My Story

If you are easily offended do NOT read this

" Tragically, the modern world has forgotten the art of secrets. We don't know what to speak and what not to speak, where to revel and where to conceal, when to bear our souls and when to respect our mysteries. Today people get on television and radio and bear their family traumas to listeners whose role is merely to indulge in broken secrets. Yet, as individuals we find it difficult to tell our own shadowed-steeped stories. The art of telling our stories, knowing how and where to speak and how and when to keep silent, may be the key to creating a communal sensitivity out of personal tragedy. "

I was 44 years old when my childhood memory came rushing back. I was again in personal trouble, when my lawyer walked into the room and asked what was going on. My mouth opened and the memory came pouring out. This was the first time in my life I had remembered, or acknowledged any thing about my past. Over a period of time other memories have returned but what stands out tends to be the tragic events. I don't have many good memories of my childhood. I am writing this only for that one other person, to know that he is not alone, there are a lot of us going through the same nightmare.

Nightmares

I use to have a nightmare as a child. I was in a deep sleep and I was falling backwards down an abyss. I kept falling and falling, and I knew I would die when I hit the bottom. As a child I would fight to wake myself up. There was always a stale, suffocating stench in my dream, and to this day no one has been able to explain it to me. It was strange that I would have this nightmare several times a night. I have often now wished I had hit the bottom.

" I became an expert at burying feelings and controlling emotions. The good news is that it helped me survive. The bad news is that I buried all feelings, so I lost the good ones too. I really don't remember any feelings about birthdays, family vacations, good report cards, or any of the normal experiences about growing up. I remember some of the actual events, but not with any depth or clarity."

Kids Games

At my earliest recollection, I was about 4 years old and living in a small town in Ontario called Elmvale. We had just moved they're from Barrie and I had not met any friends. I was invited to a family home down the street to play with the kids. The game that was initiated by one of them was to lick the bum of the other kid ahead .I remember to this day the sensation of having my anus licked by another and not like doing the same thing to the kid ahead of me. I remember cheating and wetting my finger and pretending that it was my tongue. This is not the usual game of kids that age and I have often wondered what has happened to those kids as they have grown up. Where and from whom did they learn this?

"Sometimes it feels good but doesn't feel right. Sometimes it feels good at first then doesn't at all. We can easily confuse arousal and physical pleasure with consent. A boy's natural need for closeness and affection, and the body pleasurable responses to the abuse compound the boy's confusion."

My Grandfather

The second largest event in my life was about the same time. My Grandfather was a well-respected man in the community, eventually becoming a Court Judge and held in high esteem within the family. My Grandfather also had many secrets.

My Family would travel to Toronto every several weeks to visit my grandparents and invite my Grandmother to go shopping with them so as to get out of the house. My Grandfather on the other hand disliked going out and would volunteer to baby sit me so they could go out and have a good time. My Grandfather would then let me lay down on the couch and would undress me so he could "make me feel better". This was when I was learning to take myself out of the room. He was able to do whatever he wanted, as I was not in my own body. I could close my eyes and dream of many other pleasant things a sort of out of body experience. My Grandfather continued to do this at every opportunity he got.

At about 8yrs of age I would take off and ride the subway by myself until I thought my parents had return. I could ride that train all day, stop in a station for a while and watch the people come and go and wonder about them. Union Station in Toronto was my favorite place to sit and felt like the safest place on earth. I have been asked if riding the subway was safe for an 8 yr. old. I only knew staying with my grandfather was worse. My parents suspected nothing, as I was able to keep a secret very well.

Jeffry Miller in an article in 1966 wrote" once a child has been assaulted his chances of being victimized again quadruples". I was on my way to being a statistic without realizing what sexual assault was in those days.I just thought it was love and attention. I look in the mirror sometimes looking for the sign on my forehead - please assault me.

My Camp Experience

Camp Kakeka

(This link will take you to the camp home page)

It was shortly after age 8; I was excited to attend a boy's camp for the summer. It was a perfect camp sponsored by mostly Baptist Churches and run on strict very Christian principals. The camp is still around and I have included its web page as a reminder what happens when precautions are ignored in a child's life. It seems weird now thinking back and remembering what happened.

A counselor called "Dave" use to come into the cabins at night and molest us. He had a ritual and would pick one or two of us in a night and pretend to rub our backs then have us roll over and quietly ask us how we were, all the while rubbing closer and closer to our penis. Dave would masturbate and then leave. After a while you had to watch out for Dave, he would show up when we getting ready for swimming, or he would catch us having a shower and at times he would hang around the washrooms.

Dave came up with a new idea one time. As an award if you behaved and were good he would take you on a swim to an adjoining private lake. This was to be special as we took no bathing suits and were able to swim in the nude. I guess thinking back it was no big deal because when I began swimming lessons with the YMCA years ago we always swam in the buff. Dave of course used this event for his own sexual gratification.

The reason I said thinking back is weird is that I have not heard of any others from the camp in those days, commenting on Dave. That is the reason for link is, maybe someone else out there will see it and contact me.

More Sex

I talked to a psychologist for a while. I met him every other week for about an hour or so. I told him about Scott. Scott lived next door and was several years older than myself. I probably worshiped the ground Scott walked on. He was good looking, popular, came from a well off family. In fact his family owned the local television studio and the local radio station. He let me hang around with him and some of his friends. I got to visit the television studio sometimes and watch the local celebrities. This was the best time of my life. Then one day Scott took me with him down to the backfields. He pulled down his pants and pulled out his penis. He then pulled down my pants and proceeded to play with my penis. He did a lot of thing with me that I was too young to understand. The difference with this and my Grandfather and Dave was that, this as confusing as it was, it felt good. Sometimes he would have a local girl join us. I didn't know it then but these events with Scott were to affect me the rest of my life. I was starving for male attention during that time and I think that’s when again it was imprinted on my mind, that love and attention meant sex. The psychologist told me that this was not abuse but just kids naturally experimenting. Maybe but Scott unwittingly caused me as much confusion with sexual identity, as any of my other abusers.

 " Sometimes our actions render us horrified that somehow we have become the abuser. The fear of repeating a learned behavior lives at some point in every survivor. As a man's past and present become more conscious and available to him, he senses the fine line between feelings and acting. The confusion is profound and may have clouded his judgment in the past."

Family Reaction

I opened up a can of worms when I broke the news of my abuse. My family has sort of split to different camps since the abuse came to light. I have discovered my Grandfather abused two of my Aunts, a cousin and my brother. There is probably more but no one else is talking. My Mother has blamed me for destroying the fond memory of her parents. My Brother has also admitted being abused by my grandfather. He has not talked to me since, not that we ever got along, but since this, it has been worse. It may have been my fault. I asked my Father to question him, if he had been abused by my Grandfather. The memory I brought back for him probably opened some large wounds. My Brother had also attended the same camp as I had, I have always wondered if he met "Dave". My cousin and I are very close, and we share the results of what my grandfather did. Our lives and thoughts are almost parallel. I have opened a lot of gaping wounds for her but without her sharing, I wouldn't have made it this far.

More Abuse

 Funny how history will repeat itself, its is said once abused always abused. I was going to a lay Counselor this past year for my abuse. I was going through a very poor period of my recovery and looking everywhere for help. His name was Barry and he showed me his creditionals. He came recommended by a local church, and its Pastor. It took Barry only five sessions to groom me. It only took five sessions for Barry to put me on his couch and undress. It only took five sessions for Barry to pull out his pornography to show me. Barry my counselor had only taken five sessions to become Barry my abuser. I will mention Barry again in my recovery page, when I am strong enough to write it.

"The abuse of another is never okay; the urge to reverse roles and repeat the experience can be quite strong. The survivor who "fesses" up to himself and others and who feels his and others integrity as equally sacred is the healing victim who is least likely to abuse another."

Please E-mail me and if you want to tell other survivors there is hope please sign my book  

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