MY MOTHER (PART 1/1)
I was 12 years old when he first touched me inappropriately. We were chatting on the steps at the backdoor of our tiny one bedroom house when he ‘playfully’ put his hand inside my blouse and squeezed my fragile, budding, underdeveloped breasts. (It was 4 of us children living with our mother at the time and we were quite happy- until he moved in with us). He laughed while doing it and I cried after, because I knew it was deliberate. I told my mother what he had done that afternoon and was really hoping that she would protect me, dump him and encourage me. But to my surprise, her response was heart wrenching, “he was just playing with you, you know how much he likes to play, his hand must have accidentally brushed your chest.” I was freaking shocked out of my mind. The hurt I felt was deep, as it would be for any young girl. This was her much younger boyfriend, my family’s cool hang out buddy. “He was so hardworking and helpful and such a good fucking good sport, and mind you, he was also MY DAD’s close friend, before he found out that this man was fucking his wife behind closed doors. I was so down. I didn’t know what to do, because if I told my family he was a fucking pedophile, my mother would have turned against me and “oh, I can’t hurt my mom. I can’t disgrace her like that. I can’t let her down, she will be lonely and sad,” is what I convince myself. So, I was all alone- stuck with my thoughts, living in my head every chance I got to be alone. And THIS is the experience that stands out in my head when I see mother- every single time I am around her.