Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Books: "I'm Perfect, You're Doomed" and "The Spanking Room"

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Here are two great books about growing up in a legalistic cult.  Don't dismiss them because they are related to life in the Jehovah's Witnesses.  They believe much of the same end times garbage that Herbert Armstrong taught.  Remember that HWA copied a lot of WCG's beliefs from the JW's.  The same kind of "us vs. them" mentality is prevalent.  "Why worry about the world around you since they are all going to burn up in the lake of fire."  They had the same kind of abusive child rearing techniques.  The same absurd doctrines and crazier than hell church leaders are present in JW land as in Armstrongism. Cults are abusers, mentally,  spiritually and physically.




I'm Perfect, You're Doomed is the story of Kyria Abrahams's coming-of-age as a Jehovah's Witness -- a doorbell-ringing "Pioneer of the Lord." Her childhood was haunted by the knowledge that her neighbors and schoolmates were doomed to die in an imminent fiery apocalypse; that Smurfs were evil; that just about anything you could buy at a yard sale was infested by demons; and that Ouija boards -- even if they were manufactured by Parker Brothers -- were portals to hell. Never mind how popular you are when you hand out the Watchtower instead of candy at Halloween.
 When Abrahams turned eighteen, things got even stranger. That's when she found herself married to a man she didn't love, with adultery her only way out. "Disfellowshipped" and exiled from the only world she'd ever known, Abrahams realized that the only people who could save her were the very sinners she had prayed would be smitten by God's wrath.

Raucously funny, deeply unsettling, and written with scorching wit and deep compassion, I'm Perfect, You're Doomed explores the ironic absurdity of growing up believing that nothing matters because everything's about to be destroyed.
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I had stopped vomiting, but still shook and sobbed. Mom returned to the room to sit on the edge of my bed. Again she asked, "Billy what's wrong?"
"That was my bus route," I whispered when I could get words out. "What if someone I knew came to the door?"
"So?"
"They'd find out I was a Jehovah's Witness."
Mom's hand met the side of my head in a flash of brilliant white light and an explosion of pain. I collapsed onto the mattress while she flailed at me, her rage-clenched fists thudding into my eight-year-old body.
"How dare you?" she shrieked. "You awful, rotten child! How dare you be ashamed of Jehovah? I hate you! I hate you!"
The Spanking Room is the true story of a young boy's upbringing, and how the unorthodox doctrines of the Watchtower Society encourage violence against its most helpless members-the children.
Whether you are looking for specific answers or an overall understanding of Jehovah's Witness beliefs and practices, The Spanking Room delivers in a straightforward, compelling manner. Journey with little Billy Coburn as he grows up in the Watchtower Society, learn what Jehovah's Witnesses believe about God, and experience the inner workings of the Kingdom Hall through a child's-eye view. If you or someone you love is a Jehovah's Witness, this book is for you.

2 comments:

Byker Bob said...

It always grieved me when there was a knock at my door early Saturday morning, and in responding, I noticed that some JWs had dragged a young child along on their witness campaign. Although we didn't do witnessing in Armstrongism, the helpless child element still gave me a bad sense of reverse deja vu.

Adventism in all of its branches or manifestations seems to bring varying degrees of evil into peoples' lives. I know they self-identify as Christians, but many of the values learned and taught are anything but!

BB

Anonymous said...

Wow, I didn't know the Witnesses sometimes bring young children along with them on their sales pitches!

It'd be hard to find cheezier sales tactics than that.

They haven't bothered me in awhile; maybe they have a database which shows the last ones here didn't like getting chased down the driveway with a pitchfork in my hand.

Norm