reading through the last post, you probably asked yourself “why does it matter? why the big reaction when you found out?”
so lets address why, by starting at the beginning.
as a toddler and up to around 4, my best friend was a girl i called tippy (her nickname). at that age, you dont REALLY get to choose your friends, but i find it curious in hindsight. my parents would talk about how smitten i was with her until way into my teens. i would cry if we couldnt play together, but wouldnt bat an eye if my mom or dad left. i found that amusing when they retold that story. we moved to africa again for a short time afterwards before coming back to the states before i started school.
shortly after i turned 5… it was time to go from care free youngling to officially an elementary school student. i was actually excited. i didnt understand all the kids crying and wanting to stay with their parents – i wanted to go in and learn, and play, and have fun. and i did!
one day closer to the end of the school year a new girl showed up and moved in next door to us. she was awesome… had bright pink hair and dressed so cool. i got to know her pretty quickly – her name was becky. i was totally on team becky. we would sit together – go to recess together where i would spring her around on the sawhorses or push her on the swing. we were inseparable.
in hindsight, there was a moment there that was memorable for 2 reasons…. it was the first time my mother lost her shit… and it was a moment that i realized or verbalized something that became a theme in my life. i was telling my mom about playing with becky at school that day, and i mentioned something about how i thought she was so neat, and her clothes were so cool and i loved her hair color and i wanted to be just like her. my mother went apeshit. i was swatted multiple times – not having a clue what i had said or done wrong but had to repeat the phrase over and over that ‘becky is a girl’ and it made absolutely no sense to me. i would repeat that ‘i got in trouble because i said i wanted to be like becky’ to everyone that would listen, and it made my family uncomfortable and was usually followed by silence.
one recess time i remember she was playing on the swings with me and jumped off mid swing and landed on her hands and knees. she was fine and laughing the entire time, but i ran over to tag her and paused. her skirt had flipped up when she landed though, and her underwear was there in plain view of everyone… but they captivated me. i dont know why. they werent like kids underwear and certainly werent like mine. they were pretty. she saw me and since we shared EVERYTHING at the time, she ran over and hiked up her skirt and said to touch them “they are soft”. i did. and something just clicked in my head.
when i got home that afternoon, i went through my usual routine of running to the bathroom as soon as i got home, then changing so i could run outside and play. when i ran through the entry to the bathroom, something caught my eye… it was a shiny ball of fabric wadded on the floor in the pile of my mom and dads dirty clothes. i picked them up – it was underwear just like becky had. i dont know what made me do it, but i decided i wanted to wear pretty underwear too – so i went into my moms drawer and got a pretty pair with flowers on them. i was mesmerized. i put them in my jean pocket, used the restroom, and then ran to my bedroom to change so i could go outside and play. i got my shorts out from my dresser, a tshirt from the closet, and then… for the first time – at age 5 – i slid off the plain white underwear i had, and slid the panties up my legs. i remember the feeling i had when i pulled them on….. i still have it. it was a peace… a calm… a ‘this is right’ feeling followed by excited and happy. i loved it. i was so excited to show becky. i put them in my drawer then waited til the next day.
next day came, and my dad was out of town – my mom was sick and bundled up on the couch in a blanket. i ran to the bathroom while getting ready for school, and grabbed the panties from my drawer. i remember almost being late because i kept looking at myself in the mirror – i just loved them.
when i got to school, i remember thinking that i could not wait until lunch time so i could show becky. and my little 5 year old brain didnt quite understand what i was about to unleash. i sat down at the lunch table and plopped my lunchbox down, stood on the seat and dropped my jeans so i could show becky my pretty underwear.
panic ensued. teachers were running towards me telling me to sit down. the first teacher that got to me instantly scooped me up. told me to fasten my jeans, then dragged me to the principals office. it took a moment to hit me… but the principals office was where you went when you were in trouble. crap… i was in trouble. i had no idea why i was, but the thought of being in trouble scared me. i started crying almost immediately. teacher came back out of the principals office where i was sitting in the waiting room and said that the principal was going to call my mom and that i should go sit and wait for her in the principals office now.
i remember the wait seemed to be endless, even though we only lived a couple of blocks away. i didnt understand the magnitude of the question at the time i was asked… but i certainly do now, and would have loved to run into that principal and give his throat a nice punch. “are you a queer?” – i remember answering no, but not having a single solitary clue what in the world that meant… but was too terrified to ask even if i could manage to get the words out through the endless stream of tears.
that night… i met my dads fraternity paddle for the first time. he bent me over the bed, and hit me hard enough that i thought i would die. the pain was unbearable. i screamed like i was about to die. not crying or whining… but screaming for my life. i remember i kept screaming “why?!” because i didnt know why i was in trouble… what i did to warrant this violence. the beating made my mom uncomfortable even. i cried the entire night and my mom came in to tell me i was going to be staying home from school the next day to “think about what i had done”… whatever that meant.
then, it went from bad to worse. the day after, i still could not sit – it was too painful. the hits were hard enough that my ass was bruised like i had been hit by a truck.. everything was black or purple, and was not a small area. the sight of it scared me. it obviously got the teachers attention when i couldnt sit in class… so they took me to the nurse who inspected me… who then got the principal who inspected me… which is so fun to have a crowd of adults all come in and tell you to pull down your panties and show them – and then the principal called and had my mom come get me from school.
a week or so later… CPS came into our lives for the first time. i dont remember much about what they asked… only that it was very generic, like “does your dad or mom hit you often?” to which i replied not really… and that was enough to close the case. but, we were monitored closely.
the feelings from that day – the despair, the shame, the fear – stuck with me. that was the day my life changed, for the worse.
not understanding WHY i was in trouble, i was doomed to repeat it – and did weeks afterwards. this time, in a rather stupid manner… i just walked out of the bathroom wearing panties. i thought it was fun, and ran to show my mom how pretty i was, and was immediately grabbed by the neck…. the swats came swiftly and violently, and completely without warning. and as if i was expected to understand what i had done wrong…. i was forced to sit there in them until my dad came home. i sat there in terror for HOURS… my mother walking by occasionally and shooting me a look that was like she wanted me dead. i got up once to try and run to my room and was grabbed and beaten again. i kept asking why, and should wouldnt have the decency to even speak to me. when my dad finally got home… that was one of the only times that frat paddle wasnt used in a ritualistic manner…. it was grabbed as he came through the door, and i was held dangling by one arm as he swung it.
violence was now a part of my life.