Statistics state that one in four girls will be sexually abused, what that doesn't tell you is how much planning and careful selection a predator goes through to groom his victim prior to the ultimate act of betrayal.
First they will ingratiate themselves with the adults in the child's life. In my case he came over and spoke with my parents about our home, at that time my father was excavating a hole in our backyard to build an extension to our basement, literally shovel full by shovel full.
He flattered them, he was new to the neighborhood, he and his wife had just bought the home around the corner from ours. He was intelligent and articulate, well dressed, he seemed like a kind, normal older man, husband, neighbor, a grandpa. Adults taken in, check.
The next step is to casually arrange for the intended victim to be invited over, I wasn't the only little girl going over to visit, he asked one of his other potential victims if they knew me and then suggested she bring me over the next time she came over. I was happy to have a "grandpa" I didn't have one and over at "grandpa Bills" I was treated to things I rarely got at home, soda, cookies and I was allowed to watch whatever I wanted on TV. Child visiting the predator, check, check.
The real abuse starts so slowly you don't even know that's what it is. I was eight years old and as naive as an eight year old should be. I knew about strangers, I had learned about them in school but this wasn't a stranger this was my grandpa. The movements were slow, not alarming and seemed accidental. I loved him with a child's trust. Child taken in check, check, check.
The last is to make the final move, I can tell you what I wore that day, I can tell you what the temperature was like, the time of year, where we were. I won't go into details, at least he didn't rape me, as he was molesting me, he asked me if it felt good, I told him it didn't. Liar he laughed, I know it feels good,he told me, he knew that bodies respond even when the mind screams in fear, knowing the wrongness. Shame or threaten your victim so they won't tell, check, check, check, check.
I cannot begin to describe the shame I felt, the fear, I went home, and cried, and hid, and never told a soul. I was sure they would blame me, I had been baptized, I was now dirty, soiled, I almost expected to have the mark of Satan on me visible to all.
To say this act has had an effect on my life from that point on is like saying the tsunami in Japan caused minor damage. I went through what I would describe as a bought of depression at the age of nine. I had read a story about a boy who hurt so badly after being hit by a car that he wanted to go to heaven, another child in the hospital told him Jesus walked the halls at night and that if he would prop up his hand Jesus would lead him to heaven. I wanted to stop hurting, so I slept with my hand propped up for weeks hoping Jesus would take me to heaven. Needless to say it didn't work, so I decided I had to get hit by a car, I started running in front of cars trying to get hit, but I knew it would really hurt so I never did succeed, and Jesus left me here.
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