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The Dark Colors by Linda A Spencer I grew up in Ocean Springs. My father was one of three postmen in the town; my mother was a housewife, cooked all the meals, washed the clothes and basically just took care of the circus of my dad, my younger brother, me and of course the dog and cat. She also took my brother and I to church every weekend. It was an average Southern family. But two basic things set me in a "dark" direction in my life. My father, although I know he loved me deeply, was a critical person. It just seemed to me that I couldn't do anything totally right. For example, I would clean the kitchen and he would find something that wasn't done to his liking. That made me feel generally unacceptable. The second thing that brought dark colors to my life was abuse from an elementary teacher. The teacher requested some things of me that I felt were wrong. When I refused, the teacher got very angry and from that time on basically ignored me. In my little child's mind, however, instead of realizing that the adult was the one at fault, I thought that I was the one responsible. From that time on, I took on a victim mentality. Always assuming that I would be wrong and rejected. This was great darkness to me.
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