Innocence Lost

Chapter 2, God Was Close

Part 1, Innocence Lost Cont'd . . .

 "Grooming" is what authorities call a child predator in the act of gaining the confidence of a victim.  Making friends with a child by sharing secrets, little gifts and touching that begins with innocent hugs or sitting on their lap.

My "grooming" had been ongoing for a few months as this new "Daddy" of a stepfather wormed his way into my emotional needs as a fatherless nine year old. Then, I remember the exact moment he made his move. We were alone in the kitchen with verbal teasing.

It started with a tickle.  Up to this point, I was the first of my siblings to eagerly accepted the new "Daddy" in our lives and the fatherly role he created for himself. Part of my cue I took from Mother who had accepted him completely as he slipped into his part of predator like a well trained thespian.  Interesting thought: his verbal teasing of my brother had a different tone than that with me - almost challenging.  Jerry seemed happy to have him around but there was no "click" with their relationship. 

He had pinned me up against the refrigerator and his tickling turned to groping with his hands under my blouse.  When he released me, the situation was very awkward as I tried to understand what had just happened.  I was now forcing my laughter - in case I was wrong. What else was I to do; confront a grown up?  I was only nine years old.  Was I mistaken?  Surely!  But no.  I was too dumbstruck to know what to do.  Our home had changed, Mother was happier, bills were paid on time and he was friends with Pop and my uncle.  These were not conscious thoughts in my young head but, rather, instinctive.  What had just happened?  Confusion, caution, fear and guilt ran through me.  This wasn't right.

It accelerated from there.  If I had known to protest and told on him, my entire life (my ENTIRE life and those around me) could have played out differently.  One defining moment in the life of a ten-year-old dictated how I would relate to men the rest of my life.  This was to affect, not only me, but how I related to men in my life and how they would relate to me in years to come.  

His behavior was not confined to the bedroom.  Frequently, he would make an excuse to take a drive in the car to the store, or to work to perform a forgotten chore.  I was frequently coerced to ride along.  For an adult to coerce a child is an easy thing.  There was never mention of a side trip; we would just go and come right back.  He could fool me with the promise of my brother going along but would change his mind when we were on our way out the door.  Mother never learned to drive and could not afford a car, so the only time there was family transportation was the couple years my stepfather lived with us.  This made a ride anywhere appealing - until I realized every excursion had the same agenda.

 

His abuse created a rage in me.  I began defying him at every turn, arguing continually.  He knew what I was doing at all times, badgering about how I did everything was his mantra; nothing was ever right.  He questioned everything I did and I did everything I could to defy him.  Physically standing over my shoulder and watching everything I did made me anxious.  He never let anything go, always harping on everything I did and everything I did was wrong.  I never had this sort of relationship with my mother, father or Pop.

Mother would frequently ask, "What's wrong with you?"  "Why can't you get along?"
"He does so much for us."  I even began arguing with her to defend myself.  I really hated that.  Prior to this marriage, we had an amazing relationship.  I adored my mother and lived to please  her.  Now, she thought I was deliberately being hostile.  I was but she did not know there was a reason. He was alienating me from my mother.

It was a common practice of his to wait for days, after I had defied him over something, until we had company.  In the middle of the visit, he would bring up my insolence and harp on it.  Public humiliation is something I detest to this day.  It is an entire suitcase of rage in my emotional baggage.

For sexually abused children, there is always a feeling of secrecy or fear of someone finding out.  Guilt is an overwhelming factor for a child.  In defense of abused children everywhere, guilt is the main issue.  A child's world is small and it centers on them.  Even as an unwilling participant, we take the guilt on ourselves.  We know it is wrong because of all the "shushing" and secret activities in the dark.  Secrecy creates guilt.  The bribery (he used to leave money on my nightstand after he was finished with me) was another clue that something was very wrong.  You don't get paid for nothing.

The thought of that money opens that baggage of rage in me to this day.  I hesitate to think I could have been encouraged to become a prostitute.  You think?  Instead, the  opposite occurred.   It has always been difficult for me to take money, or support, from a man.  For most of my life, I have needed to be financially independent.  Taking anything from a man left me feeling insecure and cheap.  A responsible man will want to provide for his wife and will have trouble accepting my sort of independence.  I insist on personal space, privacy and my own individual opinions. 

* To be continued . . . 

* This continuing story begins with the post on Dec. 30, 2024

See "Entertaining Angels Unaware"

 

 

Chapter 2: God Was Close

Part 1, "Innocence Lost"

Fathers, do not embitter your children - Col. 3:21 (NIV)

Do not have sexual relations with both a woman and her daughter - Lev. 18:17 (NIV)

> Snow falls quietly in massive, heavy flakes and crochets an opalescent blanket over the lawn. I'm warm inside as I watch from my office window. How silent and clean it is. Ever wonder how some people can live in such an amazingly wondrous world and only see the ugly?

> You will find this chapter disturbing; child abuse is always disturbing. Abuse of a sexual nature leaves canyon deep scars that never disappear.

> There is no need for details beyond what is needed to convey the meaning of the text. I will make every effort to keep my literary as tasteful as possible (if, in deed, it can be called "tasteful" at all). It would be great to inject some humor along the way, but the idea feels awkward in light of my subject.

> About the time I turned ten years of age, in an effort to provide her children with more, Mother remarried. It was a second marriage for her but a third for him. I don't think she truly loved him, not the way she loved my father. Not until this day; writing this text, at this moment, did I realize how much he looked like my father. Darken his hair and shorten him by six inches, they could have been brothers. He did lack the outward playful nature of my father.

> He had a good job and a car. We went on family trips. He made purchases at auction for the household and gifts for Mother. He was friendly with Pop. He didn't take us to church or say grace at the table. Looking back, I don't remember him ever saying anything about God - or Jesus. The family unit changed with a father figure at the head of the table during supper and breakfast on the weekends. Interesting: Pop had never took that seat preferring to stand and serve during meals. (I suspect Pop ate after all of us were finished.) He went fishing and hunting with Pop and my uncle who lived next door. His parents had a wonderful farm with lots of animals and I loved to visit there; darling, accommodating people.

10 year old author

> I was first to set the example of accepting him into a role that each of us children needed. I was the first to call him "Daddy". This thought sickens me today. That soon changed. I will not write his name because I came to detest the name whether borne by him or any other man. I came to sicken myself at his personal habits and preferences; like ketchup on eggs and sugar on tomatoes. To this day, I cannot bear to be in a room with a man smoking a cigar.

> This man made use of both my sister and me for a couple of years. There was never a thought on my part that he had involved her. As a child, I remember thinking, "At least he isn't bothering Karen". He frequently visited me at my bedside after the house was asleep and Mother was at work on late shift. Karen and I shared a room and that left her subject to my vocal pleas of "No, please don't, stop it, I don't want to." He would softly chasten, "Shhhh" "You'll wake your sister", "You'll wake your grandfather", "This is our secret." "We don't want anyone to know". "YOU"LL get in trouble."

* To be continued . . . 

* This continuing story begins with the post on Dec. 30, 2024

See "Entertaining Angels Unaware"

 

 

Chapter One, EPILOGUE

The memory of a moment stays with us for a lifetime - Unknown
 
We need not destroy the past, it is gone - John Cage
 
> It was the dawn of color television and the Howdy Doody show, Ed Sullivan, poodle skirts, saddle shoes, drive-in theaters, the jitterbug, jukeboxes and candy buttons on paper. The milkman delivered to your door and the family doctor still made house calls. Women stayed home, wore aprons and cooked Maypo for breakfast. It was convertible cars, the polio vaccine, home perms and Alaska became a state. It was Elvis, Mickey, Uncle Milty and American Bandstand. We caught pollywogs and fireflies, played hopscotch and jumped rope to Double Dutch. It was the magical time of childhood wonder and innocent discovery.
 
> Sorting through old photos and stirring memories reveals nothing especially noteworthy about my first eight years on this earth. My childhood seemed, then and now, not to be unlike any other child's.
 
> Adults have little understanding of the influence they possess on the lives of young children. In many ways, we become imprinted by those who are the strongest personalities in our young lives. It is said from birth to four are the years that set us on the course of who we will become. I am sure Mother, Pop and Mother Carmichael left their mark on me, in one way or another. Our development through early life is part nature but also part nurture.
 

I looked like a little boy without my bonnet.

> There were a few struggles for, and within, our little family. All families struggle with internal and external relationships. We learned give and take. Jerry and I were very close as children but, one occasion, our tempers were so riled during a physical altercation that we threatened each other with knives. Grandfather stopped that little drama before it turned tragedy. The next day, we were trying to fight each other's battles or defend against a common enemy. We grew through all of it.
 
> Back then, God was the invisible friend I talked to and the subject at church. My life was about friends, school, fishing, parakeets and dress up. Children are truly blessed to have their own world and a direct line to the ear of God. Children are indeed on God's priority list. Need prayer? Ask a child to intervene for you.
 
> We are tested daily. The greatest trial in my first nine years was overcoming not having a father. When a parent leaves or gives up a child, that child's small world insists this is their fault. Children take these huge burdens on themselves. Until he left, I was "Daddy's Girl". After he left, I craved the comforting male attention I had grown used to. This had a huge affect on my life for many years to come and is still part (albeit smaller) of my emotional baggage. He left an unfulfilled hunger in each of his children. My sister and I yearned for the paternal presence that is the role model for a girl's choice of male relationships. My brother just wanted a father's guiding hand and approval for a "job well don, son".
 
> A large part of my character is defined by my mother's heart. It cannot be explained any other way - example is a great teacher. What do we know of giving, if not witnessed by us of those we admire? What does anyone know of compassion without suffering?
 
> I believe that God listened to this child from the first time I called on Him, wishing upon a star in the night sky at the very early age of 4 years. He hears every word from the lips of a child. Let me state right here and now, there have been a few times when I felt lonely, but I cannot remember any moment when I felt alone - ever.
 
> There are no coincidences, no accidents in God's perfectly ordered universe.. Everything in the life of a believer happens for a reason. As you continue to read my story, you will see why I have come to believe this way. Our lives come together in the end for a divine purpose.

* To be continued . . .

* This continuing story begins with the post on Dec. 30, 2024

See "Entertaining Angels Unaware"