I was 6 years old...my cousin G was six months younger. I don't remember vivid details of the incident, but he did and reminded me of it a decade ago. Uncle D had just come back from Viet Nam and lived with Grandma B who babysat G and I. We were sent to take a nap in his room and instead of napping, G found a stack of Playboy magazines in the floor of his closet. Evidently, we were discovered and although I don't have clear memory of what happened next, I do remember...my body remembers...how it made me feel...shameful. I had done something nasty and "I should be ashamed". I doubt the incident was ever brought up to Uncle D...he probably wasn't reprimanded for having the magazines or having them in a place where children could find them. But I was bad for being curious.
I was 10 years old, and an uncle had taken a picture of my sister in a bikini next to the slide at our family pool during a family gathering. I remember that picture being passed around to the uncles...my dad showing it off. The men ogling at her long legs and slender body in the bright coral bikini. The message was clear...that was desirable and of value. Dad was proud. I was short and pudgy, and dad told me I looked like I was pregnant. I was not desirable and men would not want that. I was 10!!!! and already receiving the message that I needed to be sexy to be desired and of worth.
I was 16. I got my first real job at Sears in Vestavia. The manager, J M was a deacon in my church. His daughter who was a neighbor, classmate, friend and youth group buddy graduated with me. I worked the candy counter and one night when the store was dead, Mr. M came by and started talking to me. I thought it was because he knew me and my family. He asked if I wanted to take a ride with him in his plane. I asked if his daughter would be coming and he said, "No, it will be just you and me.". I said that I didn't think my parents would let me. I knew in my gut what he wanted. I was frightened and ashamed.
Did I tell my parents or anyone else about it? No. Because I knew that the message would be along the lines of '"what were you wearing? What did you do to egg him on? Don't you tell anyone, this could get him in trouble at work and church. Keep it to yourself."
I was 17 and mom was in the hospital. She shared a room with a woman who trained pageant girls. She asked if I wanted to take modeling lessons and of course, I said yes. I entered the beauty pageant at school and out of all of the solo's I had ever sung, football games I marched or award ceremonies I was ever honored at, THIS was the ONE thing my father came to. And not only that, but he also invited my Uncle B to come to as well. And cheered the loudest when they announced my name and that I was the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Jim Jones. The message was clear. I was his property to be paraded down a runway and shown off. That was my value and worth.
I was 17. My Aunt D and Uncle L were my heroes. They were in their late 20's, and I worked at the dry cleaners that Uncle L managed. He was very good looking and very flirty. I took a date to their house one night to play cards. I was taking French in school, and they asked me to say something in French and one of the phrases I remembered was "Je t'aime plus que hier et moins que demain" (I love you more today that yesterday and less than tomorrow.) When I told them what it meant, Aunt D got mad and I had no idea why. Some years later, I found out that she thought Uncle L and I were having an affair. Once again, I felt like I had done something wrong...I was the one who encouraged him and I should be ashamed.
I was 18 and had just gone to college. I knew no one there and had no family support. No one came to help me move in or even say goodbye. An upper-class baseball player asked me out the first week of school. I was so 'honored' that he would notice ME! I don't remember what we did...where we went, but at the end of the evening, he asked if I wanted to see the baseball hall. (It was in the new dorm.) I said yes and while the details of what happened next are not important, I will just say that I was raped.
I walked back to my dorm in the dark, snuck into the room where my other two roommates were sleeping and crawled into bed and cried. I never told a soul. Why? Because I knew in my heart, soul and mind that I would be blamed. "Why were you in the boy's dorm? What were you wearing? Why didn't you leave?" There were no friends to call...they were all away at their schools and I couldn't afford a long-distance call. If I told an administrator, I feared I would be the one punished. I guarantee that a star baseball player wouldn't be held accountable for this. I saw him in the cafeteria days later, and he looked at me, and with a smirk looked away as if he didn't know me.
I didn't even remember this until almost 35 years later, when another trauma unlocked the memory of that trauma.
I was 20 years old. My parents made me feel like an old maid who would never find someone to marry me. I met Kevin at church. I thought he was the closest thing to Jesus that I could find. He would be safe. He would meet my mother's fundamentalist requirements. So, I pursued him. He kept me at arm's length and that felt safe. He never pursued me sexually or romantically unless he had been drinking. It wasn't until I stopped pursuing and started a serious relationship with someone else, that he decided he didn't want me to get away, because, as he later told me...he didn't think he would find anyone else who would want him.
I was 23 years old when he proposed. We went to tell my parents. It was late, but mom was up watching TV and my little brother was up as well. I told mom we were engaged, and Jerry ran upstairs to tell dad. Dad came downstairs, half-dressed and said, "So, how far along are you anyway?" I laughed to keep the tears at bay. The message was clear..."no man would marry you unless he had to. You must have used your body to convince him."
Shortly after he proposed...he ghosted me. When I asked what was going on, he said he was afraid of becoming like his dad...passive and married to a domineering woman. So, to be safe, I 'turned myself down' becoming the 'jumper and bobby socks and Keds wearing church girl'. I stayed quiet. I acquiesced. I took his lack of pursuit of me as a judgement on my body, my family of origin, my mental health, my sloppiness and disorganization and anything else I could blame on myself to explain it away. In my mind, our affection-less marriage was my fault...not by any chance his sexual orientation. That's why I am hurt when you seem to defend him and blame me. Once again, I hear my family blame me and protect the offender.
I know you don't want to hear me talk about your dad, but the truth is, I have been protecting him for too long. He is in my lineage of sexual abuse just like all of the others. This is my 'me too' story. I get to tell the truth of my story without being silenced and edited in order to protect those who cared nothing about protecting me.
I was 54 years old and had gone through the unbelievable trauma of discovering the truth of my marriage. Donald Trump was running for president and the tapes of him talking about grabbing women by the 'pu**y' and them liking it had just come out. I was talking to my dad, who was a big Trump supporter, and expressing disgust over Trump's comments. His reaction resulted in the biggest fight we ever had. He defended Trump and basically said, ''that's just locker-room talk. That's just what men do." I said, "what if that was YOUR daughter he was talking about?". He just scoffed.
So, to my daughters, if you wonder why you weren't allowed to wear two-piece bathing suits to church camp or wear spaghetti strap shirts or short shorts, it's because we - your mothers- knew what you didn't know. We were trying to protect you from the pain that we experienced when 'things happened' and we were blamed. We grew up carrying the shame that we never wanted you to carry. We didn't have the "ME TOO" movement to tell us it wasn't our fault. We thought we were protecting you by homeschooling you and keeping you in church. We didn't acknowledge or understand that the predators were there too. That's why we got upset when you snuck out to spend time with the cute youth intern. This is why you couldn't watch PG-13 or R rated movies before you were 13. We didn't want you exposed to the images we were shamed for looking at. We wanted you to have the childhood we didn't. We wanted innocence for you for as long as we could keep it.
So, when you blame the church for the strict rules and double standards...don't. That's misplaced. It was the moms...the women who knew what you didn't. The men would have been fine to see you in your bikinis or your braless tank tops or short shorts with words written across your ass. They say that they didn't want you to make them stumble, but that was a lie. They just didn't want to take the blame when they did. When you are indignant about my shock and reaction at seeing a naked man on the sidewalk of San Francisco, consider what that reaction comes from. Consider why I wouldn't want my granddaughters to see that.
Through the years, the stories have come out. I would say 95% of my girlfriends have experienced some kind of sexual abuse. Most of time, they stayed silent or if they were brave enough to speak out, they were told to keep silent. We were the victims of the men we were trying to protect you from.
This is why I grieve when you blame the church. It wasn't Jesus' church who did this. It was sinful men who wore his name to cover up their crimes and hide behind religion. Jesus was the one who saved the woman caught in adultery from the men who were going to stone her. It was God who included prostitutes in the lineage of Jesus. It was the gospel that upended the patriarchal systems that were in place throughout history. It is man who mis-interpreted scripture and set up the patriarchy in the church...not God.
This is why I am proud of you. Because you are fighting for the mothers and grandmothers who were silenced for generations. You might have your own 'me too' story...I don't know. But I hope you are bold enough to tell it...to uncover the shame and feeling that you did something wrong without fear of retaliation or judgement.
