My first memory goes back to when I was four.It was summer and we lived in Simmons City Texas.Which was hardly a city at all but a bunch of my relatives who lived in this area thirty miles from the nearest town.I will never forget this because it was a turning point in my life that set the foundation for a rocky and horrible road.As I was saying I was four my mother like always was at work and my big brother was with my grandfather,I was at home alone with a drunk father.I loved my father with all my heart and remember that for sure,but that day he destroyed my life.That day he began to touch me in ways a father shouldn't touch a child.I remember running and hiding under my blanket's in my room scared and crying and I remember how he followed me into my room trying to comfort me and promising me a banana split from the Dairy Queen in Three Rivers. If I would only let him touch me.Forgive me father,I was only a child and this was my father I let him.What other choice could I have made.A four year old doesnt think past today and he was my trusted father. Well I am going to assume that this went on whenever he was home from jail or work because that seems to be the only memory I have of him.
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That is profound, and a good start.
ReplyDeleteI was 6. I remember my stepfather and I were playing "go fish" and he was letting me win. I liked books, so he said "If you win, I'll let you do anything you want for an hour, what would that be?" I said I wanted to read a book. He said: "If I win, we do whatever I want for an hour." I said OK. Then my baby brother started to make little noises so my stepdad and I took the cards and went into the bathroom to play - so we wouldn't wake the baby. I lost the game. The first time it happened I remember him smothering me down with his chest in my face, and he rubbed himself back and forth over and over between my legs. Then after he shot, he seemed to snap out of it and acted real concerned. He got a warm washcloth and cleaned me up, and apologized profusely, wiping my tears and kissing my forehead. Then he sent me off to bed. I was confused.
That was the first time, and it continued on for years.
Me.
When I had been abused as a child I felt isolated. Surely no other child had to suffer such a thing, I thought at the time, but childhood abuse by sick adults seems to be more prevalent than I ever dreamed it could be.
ReplyDeleteThis travesty has to be one of the great horrors of life.