Those People for Which I’m Most Thankful

            With Thanksgiving having just ended, I thought it was past time I wrote about those things for which I’m thankful. As I made notes about my blog in a journal, I realized that the things I’m thankful for, aren’t “things.” They’re people.

            As much as I appreciate the “things” I have, the people matter more to me. Things are replaceable, even my handmade glass objects. People are not. So, with that in mind, here’s a list of people who for whom I’m grateful.

            I’ll start with my roommate, David. Yes, he’s a man and I’m a woman. He’s also the man who gave me a way out of a bad living situation. Without him I wouldn’t be as healthy emotionally as I am. He also helped me be a better mom to my son. He helped me in ways no one else could. He would say, however, that God gave him what I needed so that he could help me.

            There there’s my son, Caleb. Although his birth happened under less than ideal circumstances, I’m very glad he’s part of my life. He was one of the easiest babies ever, I’m sure, but he’s brightened my life and made me laugh. He’s also challenged me to think at times in good ways.  I’m very proud of the fine young man he’s grown into.

            My good friend Beth is one of those rare people you can count on when needed. When I had to have emergency heart surgery a few years ago, she helped me get to and from Caleb’s soccer games a time or two, even though she lives several miles away. She’s also fun to hang out with, whether she’s by herself or on mom duty with her lovely daughter, Ella.

            Then there’s the lovely group of ladies I generally get to hang out with twice a month. We gather after hours at a local fabric store and sew quilts or do handwork or sometimes just sit and talk. We all bring something for dinner or dessert and generally have a good time.

            Last but not least in my list of people are my Facebook friends. Some of you I met way back when, as in high school or at a church we all went to, but some of you I haven’t met in person. Suffice it to say that if you’re in my friends list, there’s something about you that I see value in. Some of you inspire me, some encourage me, some of you make me laugh, and sometimes you do all of those things.

            I’m going to end this now. I want to say “Thank You” to all of you for being part of my life.

            One last thought. If I were to be thankful for the “things” in my life I’d have to say I’m most thankful for my books. They keep me company when I’m alone and help me to see life through other’s eyes.

           

Me Too Part II :'(

Last week I wrote about the gas station attendant who wouldn’t quit calling me “Sweetheart” despite repeated requests that he not do so and the boss who thought he’d get me drunk and do God knows what with me. I honestly wish I could say those were the only assaults I’ve endured. They weren’t.

            I do want to warn you that I will be a bit graphic in this post. Now, having said that I’ll get right to it.

            The first one was a male babysitter. He wanted to take a bath with me that night. I thought he was cute and didn’t see anything wrong with it. Once we were in the tub together, he did tell me not to tell my parents.

            After the bath, we went into my bedroom and laid on my bed naked. He wanted me to lick his penis while he licked my vagina. I thought this was weird, but went along with it. I quickly discovered that even freshly bathed, I didn’t care for the taste of his penis. When I told him, he told me to try using hand lotion. That really didn’t help. If anything, it made things worse. I don’t remember how things ended, but at the time I didn’t think anything of what happened.

            There was one encounter with a stranger in the local park. For some reason, despite being warned about strangers, I would talk with them. I met a man at a local park while hanging out with my younger brother. We showed him around, including the forested area towards the back.

           

            While we were in the forested area, the man pulled his penis out and held my hand on it to stroke him. I remember being uncomfortable and not wanting to touch it, but I didn’t know what to do. Back then we weren’t told it was okay to say “no” in those kinds of situations. After a few minutes, he let go of my hand and put his penis away. We left the area as quickly as possible.

            Those two weren’t the worst in my life though. The next two stories I’m about to tell are the worst for me.

            The next incident involved a young man upon whom I had a crush. He was the nephew of a friend of my mother’s who she asked to babysit me and my brothers one night.

            I was years old and he was 15. I’d had a crush on him for a years and he knew it. That night, he started paying more attention to me. Pretty soon we were kissing when we thought my brothers weren’t looking. I had a high necked shirt on, so he asked me to change into something lower. I quickly did so.

            After a while we ended up on my parent’s bed laying side by side. At first we were just kissing. To me it was fun, but no big deal. Pretty soon he was asking me to have sex. I was surprised, but I said, “No.”

            He kissed me some more, then asked about sex again. I said, “No.”

            He kept asking and I kept saying, “No.” It didn’t matter to him. I told him I was worried about getting pregnant, but he told me I was too young. It didn’t matter to him how many times I said, “No.”

            He kept asking till I gave in. I don’t know what he got out of it, but it didn’t last long and it was painful for me. Not only that, but I felt guilty for years afterward because I’d “consented” to sex before marriage. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized that I had nothing to feel guilty about. My “consent” was given under pressure. That’s when I realized that I’d been taken advantage of and raped.

            Mother told me years later that when she came home that night, she found a suspicious damp spot on her bed. While she couldn’t prove anything, she never asked him to babysit again.

            The final person was my mother’s second husband, Don. The worst part in his case was that he deceived me into thinking it was just a secret game we played in my bedroom.

            He came to me with this idea for a game we would play. In this game, we’d each roll six dice up to three times. On any one roll we could keep some of the dice and reroll the rest or we could reroll all the dice. The person with the lowest total score lost. The loser then had to take off a piece of clothing. We would keep rolling till one person was naked. When one of us was naked, we’d do one last roll. If the naked person lost, the winner got to do what he wanted with the loser. I remember losing a lot.

            When I lost, Don would have me lay one my bed, then he’d use a vibrator on my vagina. I’m not talking about the sex toys that are so common today. It was made by Amway for the express purpose of relieving pain.  It was about 4 inches wide, by two inches deep, I'm guessing. It had a tan case with chrome bumps that made me think of a double humped camel.

            I’m guessing he liked to see me writhe around on the bed in an effort to control my body, but being unable to. On one occasion he made me hold it on myself.

            I can’t say for sure how long the game went on or how much longer it would have lasted. It came to an abrupt halt one night when I was cleaning my room. I found the cord for the vibrator in my room and went to put it away in another room. As I walked through the living room, mother noticed me carrying it and asked why I had it.

            I hesitantly told her about the “game.” She told me it was wrong, then I started to cry. She assured me that I hadn’t done anything wrong, but rather it was Don who was guilty. He knew that what we were doing was wrong.

            I was uncomfortable around him for a long time after that.

            He and mother divorced shortly after. Because he’d adopted me, he had visitation rights, so every once in a while, I’d go see him. I thought of him as “dad” for many years. I finally realized that he wasn’t my “dad” in any sense of the word and I didn’t have to think of him that way. I know now that even if he’d been my biological father, from the moment he abused me, he was no longer worthy of the title, “Dad.”

            The fact that my step father used deception and made the abuse into a “game” in which I was a willing participant is the biggest reason I’ve shared my “Me Too” story of abuse. In most accounts of abuse I’ve read the perpetrator used force, coercion, threats, drugs, or a combination thereof. I wanted the world to know that sometimes abusers are deceitful.

            If someone comes to you with their story, they’re trusting you in a powerful way. Please listen to them and offer as much support as you can. Encourage them to talk to law enforcement if at all possible. Go with them if necessary. Most importantly though, just be there for them. Sexual assault is hard enough to deal with without others acting like it’s not important or that somehow the victim brought it on themselves.

            One last thought; sexual assault is not about sex. It is about power over the victim.

             

Me Too Part I :(

            I hesitated to write my story about “me too” because so many were out there, but the more I read other people’s experiences, the more I realized that mine has differences that should be told. For this blog, I’m going to write about the one time I was verbally harassed and the one time an employer touched me inappropriately.

            I used to go to a Chevron gas station near where I lived as there wasn’t another one within a reasonable distance of home or work. One night as I was leaving after paying, the attendant said, “See you later, Sweetheart.”

            I politely asked him not to call me “sweetheart.” The next time I saw him, it happened again. It happened repeatedly, so I finally made it a point to talk to the manager. She literally said, “He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

            What!? At that point, I was stunned. I came to her as a customer to complain about behavior that I found offensive, but instead of saying, “I’ll talk to him,” she acted like it was no big deal. I was so shocked and disappointed that I just walked out.

            I did think about finding another gas station, but the only other ones in the vicinity sold a lower quality of gas. Being a single woman who depended on her car, gas quality was important. I also spoke with another employee there about writing a letter to the owner, but he assured me that the manager would read it, so there was no point.

            He finally stopped one night when I started to walk out after paying. He called me “sweetheart,” again. I turned around, kicked the partially closed door open, and said, “DON’T EVER CALL ME ‘SWEETHEART,’ AGAIN.”

            I didn’t yell, but I was very “firm” in my tone of voice.  I was no longer politely requesting him to stop, but rather demanding that he stop. Either he finally got the message, or I never saw him again. I don’t remember at this point.

            When I was a teenager I got my first “real” job primarily doing phone sales for a two man carpet cleaning company. Once in a while I got to go out in the field with them and clean carpets. I didn’t earn much money, but it did give me some real “job” experience. For a few weeks.

            One night when we’d all been out cleaning carpets, the boss decided to stop by a liquor store. He asked me what I wanted. I was underage, so I didn’t know anything about alcohol. I don’t remember what I said, but I do remember thinking, “Great! I’m going to get to try some alcohol.”

            It didn’t occur to me that he had other things on his mind besides giving me alcohol. Even after we got back to the “office,” which was located in his home and he started talking about having a recording of Marilyn Monroe giving some guy a blow job, I didn’t realize what he was hoping would happen.

            As we sat there, sipping our drinks and listening to the recording of Marilyn, I stretched with my arms high over my head. As I did so, my boss reached out and poked me right in the nipple on both sides. I was surprised and uncertain it had happened, so I stretched again. He poked me again.

            At this point, I didn’t know what to do or think about the situation. I still didn’t realize what his full intent was, either. Just as I’m sitting there wondering what to do and starting to realize that I need to get out of there, my mother pulled into the driveway. I grabbed my things and left. I asked my mother what had made her come to pick me up from work and she told me that it was getting late and she was concerned.

            By the next day, I was angry at my boss and had decided to never go back. I called him to give him the courtesy of letting him know, but got no answer. I called repeatedly for a couple of days to tell him. When I finally did reach him, all he said was, “Oh, hi. What’s up?”

            As if nothing had happened. I told him he could go to hell for all I cared as I was never coming back to work for him. Then I slammed the phone in his ear. This was in the days before cordless phones. The last time I saw him, I was with a friend of mine walking somewhere. I had stopped to re-tie my shoe when I heard a horn honk. I looked up just in time to see my former boss driving by. I stuck my middle finger up at him.

            Looking back on this, I realize I was lucky in more ways than one. I didn’t have to have a job, so I didn’t have to put up with his crap. Also, my mother showed up just in time to keep me from getting drunk and/or sexually assaulted. I know now that had I stayed there too much longer that night or any other day, I would have at some point been sexually assaulted by my boss and possibly his partner.

            I’m very thankful I wasn’t. I never did tell my mother what happened that night, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she figured out something had happened.

Next week I’ll write about the sexual assaults that hurt me most. Unfortunately there was more than one.

Father's Day

With Father’s Day having just passed, I thought I should write something about fathers in general. The question is, “what?” I mean seriously, I didn’t really have a father growing up, so what could I write about fathers? Then I remembered a blog I wrote earlier about “Not Sinning Keeps the Devil Away?” (http://wfwoodbury.blogspot.com/2015/07/not-sinning-keeps-devil-away.html) That’s when I realized that there are all kinds of fathers in the Bible to write about.

The first father of course, was Adam. He and Eve had three sons that were written about. There was Cain and Abel, then Seth. If you’re familiar with the story, then you know that Cain killed Abel because Abel’s sacrifice to God was accepted, but Cain’s was not.

Then there’s Noah. He had a few sons who took their wives with then when they entered the ark.

Isaac who was told in his old age that his wife, Sarah would bear him a son. Sarah basically scoffed at the idea because she was past child bearing age. She gave him her handmaid thinking that’s how God was going to fulfill His promise to her husband. The handmaid, Hagar, bore Ishmael. Later Sarah bore Isaac. This created all kinds of problems. Including, but not limited to Hagar feeling a certain pride that she could bear a child while her mistress could not, which in turn caused her to disrespect her mistress.

Isaac had two sons Esau and Jacob. Jacob in turn had 12 sons from two wives. Leah, his first wife bore him ten sons and Rachel, his second wife bore him two sons.

The Bible also talks about God as our heavenly father who cares for us more than any earthly father can. He loves us so much that He sent his only son to die on the cross for our sins. That’s powerful love.

So, why did my blog about “Not Sinning Keeps the Devil Away” remind me of fathers? Job. I know the primary story of Job is about how God allowed the Devil to take everything away from Job to the point that he was sitting in the ashes with boils on every part of his body. However, the former friend that I mentioned in the blog told me that Job had offered sin sacrifices on behalf of his children, even though by every standard there is, they were responsible for themselves. He said that was wrong. I’d never noticed that before, so I looked it up for myself.

In Job 1:1 we read:

“There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was Job, and that man was blameless, upright, fearing God, turning away from evil.” NAS

So, here we have God saying right off the bat that Job walked uprightly before Him. Blameless.  In other words, this was a man who did not sin.

In verse two, we see that Job had seven sons and three daughters. Verse three lists his worldly possessions that comprised his wealth. In verse four we read that his sons hold a feast in their house, each one in turn and invite their sisters to eat and drink with them.

In Job 1:5 we read:

“And it came about, when the days of feasting had completed their cycle, that Job would send and consecrate them, rising up early in the morning and offering up burnt offerings according to the number of them all; for Job said, ‘Perhaps my sons have sinned and cursed God in their hearts.’ Thus Job did continually.” NAS

Given that in verse one, we see God calling him a man that was “blameless, upright, fearing God, turning away from evil;” that alone tells me that Job offering up sacrifices on behalf of his children is not a sin. In fact, it strikes me as a good thing. A lot of people would say, “Okay, my children are grown, they’re in houses of their own and they are no longer my responsibility.”

But not Job. He loved his children and was willing to sacrifice out of his own herds. Now, I realize that Job was rich, so the financial cost of sacrificing on behalf of his children would not have been a burden; but how many fathers love their children enough to make such sacrifices?

Personally, I wish all fathers were like Job in regards to their children. If they were, this world would be a very different place. Children would grow up feeling loved and safe, which in turn would make them better adults. That in turn would help our country become a better place. A place where people could be safe in general.