When I was 3 we lived in Seattle in a cul de sac with a playground in the middle. My mom and I were outside. I was playing on the playground and my mom told me it was time to come in for lunch. I argued and threw a fit so she said she would keep an eye on me from the window while she made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Shortly after she went in I was approached by a teenager who said he had to take me to school with him. I told him I had to stay at the park and I yelled for my mom but he dragged me down the street.
I don't remember much visually but I remember the ring on his right hand it was a pewter skull. He hit me with it when I bit and kicked him trying to free myself. I also remember the feeling of being pulled, taken away, how angry it made me to be powerless. He took me to his teacher and told the teacher I was his nephew. I was wearing a blue knit sweater that was covering / snagged on my id bracelet. I tried to pull my sleeve up. I fought with it the whole time I was in the room with him. I remember thinking if I could show the teacher I wasn't who he said I was the teacher would know something was wrong but I was unable to get my id bracelet out. He took me out by the baseball field between the dugout and the blackberry bushes that lined the fence. He touched me and tried to force me to touch him. After a few minutes he told me if I told anyone he would kill my parents and then he left me there. The school was a little over 2 miles from our home. To this day I have no idea how I knew how to get home. My mom was worried when I got there and I told her what happened. My dad was way bigger than that guy and I knew there was no way that guy could kill my parents. The police came by the house and with what I told them they were able to go to the school check with the teachers and find who the boy was. He lived about 5 houses down the street. My mom took me to the hospital to do tests that the police asked for. When I got home that night I went to bed at 8. I slept for 16 hours before my mom woke me up to eat some food and go to the bathroom. I went right back to sleep and got up the next day like nothing happened.
I remember sitting in the court room on my mom's lap having the judge ask me questions about what I got for Christmas (a chicken gun was my answer, it was a laser gun that had three sounds: laser beam, chicken and fart.) While I did speak well for a three year old they decided it was better for me not to testify. He was convicted. I remember the black man that came over to see me after the trail. He was our neighbor. When I got a little older my mom told me he was a Black Panther and he had some people on the inside take care of my attacker. My mom would lie to me about that but I like to think she didn't. I did group counseling with other kids my age for a while but they weren't any fun. I seemed to heal quick. I didn't want to think about the stuff that was done to me. People always told me it wasn't my fault which kind of bugged me. I never thought it was. This is one of those things that was always kind of there. It was something that happened but not who I was. This is not a story I have shared with many people and it is not what I want to be known for but I want to help those who have been through similar abuse.
I've always hated the mindset that any kind of sexual abuse is supposed to leave you a ruined and fragile shell of a person. It is demeaning to those who have been exploited. What I know about you is this: You are neither fragile nor ruined. Shit that happened to you when you were 3 years old do not define you as a person. Not because I say it doesn't, but because you have never let it be the basis of your self-identity.
ReplyDeleteYou've never once leaned on it as an excuse or asked for special treatment of any kind.
You are a good person, a good father, a good brother, and a good friend.