Lost Innocence

I was six years old when I was molested. My father was in the military and we had moved from Okinawa to Kentucky. My mother had family there and we went to live near them. We moved into a house at the top of a hill and at the end of a little dirt road. There was only one other house at the end of the road. An older gentlemen lived there alone. A widower, I think. He lived in a one room house just across the road from our home.

My mother had her hands full with four children. My father was serving a tour of duty in Korea. I was the oldest of four children. My sister was one year younger than me and my little brother and little sister were just toddlers. It was not uncommon for my mother to send me and my sister off to the old man’s house while she put the little ones down for a nap. I remember the one room house that the old man lived in. It had a wood burning stove at one end where he would parch corn. We loved to smell the corn roasting on that old stove. I remember laughing with my sister when the old man would pull out his false teeth. We thought that was so funny. He didn’t seem to mind us hanging around. And I enjoyed the attention since there didn’t seem to be a whole lot to go around with my father gone and my mother trying to manage us and the smaller members of our family.

I guess I didn’t recognize what was going on with me and the old man until I saw him turn his attention to my little sister. I thought it was peculiar and something just didn’t feel right. It was hard for me understand what was going on but I felt it was wrong. I knew I couldn’t tell my mom because then she wouldn’t have anyone to watch us while the babies slept. My brain was exploding with questions and fears. I remember it was in December and very cold out. The snow was taller than me. I was angry at my mother or maybe I was just angry. But I remember going outside in the bitter cold and looking up at the big blue sky and looking for clouds that looked like my grandmother. I didn’t know my grandmother but I just figured she was in heaven. I started talking to her and asking her to tell Jesus that we needed some help. We needed to get out of here.

We woke up early on December 21st. It was my birthday. My mom was getting us all dressed up to go into town. We were in the kitchen and she was tying my shoes when she noticed smoke in the kitchen. She ran outside and spotted smoke trailing from the attic above the kitchen. She yelled at us to bring her some water and she sent me over to tell the old man to alert the fire department. The rest of the day was kind a blur for me. I know that we probably ended up at my Aunt Bertha’s house. She lived across the hollow from us. The fire was extinguished before too much damage was done to the house.

We stayed with my Aunt Bertha that night, I imagine. That evening when everything had settled down, my mom came into our bedroom and sat on the edge of my bed. She seemed worn out. She apologized to me that we had not had a chance to celebrate my birthday and she had not been able to buy me a birthday present. I told her it was alright. In my mind, I had gotten what I had asked for. I was hiding the fact that I was happy about the fire. I was happy because that meant that we couldn’t live in a burned out house and we would surely have to move. And that would take us away from that old man.

We did move and I never thought about that old man until nearly 30 years later when I was conducting a ‘watch out for strangers’ lesson series for the children at The Children’s Center. The video was for children but it was also a teaching tool for caretakers. It detailed how to tell if someone in your care might be a victim of child abuse. I watched the video with the children and at the end of the show, the memory of that moment in my life flooded my consciousness.

Looking back, I guess my little brain deduced that all was well because Jesus set the house on fire so we could move. And no one else was harmed.

We all need to keep a watchful eye out for our children and our neighbor's children. There are programs in place to help you identify the sex offenders in your community. Use it. Call the Sheriff's Department if you have any concerns.