I am the oldest of two girls. There is six and a half years between my sister and me, almost an entire lifetime when you’re kids. She is headstrong and was always fighting. It was like she knew, even from birth that there was something in our family to fight against.
Being older, my parents decided she should have different opportunities than I did. My mom decided she should go to preschool, something that was unheard of for me. My father didn’t want me to learn. He hated it that I read and liked school. Reading was my only escape and even though he hated it and criticized me for it, reading and playing the piano was really my only salvation at the time.
There was no privacy in our house. We were not allowed to go to our room and close the door. The bathroom door was never to be locked. Actually, I don’t think it even had a lock. Dad would just come in the bathroom with us whenever he felt like it, even if we were in the shower or using the restroom. He used to watch me take a shower.
The abuse started slowly, covertly, so that I wouldn’t really notice what was going on and wouldn’t be able to object – putting his hand up my shirt, watching me take a shower, putting his hand in my pants before dropping me off at school. Big stuff really, but all presented as a game. “This will be fun.” “I know you’ll like this.”
My grandparents always had foster kids and two of the older ones taught me a game they called the screw. Yes, it is what you think. I never thought it was right, but never new what to do about it. When they were about to move to a new foster home, I told my mom and dad what was happening with the two boys. I was wearing my purple and white care bear pajamas when I told them. Mom said it was too late to do anything. That moment was like dad’s doorway to go further. The abuse turned to a different level after that.