I have spoken previously of missing memories coming back.  It’s taken me a while to even begin to want to put those memories down on paper.  Here is my first entry.


When I was five years old, I started school in the first grade.  I was so excited for the first day of school.  I was eager to learn.  Eager to grow.  I think most children are at that age.  It’s a new stage in life that signifies you have become the ‘big kid’ that your parents always tell you about.  The night before the first day of school, I was having trouble sleeping.  I had gotten up to get a few toys and was playing quietly on my bed.  Waiting for the next day to start.

Jack A. came into the room.  I immediately shoved the toys under my pillows and told him that I was sorry for playing and that I thought that I was being quiet.  He shook his head and told me that I knew I was doing something bad and shouldn’t be up playing.  I said I was sorry again.  He came and sat on the edge of my bed.  He told me that I would have to be punished for doing something bad.  I remember my eyes welling up with tears and the stinging that generally comes with the first tears that fall.  I said I was sorry and that I wouldn’t do it again.

He said:

Well, you need to lay down and get some sleep.  You have school tomorrow.

I laid down and closed my eyes, expecting him to leave my room.  I felt the bed shift and his hand started caressing my hair.  All of a sudden, things felt very wrong and I remember the fear.  I can remember the fear like it was yesterday.  For the next eleven years, fear became a companion.  I was always afraid.  It never mattered how numb I got from the things he did to me.

He molested me for the first time that night.  When he was through with me, he told me that if I told my mom, he would hurt her the way that he hurt me.  I waited until I heard him close the door and walk down the hall to crawl out of bed.  I had my clothes laying on my little nightstand and decided to get dressed.  I crawled into my closet after closing the door behind me.

I had this little white and grey radio that was my prized possession.  It was waterproof.  It was made by Walkman.  I grabbed my radio from it’s place on my closet shelf and buried myself under my stuffed animals.  I turned it on as quietly as possible to where I could still hear it.  I sat there until it was time for school and my mother found me in the closet.  She didn’t bother asking what I was doing awake already.  She didn’t recognize that I was acting differently.  If she did, she certainly never said anything.

I recognize now that something died inside of me that night.  I lost a piece of who I was.

As always and with much respect,