I was a shy kid growing up. I admit it. I came of age in the 60's and 70's, at the height of the Sexual Revolution. And I lived through that entire Revolution without ever firing a single shot.
But in just the past two months, after reading diaries by Rebecca (SwedishJewFish) and
Roxine, and other Tree Climbers here on DK, I have come to recognize that it was probably more than just shyness that kept me in my shell. While my story pales in comparison to theirs, and is nowhere near as horrific, it may still be worth telling.
I was seven years old.
I was small for my age. In fact, from kindergarten through eighth grade, I was the shortest kid (male or female) in every class I attended. I did outgrow two other kids in eighth grade, and by high school, I had my belated growth spurt and reached almost average height. I never really minded being short, but I'm sure it took a toll on my self-confidence, and may have increased my shyness.
One day, I was out playing (by myself; I was always good at imaginary games), when four or five neighborhood girls approached me. They ranged in age from about my own age of seven to maybe twelve or thirteen. They surrounded me, knocked me down, and tried to pull my pants off. My reaction was shock, more than anything else. But I struggled, and kicked, and screamed. And after maybe 30 seconds, they gave up and left me alone.
That was it. Not so traumatic was it? They never even got my pants off. I certainly wasn't abused, even if they had made the attempt. And it definitely wasn't some adult pedophile. After all, these were kids, little more than my own age. So no harm, no foul. Right?
That's what I thought, for the next 50 years. I certainly never forgot the incident. But I never sought to suppress it from my memory, either. It was just one of those unpleasant incidents that occur in everyone's life.
And the rest of my childhood was almost idyllic: my parents would put Ozzie and Harriet, and Ward and June Cleaver to shame. I was raised in the most loving, nurturing, and supportive family I could imagine. My four siblings and I were very fortunate. With all of the horror stories I have heard about dysfunctional families, I can only think of two negative things to say about my parents.
1. They were Republicans. But they were moderate Republicans of the last century, so I won't hold that against them.
2. They had rather Victorian attitudes towards sex. That was just not a subject that was brought up by good people. I never did have "the talk" from either of my parents. And I loved them so much, and wanted to please them so much, that I never broached the subject of sex. So, I never brought up the "incident" with either of them.
As I mentioned earlier, I was always shy, especially around girls. Oh, I had plenty of fantasies, and plenty of crushes throughout my school years. There were girls who liked me well enough, and I went on several dates. But I would tend to freeze up when talking to a girl. Holding hands seemed like an unachievable dream. And I never mustered the courage to kiss a girl, all through high school. Needless to say, I never even considered going to the Prom.
So I went away to college in 1971. Yep, right in the middle of the Sexual Revolution. I had plenty of academic successes; a National Merit Scholar who graduated four years later with a BS, magna cum laude. But one success I didn't have was with the women. In fact I remained a virgin all through college as well. I had a couple of rather "serious relationships" for several months. (Serious, in that we actually kissed!). But I think they must have grown tired of waiting for me to make a move, and eventually ditched me. I kept telling myself that I "respected" girls too much and didn't want to force myself on them. But while I did honestly respect women, and still do, I have to admit that in retrospect, it may have been fear of women, more than respect, that caused my problems.
Looking back now, after reading numerous Tree Climber diaries in recent months, and learning about the long-lasting effects of child abuse, I now believe that single childhood experience had more of an effect on me than I was ever willing to admit to myself. It's only now that I can put 2 and 2 together and get 4. It's not that I got the wrong answer before. I just never tried to do the calculation. But I now believe that the 30 seconds of attempted abuse of a 7 year old child, more than 50 years ago, had a profound affect on the next 15 years of my life. It shattered my confidence with women, and led to a lonelier adolescence than would have otherwise occurred.
But this story does have a happy ending. Two years after graduation from college, I met an attractive young divorcee with a 4 year old daughter. I was smitten. I felt more comfortable just talking with her than with anyone I had ever met. My virginity didn't last much longer! But that was mostly because she made the first move. And five months after meeting her, we were married. Sometimes you just know it's the right one. We will celebrate our 35th anniversary later this year.
I originally had grave doubts about writing this diary. Not so much because I was ashamed (though it isn't an easy subject to talk or write about). But simply because this little incident in my past just didn't seem to me, to measure up to the horrors perpetrated on Rebecca, Roxine, Sally and so many others. Unlike them, I had an otherwise wonderful and protected childhood. Unlike them, I never had to worry about waking up in the night, to the terrifying sound of the footsteps of an approaching pedophile, frequently a member of their own family. Unlike them, I never had to worry about the horror going on... night after night... year after year.
But in another recent diary, SallyCat made the following comment that really struck a nerve with me:
The thing about abuse - it is insidious, big or small, or as witnesses.
My little sister was my Dad's favorite. He never hit her, never sexually abused her...she was protected at all times. She has struggled for years with trying to understand why. She is as much a victim as me and my other sister.
We each bring a different perspective to Tree Climbers - survivors and supporters alike. There is a reason for you being here, only the universe knows why,...and we are glad of it.
So my hope is that, like me, other readers might learn from her wisdom.
There is no such thing as "just a little abuse". It all matters. Stories need to be told. Victims need to be supported. And most importantly, future abuse needs to be prevented. That's what the Tree Climbers are all about.
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National Sexual Assault Hotline 1.800.656.4673.