This true and very candid story provides a bold glimpse at how child abuse can not only affect a victim's soul, but how it touches the souls of their children. It is evident, demonstrated by the family's diverse, and sometimes bizarre, behaviors, that their souls matured at different levels. It is for the reader to recognize ones that had inner strength as they matured. This book attempts to uncover hidden damage to minds that created people willing to act out incest, crimes, and other poor behaviors. Though not a story for children, this deals with children's lives. Children of alcoholics have skeletons in their closets. They are taught to never discuss them with outsiders. That makes it difficult to analyze their behaviors. My story sheds any cover-ups. It also tries to instill hope in those who develop the shocking wish to destroy the evil skeletons inside themselves by trying to harm themselves. I began to research our family history thirty years ago, when my brother, Arnie, was killed in a car accident. My other brother, Roger, told me that an agent asked Arnie, a short time before he died, to write a book about his life. Though that book never went to print, it became a basis for this present story. I also tried to look through Roger's eyes at what I pieced together. He will, no doubt, say that there are some ages that are not exact, there are some cities that aren't correct. I am confident, though, that he will not refute the words nor behaviors it portrays. My background in nursing required studying some psychology courses. My research into programs for children of alcoholics, as well as some sessions with psychologists, have offered some suggestions on how to change the cycle of abuse. The other qualifications I have to write this comes from knowing myself and my family.

---

About the Author

You can not do what you are meant to do until you become the best that you can be. That requires destruction of your skeletons. Wear the clothes of love, hope and charity. Discard the robes others have made you wear, for it's first only for yourself that you must care.

---

Sample Excerpt

Chapter Two
High School

Until she got us moved out,mother felt that she had to keep Clifford in the bedroom night and day. If she let him out, he might swear at whoever came over to help us. After all, mother had her sense of dignity.

Sonny, mom's male friend, came to move heavy boxes. My sister, Cindy, and her husband, Tony, were also enlisted to help move the furniture. We didn't have much of that anymore, so we didn't need to rent a big truck. Most of it was so junky, Cindy said, that she didn't see why we would pay to move it at all.

It was a problem for Clifford to get dressed to come out, anyway, having to fuss with the straps on his wooden leg. Moreover, he was learning to yield to all of mother's wishes. While she went to finalize the deal on the new apartment, he rested in the room. Seeing that he wasn't attempting to leave his room, I felt comfortable about staying there alone with him. He hadn't tried to get me into his bed since I was around seven years old.

I didn't know where Janet had moved, but I was wishi ng that I had someone to talk to. We still had the phone hooked up, so I invited a boy I met during orientation at the high school to come over. The boy was Spanish... a dark, handsome dreamboat. He had slipped a piece of paper with his telephone number on it into my pocket. I don't know what I was thinking, doing such a foolish thing.

As we sat on the sofa getting acquainted, Cliff started to come out of the bedroom. I instinctively ran for the kitchen drawer and pulled out the scissors. Stabbing at his hand, I tried to get him to let go of the knob. He struggled with the handle as blood began to coat the tip of the scissors.

When the frightened boy saw me push ng the door with one hand, and chop, chop, chopping Clifford's knuckles with the scissors, he got so alarmed that he didn't even say good-bye. He ran out the door, and I stopped chopping at Clifford's hand.

We moved only a few blocks away. I wasn't thrilled about going to North High, and I hated our new place. It only had two bedrooms in it, meaning that I would be sleeping with mom again, while Clifford had the small bedroom to himself. He had set a few mattresses on fire while smoking in bed, and mother didn't want to get burned up with him. Rusty, the lucky devil, got the sofa....

---

Catalogue Information

---