One of my pastors had eight children, and two of them were still very young at first, like under five? The eldest (a young woman) was eventually off to college or university (that pastor was with us for a number of years). It was always such a joy to witness both him and his wife deal with their children: sometimes one of the younger two boys would interrupt him while he was teaching, and he would stop to attend to their need, even hugging them to him as they clung to his leg; he was always lovingly patient toward them. Same as his wife, no matter the circumstance. Patient and loving, but discipling with kindness when necessary. For me, as an adult who had been born into a family where I eventually had ten siblings (I was the 7th born) by the time I was eight, that was always such a joy to see, and so heartwarming, because there were no open shows of affection like that in my family of origin. I would comment to them about how I saw them as parents, commending their gentleness, because it helped me see all the more clearly what I had longed for as a child. And why I had rebelled so strenuously against my mother especially when she tried to control me as a teen. It took me many years to realize (after I began my recovery "journey") that it was largely because I had already come to believe she did not really care about me. This topic comes up occasionally when I am talking with my closest sister. I could say a lot more on the subject, but I hate to feel like I am dissing my parents, plus I also know on an intellectual level that they did the best they could with what they had, even though I was left with an emotional void in my life that set me up for failure in so many ways and took decades for me to come to any real understanding around.
and I was ashamed of my self, when our brother 
