Where did the children go?

1975 April

I wasn't exactly the brightest crayon in the box, if you catch my drift. I had spent the last three years in private school, where my main focus seemed to be learning how to kiss girls. Seriously! My first kiss happened in 7th grade! The schoolwork was pretty dull and felt like a repeat of what I learned back in 5th grade, even though I was supposed to be in 8th. But hey, I did enjoy reading. "The Giving Tree" was one of my top two favorites, and "Oliver Twist" by Charles Dickens was my all-time favorite. I connected with it since I was officially an orphan, having lost both my parents. Now, here I was in Plantersville, Texas, also known as the middle of nowhere, and while 9th grade was somewhat fun, I wasn't really shining academically anymore. Things were tough at home, which made school even harder. Thankfully, I had a really awesome teacher, Mrs. Lampe, who treated me like I mattered. I also had a cool friend, Jeanette Ripkowski, and we hung out between classes. It felt good to know I had at least two people who cared about me.

I was deep in thought when my brother came up behind me and gave me a smack on the back of the head. "Ow!" I shouted. "We're going bowling now, keep an eye on the baby!" I really wanted to go. I hardly ever got to go anywhere besides school and back home, and since they had Susan, I couldn't sneak out while they were off at their bowling league. We lived out in the sticks, in a part of Texas that only had a volunteer fire department that once got a shout-out from Houston's Mayor Louie Welch. But I heard this new thing called The Texas Renaissance Festival was coming to Plantersville. I had no clue what it was, but it had the word "festival" in it, so Yay! Luckily, I couldn't sneak out because my sister-in-law, who worked as a nurse, got called in for an overnight shift and had to leave bowling. I sighed and shook my head, knowing what that probably meant for me. Sure enough, around midnight, my brother rolled in with a couple of friends. They were all cracking up, and my brother came in and shook me awake. I had dozed off listening to the 8-track of Heart's Dreamboat Annie that my brother Mark got me. Then Ronnie yanked my hair, and I woke up!

“Oh Shit!!!!”

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2018 November

I was drenched in sweat and struggling to catch my breath. My eye lashes were still stuck together from the sleepies in my eyes. "Damn it!" I shouted. I was so fed up with... My voice faded away. Those nightmares were the worst. I had been seeing Racheal for almost six months now. When would these nightmares finally stop? It was time to get up and prep for work. I had landed a job at a car insurance company and was in training, so I needed to get moving. The day dragged on, but thankfully, Naomi, the director of the center, was super nice and let me leave early on Tuesdays for therapy. The drive to Racheal's office wasn’t too bad, and I made it with a solid five minutes to spare. “Come in,” Racheal called as she peeked out the door. Tuesdays were my favorite. I’d work a short day, see Racheal, and then head over to On the Border Mexican restaurant for my club meeting. Yep, I was a total Anglophile nerd who went to the Doctor Who Viewing group every Tuesday night. The current doctor was alright, but he just couldn’t compare to Sylvester McCoy.

"How's it going tonight? How's the new job treating you?" Racheal asked. “It's going well. They’re really cool about letting me leave early for therapy, even though I’m supposed to be there from 10am to 6pm.” I smiled at that. “Yeah, that’s great of them,” she replied. “So, I had another nightmare!” I jumped right in and blurted it out. “Alright, do you want to talk about it? What happened?” she asked. I think I actually gulped, like you see in cartoons. I had shared a lot about the physical abuse Ronnie put me through—the bruises, the broken tooth, the sprained wrist—but not everything, not even close. Suddenly, I felt this urge to just get out of her office. I wanted to bolt. I told her that. She tilted her head, the way she always does, and said, “Why? You’re safe here, Sam, with me. Always.”

I shared the nightmare with her, how it kicked off as a simple dream about my favorite teacher from 9th grade. It was pretty normal for me to dream about people who brought me joy and comfort. To me, it felt like a gift, a nice escape from the more disturbing dreams. I went on, explaining how I dreamed that Ronnie had gone out for bowling but then suddenly returned home. I could tell I was hesitating, struggling to find the right words. She smiled gently and said, “It’s all right, Sam.” Then it all came rushing out. I recounted how my brother yanked me out of bed by my hair and dragged me into the living room where his friends were hanging out. I told her how he forced me to take off my clothes. I made sure she understood this wasn’t the first time; he had been touching me since I was 8. I had made the mistake of telling him about the babysitter who had touched me when I was 6, and he had insisted I show him what they did, which kicked everything off. I couldn’t remember exactly what he said, but I was sure it was something along the lines of 'that’s what little girls do.' This was all I knew. I had been sexually assaulted at 6 and then a few more times by the neighbor across the street. By the time I was 8, my brother had started grooming me. I continued, “Whenever his wife would leave, he’d call me into his bedroom and show me magazines with women in them. I got to the point where I didn’t mind looking at the women; I actually liked them more. I hated him, but I felt trapped. Mom was gone, and Tim didn’t want me—said I was too much trouble, and then there was Mark. I felt tears welling up but held them back. I told her that two months after moving in with Ronnie and his wife, I called Mark, told him Ronnie hit me, begged him to come get me. I paused.

“Take your time, Sam. I’m here for you,” Racheal said, her eyes filled with kindness.

I was on the phone with him, just crying my eyes out! Back then, I thought crying actually meant something, like it was okay to show my feelings. I figured people would understand me better if I let it all out. “So, you know what Mark said?” I asked her, and she just looked at me. He said, “Oh but Sam, Ronnie is your favorite brother, remember???” And that was it. No big rescue, no heroic brother swooping in to save me from the Monster. I was on my own, and I had to figure out how to survive.

Our time was almost up. For the first time, Racheal offered to extend the session for an hour since she was just heading home after me. I decided to take her up on it. Sure, I’d miss Doctor Who night, but maybe I could still catch the last half hour.

This next chat was probably one of the most crucial ones I’d ever had with Racheal. We dove into whether I blamed myself for everything. I admitted that I did. I opened up about how these events as a child weren't isolated incidents. I grew up extremely promiscuous, meeting guys in bookstores and hooking up in their cars. I wasn’t proud of it at all. It didn’t stop with my brother; I kept it going with strangers, janitors, bus drivers, and classmates. Until I met Racheal, I had no clue why I acted that way. I thought I was just a slut and hated myself for not following my heart completely. I knew I was gay since I was about 10, but I never really embraced it. I didn’t kiss a girl until I was 12, and then not again until I was 17. Racheal started to help me understand that I wasn’t to blame. I was a victim of “grooming.” I learned things at a young age, and I was probably told not to say anything or I’d lose my mom or face some other terrible consequence. Racheal explained that this is often what predators do, and while we might never know exactly what I was told to keep me quiet, she made it clear: none of this was my fault at all.

I was grateful to Racheal for the extra time she gave me. I needed the time. I wanted to leave her office knowing that maybe it wasn't all my fault. To this day, that was the all-time greatest lesson I learned. Because before you can heal you must stop blaming yourself. I was going to work on that. I'd been spending the past 40 plus years blaming myself for it all.

No wonder I was angry.....

To view the other Parts of this story just click the links to each one below:

Part I Part II Part III Part IV and Part VI