That's A Good Girl.

“I literally rolled myself up in my blanket, like a burrito.  I knew he was going to try something and listening to that little voice inside me saved me from something worse than I probably would or could imagine.  You were at work that night and I just knew…I knew he would try something that night.  He’d been drinking.   Not that that was any different from any other time, but I just knew that night, he’d try to touch me.” 

“I think I remember that night.” 

“No, you were at work.”

“No, no I remember…I was sitting in the living room, listening, to see if he was going to do something.”

“No, you were at work.  He did try something.  He couldn’t do anything because I had the blankets wrapped all around me.”

That was a conversation I had over 20 years ago that changed my life.  I only had that conversation with her because he had recently tried something with one of her other daughters.  That was literally the last time I’ve spoken to my mother, other than to be polite and say “Hi,” as I passed her at my younger sister’s wedding. 

I have no doubt in my mind that he would have sexually molested me or one of my sisters, as he had been sexually molested by his step-father and told me about it the summer I was 14, as we drove together on a 3 hour ride, from Mt. Pleasant, to my father’s in-laws house in one of the suburbs of Detroit.  He told me my mother didn’t know about it, that I was the only one he’d told.   I remember in my head thinking, “Weird.   Why are you telling me this?!”  I didn’t know what sexual molestation was.  I didn’t know what a pedophile was, I didn’t know what it was to be “groomed” for molestation.  I was as naïve and sheltered as they come.  But I do know what that gut feeling was and I didn’t want to discuss this with him. 

My mother admitted to me that she was home that night, sitting in the living room, listening to my step-father come into the room that I shared with my two younger sisters and try to molest me.  Could she really be that surprised?   It was only going to be a matter of time.  He was grooming us. 

I haven’t spoken to her since, my daughters don’t have a clue as to who the woman is.   She doesn’t exist in my house.  I guess the years of his constant beatings were enough to keep her in her place than to stand up to him once and for all and protect her young daughters and son.  The woman had finally learned her place.  Not only could she not stand up for herself, but she wouldn’t protect her own children.  

That’s a good girl.