My Truth

Anyone who knows me knows that I do keep a lot of myself private. But I do have something I want to share about a very divisive issue.

Many people are thinking and asking why people only bring up sexual assault charges 30+ years later. They want to know why “all of a sudden” people remember certain facts of alleged incidents. Even I have thought about these questions when it comes to the scores of people that are now coming forward with their truths. Well I can’t speak for them, but I can certainly speak for myself.

When I was in elementary school, for one week in the summer I took swimming lessons at the local YMCA. I was not a water nymph and hated the water, but my parents thought it would be a good skill to have in case I was a passenger on the Titanic someday. I believe I was around 8 at the time. My father would take me to the Y, give me a dime to buy a soda after the lesson, and wait for me in the car. (Yeah I know: a dime for a soda? Was it the roaring ‘20s?)

Anyhoo, it was Thursday of that week. I had my usual not-good swimming lesson, changed into my favorite dress and headed up the stairs to get my soda. As I was going up the stairs, I noticed a man standing at the top. My steps slowed, but I really wanted that soda. I got to the top and headed for the soda machine. The man said, “I was wondering if you could help me. My quarter is on the top of the door frame. If I picked you up, could you just get it for me?”

Being only a child of 8, I figured since he was an adult I should be helpful. And also being a child, I didn’t ask how his quarter got up there. So I said okay; and he proceeded to lift me up in a manner that put his hand under my dress. Warning bells went off but I got the quarter and gave it to him. Then he touched my dress and said, “This is a nice dress. What kind of material is it?” “Cotton,” I answered. Then he reached under my dress to touch my underwear. “This is nice. What kind of material is it?” “Cotton,” I answered again, and began to back away from him. He said, “You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll give you the quarter if you stay and talk to me.” With that I turned and ran. He called after me, “Wait! Don’t you want your soda?” but I was out of there.

When I got to the car my father asked, “Where’s your soda?” I answered, “I didn’t want one today” and then we drove home. And I never wore my favorite dress again.

Thankfully I was smart enough to know something wasn’t right and I got out of there. I wish I had been more prudent and turned around when I saw him standing there. But again: I was only 8. And that experience is probably why to this day I avoid swimming pools, etc. like the plague.

However, the story doesn’t end here. I have remembered every part of that incident for decades, but never disclosed any details to the very few people I shared that with. Fast forward thirty years. I stopped at the store on my way home from work to pick up a few things for my parents.  When I pulled in, I noticed an unfamiliar car in the driveway but thought nothing of it. I opened my parents’ door and my father said, “Look who’s here!” I looked, and then dropped everything I was carrying. It was the man from the Y. And he was the husband of one of my mother’s best friends. She met her probably 4 or 5 years after the incident. So I had met him, and had been seeing him for years, yet never realized it was him until that day. I picked up the groceries, put them in the kitchen and walked out without saying a word. When he died a few years later, that’s when I told my mother. Thankfully she believed every word and was horrified. If there had been any other reaction, I would have cut her out of my life.

By that time the friend had already divorced him. She did that because when I was 16, she had her niece stay with them for the summer to babysit their kids. Late one night the niece showed up at my door (my parents were out) and asked if she could stay with me until her aunt came home from work. I said sure and asked if something was wrong, and she told me the man had tried to rape her. I did not doubt her. He showed up a few minutes later looking for her, but I said she wasn’t there. I also kept the screen door locked so he couldn’t get in. He said, “She doesn’t know anyone else to come to.” I said, “Why did she leave your house?” Of course he had no answer for that and left. But 15 minutes later he was knocking on the door again. I told him she wasn’t there, and if he came back I was calling the police. He left for good; and the niece called her aunt at work and asked her to pick her up at my house. She did; and then the next day the niece was on a plane back home. So I took that to mean she believed her. Then eventually: the divorce happened.

I’m telling this story to show that you can remember things clear as day: but your brain can prevent you from what is most traumatic. For me that was the man’s identity. He was in the Navy and was wearing white and sunglasses at the Y. When he showed up 30 years later at my parents’ house: he was wearing a white uniform and sunglasses. That was my trigger because when our families interacted he was never in uniform.

It took me a while, but I started wondering how he knew about the soda. He had probably been hanging out there, hoping for a chance to do something. Thankfully, God gave that 8-year-old the “smarts” to know to get out of that situation. I just wish I had told my father, or somebody, so that man could have been caught. I am positive that wasn’t his first time; and I know it wasn’t his last.

With that being said, maybe people can stop criticizing and judging: and just try to understand. Trauma is a tricky thing; and that is my truth. ‘Nuff said.