My dad was one of those people who, unmistakably, was a "man's man". From hot sauce challenges with his bros to arm wrestling competitions, he was the standard of a "good man." To this day, people regard him as larger than life; infallible.
Imagine my surprise (or lack thereof) when my dad's friend became too friendly and crossed the boundary, going from "cool uncle" to pedophile. At 13, when my dad's dad was already serving time for molesting myself and my two younger brothers, it felt like the most impossible situation to be in, much less as an adopted child. Still, I thought to myself, "If dad kept us safe before, he'll surely do it again..." He cried, mom cried, both promised justice would be served. "Things would be ok, right?" Boy was I wrong!
Telling him, at first, felt like a weight lifted off my already-aching chest. So many horrific things happening the last few years, it felt good to have a support system. He cried, mom cried, everything felt like it was going to be okay or at least, better than I thought it would be. That is, until I heard the call...
Walking through the living room shortly after the uncomfortable confession to my parents, I hear my dad, his big booming voice echoing out of the kitchen, say, "I figured, man, I just had to ask..." There was some more conversation between dad and the male on the other side of the phone before dad hung up and then, somehow louder than he was speaking on the phone before, announced to my mom, "He says he didn't do it, I believe him. I've asked him and his family to come over to dinner so we can apologize for embarrassing him by accusing him of something like that... She's lied to us before..."
Sure, I had lied before. "No mom, I haven't stolen any extra candies," or "Yes, mom, I brushed my teeth before bed" when I really hadn't. As a foster kid, brown at that, being raised by two white, severely abusive parents, who were also well on their way to creating their very own cult, yes, there were times in my 13 years of life that I had fibbed. Never in my life, though, had I lied about being taken advantage of sexually by a man nearly thrice my age.
Dinner came and went. Numb is an understatement about how I felt. I was made to apologize to the man and his wife and forced to be around them nearly every day for the next few years, as my dad's cult was living room-based church style meetings on a remote island in the Bering Sea. No escape, no hope, just wishing for a quick, painless death for myself.
That was my life, for far too long. That's a life I wouldn't wish on my worst enemies. To this day, there have been no disciplinary actions taken against that man for my sexual assaults. There have been other claims against him that he, thankfully, was prosecuted/punished for, but never for mine. That's something that breaks you, that feeling of being totally trapped, totally alone, I'll never forget it. The feeling of total betrayal was harsh, far worse than any beating I endured.
Here I am, dedicated to writing about the injustices I've faced, in hopes of being a light for and learning how to be the aid for some other young girl or boy who may be in similar shoes that I once was.
Dedicated is really an understatement. I'm a woman with vengeance on her mind. I won't stop until I've made my mark on the world. I won't stop until I've done for them what no one did for me... I'm going full scorched-Earth mode. Who's with me?
~Yours Truly
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