Child Abuse and Me

I always thought that I had a pretty normal childhood. Nothing really ever occurred to me that mine was not a typical one, and why should a white male from an upper class community ever think any different? As with all perfect things, they are not all that perfect.

I can remember the first time I think, as a child, I had ever been truly sad. I was in maybe first grade or so and only ever thought of my parents as having a perfect relationship. Well, from the view of a first-grader, how could his parents be anything other than perfect? My father worked as an IT coordinator for a record company—he traveled a lot across country and my mom was a stay-at-home mom. My father and mother, from as early as I can remember, were always involved with us. My mother would help us with schoolwork, my father would coach our sports teams when he was home. All was well.

I remember the first time I ever heard them fighting. They didn’t hide it. They were fighting in the kitchen and all I remember is yelling back and forth. I assume they must have seen me crying as I ran into the office to get away, and they stopped and came to ask what was wrong. I remember saying “I don’t like when Mommy and daddy fight” between sobs of tears. They assured me everything would be alright and that I shouldn’t worry, that mommies and daddies fight sometimes and it’s perfectly normal. Later that year, as September began to set in, my parents had a rather bad fight and me, my older sister, and my younger brother—my sister the oldest at eight, myself five, and my brother three, were told to go upstairs and stay there. We waited for what seemed like hours of yelling until, finally, my uncle, my mother's brother, came upstairs with a state trooper and explained that my dad would be leaving for s little while. In the years that followed, my parents would get divorced, and that’s when the abuse started.

Now, let me say that before I get into any of the more uncomfortable circumstances I was placed in, that I do not hate or wish ill upon any one of the people involved. The only thing I can hope for is the realization of these individuals that it was wrong to do these horrible things and that maybe now they realize the horrible implications it had on me. Furthermore, for the sake of time (if you are still reading this), I will not include every incident— just the more profound ones.

The first time I remember anything odd happening to me is with one of my cousins at my grandmother's. She and a cousin, of my age, as many kids growing up in the 90s, were playing pretend doctor. I don’t remember exactly where everyone else was, but I do remember the cousin my age wanted to be the doctor and my older cousin the secretary. I was their “patient” and I had to step into the bathroom with the cousin my age and take off my pants and shirt so my cousin could examine me. My cousin then asked for me to take off my underwear and I did. I didn’t know that any of this was wrong. I was so young. My cousin just looked, said "you look healthy to me," and that was that.

Now, I’m sure many people have been in these situations as kids; the show and tell sort of scenario, and if this had been the only incident, I’m sure it would not have had much impact on me. I was no older than seven, what did I know?

Later that day, my oldest male cousin had learned that we had played doctor and wanted to play with me, too. Now, him being the oldest cousin, I thought: Well, this is cool, Tammy's older cousin wants to play with me? I shouldn’t ruin it! This time was different, though. I was in the bathroom with my cousin and he had us both take down our underwear and began to touch me. He wanted me to touch him, but as I was about to, my grandmother walked in and immediately reprimanded us. She had us go downstairs, my older cousin now in tears, as my uncle, his father, began yelling at him. My father, who was also downstairs, had me come outside to wash his car with him. He asked me if anything happened and I was so embarrassed I just said no. At that point, I didn’t think anything of it. I wasn’t punished or supervised more closely. Things just went on normally. They were ignored and I began to normalize these sort of things.

The next thing I can remember that still bothers to me this day, happened that same summer at my father's condo. I don’t remember why, but my father had me come into the bathroom with him. I don’t remember where my other siblings were and what they were doing, but it was my dad and I loved him, so I listened. Once in the bathroom, he exposed himself to me. Now, I don’t know what he was trying to do. Maybe he was trying to teach his oldest son about the male anatomy, maybe he was being inappropriate. It has only been recently that I’ve realised how improper that situation was, and how wrong he was to do such a thing to a child.

Some of you are probably wondering why I never said anything to my mom or to anyone else. Well, to be truthful, my parents' divorce was not smooth, but rather very bitter. Each parent was suing for full custody. My siblings and I both had to speak to our parents' lawyers. I remember my older sister telling us not to say anything bad about either parent because the lawyer would put us in jail. I realize now that this was to protect both our parents, and, in my sister's own way, my brother and I. From that point on, I thought that if I said anything to anyone that I would get in trouble, so I never did.

The last incident I will tell you about is with my oldest male cousin. Some time towards the end of that summer, my cousin initiated a similar situation, however, he called it a secret dare or dare. Again, I thought wow, my cousin wants to play a secret game with me, I can’t not play. It was then that he began to dare me to expose myself, touch him, perform oral sex and even went as far as to let him try to have anal sex with me. When it was my turn to dare, I would simply say the same thing not knowing what to do. Truth be told, I enjoyed spending time with my cousin, and I didn’t want him to think I was a baby. I thought that this must be what he and his friends do.

This sort of thing went on for around three years, and every year I would begin to feel guiltier and guiltier. I tried to tell him no, that I didn’t want to, but he would say "Oh, I’ll tell on you." So, I wouldn’t stop him. I let it happen. It got to the point where, as a ten-year-old, I felt so guilty at night that I couldn’t sleep and I finally, the next time I saw him, told him no. To my surprise and relief, he stopped.

Now, I don’t know if my cousins, especially my older one, ever understood what they were doing. To be honest, it’s easier for me to pass it off as "oh, it was just kids experimenting." However, as I become older, I sincerely begin to question that idea.

I do try my best not to let these events and the many others impact me, but it’s not always that easy. I am constantly anxious, I suffer from depression, I still flinch when people try to touch me, and when sexual abuse and rape are brought up, I nearly puke.

I still love my family. I wouldn’t trade any of them for anyone else in the world. Sure, what they did to me wasn’t OK, but I have to think that they didn’t know. They certainly didn’t know that so many people were doing this to me. As for the personal issues, I wouldn’t change my past at all. Having gone through that has made me who I am. I wouldn’t change one bit.

Well, thank you for listening.