Warning: This is another episode of sad personal stories with Sarah, so do not read further if you don't want to know impossible intimate thoughts and details about me and my experiences.
I just read a wonderful article by a mommy blogger that a friend of a friend had posted on facebook. It was one of those articles you know will be a little hard to read, but you do it anyway to feel safer in a world that shares its scary stories to warn others. (http://herviewfromhome.com/not-my-child-protecting-my-son-from-a-sexual-predator/)
It made me happy and sad... And a little introspective. This mother was so careful, so present, so involved, she knew exactly what to do with the "ick-factor" that "Bob" the all too interested old neighbor elicited in her. She kept her babies safe.
This is something that I think a lot of parents of victims of sexual assault often feel guilty about. Like there should have been a sign. They should have known. Or they shivered away the worry, the doubt, the "ick" and gave the benefit of the doubt to this virtual stranger. Or the man (or woman) who wasn't such a stranger... If they are good parents, really good parents, they feel that they should have been more careful.
Which makes this part of the blog, the part that I tell my story, feel a little strange. To compare my parents, my wonderful, loving parents' reaction to my scary moment with a woman who went on to encourage other parents to trust their instincts.
I was young, very young, when I met my best friend. Let's call her Ella. She was beautiful, funny, and different than me in a lot of ways. We met when I went to my older sister's art class, got in trouble for trying to open a bottle of paint with my teeth, and was subsequently sent outside. She was playing on the playground and I remembered her from seeing her pick up her sister sometimes. She had twisty little braids with colorful bobbly hairties. Her mom was white and her dad was black, making her a smooth caramel color and I loved her right away. I thought she was the coolest. She always had grape flavored candies at her house with different disney characters on them. We were always spending the nights at each other's houses... spending birthdays together, since they were so close we had several joint birthday parties as well. It was wonderful. Then she had to move. I remember being so sad and when I asked she told me that there were people who lived on her road that were racist (when I asked what that was, and she said it meant they hated black people, I was stunned. I had never heard of someone hating someone else based on something so unimportant) and saying her dad drove too fast, kicked up too much dust, or something. I found out later, this was not the case.
We stayed best friends, calling each other, visiting each other for birthdays and different events. I guess I was about 6 or 7 when I went to her house for her birthday. We made ice cream by hand, played pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, and I got to meet all her public school friends. Then that night after chasing her brother all over the house and deciding we wanted a little privacy to talk about our secret girly stuff and not sleep with her hyper brother in her room, we made the couch in the den into a bed and cuddled down for the night. It was very late when we fell asleep. And even later when I woke up with a bad feeling. A terrible feeling. I felt hot and cold and scared and I looked over to see her father standing over us. I laid as still as possible until I thought he wasn't looking, then flipped onto my tummy, thinking I was somehow protecting myself. He hadn't touched me. I knew nothing about what was happening or what might happen or what would happen... but for some reason I knew that I needed to protect my front bits. It didn't really stop anything. A pervert will be perverted no matter the circumstances. I don't know what all happened. I don't know that I was raped... I felt him use his thing to move my shirt and he put it against my backend. But that's all I remember. I don't know if I forced myself to fall asleep or if he just used me to stimulate himself.
I don't remember the next day. I don't know what happened next... but what I do recall is telling my older sister. And she told me to tell my mom.
The thing is, I was a liar. I lied all the time. I would look my mom straight in the face and tell her a bald-faced lie that she KNEW was a lie, but I would insist. "I saw a blue unicorn through the window!" "Now, Sarah, did you REALLY see a unicorn, or is this a story?" "NO! I did! I did see it mommy!! I promise." And I lied about things all the time and so well, she kind of just took all of my stories with a grain of salt.
So when I tried to explain what had happened and why I didn't want to go visit my friend anymore, she listened with this doubt that I might not be telling the truth. So she never asked me about it, never pursued it... What she did do, was amazing. She believed me enough to keep me safe forever afterwards. I didn't have sleepovers unless they were at my house. I was watched more carefully. And I felt heard. She asked me when I was 12 again if I remembered something that happened when I was little with my friend's father. And I refused to tell her, the feeling of fear and shame flooding me. So that Christmas, she bought each of us girls a diary that were our special ways to communicate with her. We would write in them and then leave them on her bed and she would reply and leave them on our's. And it was in there that I wrote out the story. As vague and as detailed as I could be. I know that is a contradiction... but that's how it was. Once she knew the truth, that I hadn't lied about it, that she had trusted me to keep me safe, it was this moment of painful what-ifs.
My father didn't find out until I was out of high school.
I love my father. He is this deep-thinking philosopher who believes true riches are found in community and education... and less in things like, "a job". He took good care of us. But he has a unique way about him... a non-traditional approach to life, to family, to everything. He surrounded himself with odd characters that weren't exactly the cream of the crop of society, but had intricate thoughts about how the world works.
When he found out, he was furious. He wanted to press charges. He was so distraught that he hadn't been able to keep me safe when I was young, that he didn't even know what had happened until I was too old for him to fix it... it was one of the moments I felt truly loved by my dad... the day he wanted to kill the guy who made me so scared.
It must have been a year later that I found out about... Let's call him... Ronald. Ronald was a family friend that was always around. He helped my father work on our house, helped him in my father's career as a construction worker (when he had work). He was an artist, a sculptor. He made the memorial stone when my baby sister died. He was always very nice to us kids. He loved to "crack our backs" and tickle us, especially me. I was always friendly with everyone. I'd climb into strangers' laps and talk to anyone and smile smile smile with my dimple and blond pigtails. My other sisters were not that outgoing. So I loved talking to Ronald. And when you're little, you love adult attention. So I would always be excited when Ronald came over because he played with me so much.
My dad was always a little on guard with Ronald. There would be long time periods when he made it clear that Ronald was not allowed to come over. But slowly Ronald would come back into our lives. We would meet him at the river. He would come to dinner parties. I always thought my dad liked Ronald, but thought he was kind of annoying. Becasue he was. He was a weirdo. I remember a few times when he came over before my parents were awake on the weekends and just watch us kids play computer games and tell us stories. My parents would come out and be surprised that he was there. But go with it. I remember a time he was helping us build our pantry and he asked my mom if anything happened to my dad, would she pick him. And she said no. Not in a million years. It was always a joke that if she had said yes, something bad would have happened to my dad.
But I remember there was one day Ronald had come over and stayed late and the next day he showed up early in the morning... and just us kids were awake. And while I was waiting for my turn on the computer he told me this story about seeing two women naked at the river. And said they were kissing and getting "hot and heavy". I was weirded out by that, so I went into my parents room and told them that Ronald was there talking about weird stuff. And when they came out, he was gone. It was a long time before we saw him again.
So about a year after my father found out about what had happened with Ella's father, my father admitted to me that Ronald had told him he had been arrested for a few years before they had met for sexually assaulting his ex-wife's children (his step-children). He had been up front about it right when he met my father. And my father let him into our lives anyway.
Don't get me wrong, my father was always on guard, and nothing actually ever happened with Ronald hurting any of us. But there were some rather... voyeuristic moments with him. Accepting a man who was trying to live a normal life, a life outside of his unnatural urges... Was very christian of my dad. But when I found out... I couldn't help but feel hurt and betrayed. That he made such a big deal about what happened when he didn't know... but what could have happened BECAUSE he knew... My father showed more love to a man he befriended than for his children. I felt very wronged.
I have since forgiven him, come to terms with this contradiction in my mind of loving father and the man who knew he was inviting a convicted paedophile into his home and into his life... But there are still moments... like while I was reading an article about a family who did all they could to keep their child safe... when I think about how my father put the needs of an outsider above his children.
I am grateful for both my parents so much. My mother who listened to me even when she doubted my truth-telling abilities... My father who taught me that you can love a sinner while hating their sin... And I try to think about what I will be when I am I parent.
I hope I will be able to protect my baby.
