the good kid
andrew-almost52
Registrant
For those of you wolves who have read my sporadic postings, you may have noticed that I seldom refer back to my own SA experiences. This is not an oversight, but more a belief that we need to look ahead rather than behind. I really like to think that our current positive experiences are what we need to share and build on, because for the most part, our histories are built on quick sand. But just so the young wolves who are fairly new to the forum will know where I come from, I will share the following:
I had just started grade 3. No one seemed concerned as to WHY I had run away from school, and when dragged back, continued to run and hide within the school. They were just angry, I was an inconvenience and didn't fit into the normal schedule of things. So I got the strap,was given detentions and made to write lines. I was too afraid to tell anyone that the very large, new teacher had grabbed me by the ear and taken me to the boiler room and done things to me. Even as I write this I can smell his hot breath on my face and remember the cold clamminess of his hands as they groped into my shorts. By the time I was in grade 6, he had raped me, and I thought in some perverse way that he loved me, so I didn't tell, I was a good kid. And in some ways, he was nicer to me than what I could expect at home. So I shut out the pain and confusion and retreated into my own world, my own secret world.
Looking back, I was the perfect 'mark' (victim) for the sick teacher at my public school. Firstly, I was well groomed to not make a big fuss about his touching me. My grandfather had been molesting me and my slightly older female cousin from the time I was about 3 yo till just about when I was of school age. (My cousin and I never discussed this until recent years. Fortunately, she is now recovering also, and has been in counselling for years, mostly for sexual disfunction) Secondly, it was well known within the neighborhood and school that my mother was a very strict, domineering and violent woman. It was also known that I was on the receiving end of her tantrums, and on at least one or two occasions the neighbors had pulled her off me. So needless to say I was terrified of her, and I was afraid she would kill me, and afraid of what might happen to her if she did, because despite what she did to me, I loved her. So I would never even consider telling on a teacher, especially to her. Teachers were gods. Adults were the bosses. I did what I was told. And I was told that I was a good little boy if I kept quiet and didn't cause problems. So I kept quiet. I became painfully shy and started to stutter. Despite my mother's annoyance at having her routine interupted, on several occasions I was taken to the doctor's office for lower bowel and colon spasms. The doctor never did discover the causation. And I would never tell. I was a good boy. By grade 8 I was moved to another school for junior high school. The sexual assaults were over, but I was a mess, a disassociative mess. At the age of 16, my highschool guidance counsellor and the Children's Aid Society intervened and forced me to move from home. They said, "find somewhere to live with relatives, or we'll 'place' you in care." I found friends to live with. But my life was fragile. Less than 18 months later I tried to committ suicide. I was hospitalized for 9 weeks in a provincial mental asylum with adults. I was 17 yo. I met another child there, he was in worse shape than me. I eventually escaped the hospital and ended up on the streets, more specifically Grosvenor and Yonge. I did what I had to do. Mike Church is able to describe that scene far more effectively than I.
I was lucky, or maybe I made my own luck, I'm not sure. I have been blessed with meeting the right people at critical periods in my life. But certainly through force of will, I finished highschool and went on to Humber College and then York University. I ended up with a couple of degrees, but the one I am most proud of and have found to be the most useful is my QBE! Qualified By Experience.
My grandfather died when I was 13. His wife, my grandmother, and both his daughters were aware of what he was like, so was my mother. No one in the family did anything to protect the children, it was something that was hushed up and never allowed to be an issue. My cousin and I suffered the consequences of that silence. I know I should be angry with the family for their inaction. And I was for a long time, but can't be any longer. They weren't capable of anything better. Nor is/was my mother capable of being more loving and less violent. She was a product of her dysfunctional family environment. Thirty years later ... I am married, mostly happily, have two very healthy and happy children. I live in suburbia and drive a minivan. I have arthritis and according to most am delightfully eccentric. I am dreading the day when my kids are too old to jump in the old lazy-boy chair with me. Thank gawd the cycle is now broken. Peace, Andrew
I had just started grade 3. No one seemed concerned as to WHY I had run away from school, and when dragged back, continued to run and hide within the school. They were just angry, I was an inconvenience and didn't fit into the normal schedule of things. So I got the strap,was given detentions and made to write lines. I was too afraid to tell anyone that the very large, new teacher had grabbed me by the ear and taken me to the boiler room and done things to me. Even as I write this I can smell his hot breath on my face and remember the cold clamminess of his hands as they groped into my shorts. By the time I was in grade 6, he had raped me, and I thought in some perverse way that he loved me, so I didn't tell, I was a good kid. And in some ways, he was nicer to me than what I could expect at home. So I shut out the pain and confusion and retreated into my own world, my own secret world.
Looking back, I was the perfect 'mark' (victim) for the sick teacher at my public school. Firstly, I was well groomed to not make a big fuss about his touching me. My grandfather had been molesting me and my slightly older female cousin from the time I was about 3 yo till just about when I was of school age. (My cousin and I never discussed this until recent years. Fortunately, she is now recovering also, and has been in counselling for years, mostly for sexual disfunction) Secondly, it was well known within the neighborhood and school that my mother was a very strict, domineering and violent woman. It was also known that I was on the receiving end of her tantrums, and on at least one or two occasions the neighbors had pulled her off me. So needless to say I was terrified of her, and I was afraid she would kill me, and afraid of what might happen to her if she did, because despite what she did to me, I loved her. So I would never even consider telling on a teacher, especially to her. Teachers were gods. Adults were the bosses. I did what I was told. And I was told that I was a good little boy if I kept quiet and didn't cause problems. So I kept quiet. I became painfully shy and started to stutter. Despite my mother's annoyance at having her routine interupted, on several occasions I was taken to the doctor's office for lower bowel and colon spasms. The doctor never did discover the causation. And I would never tell. I was a good boy. By grade 8 I was moved to another school for junior high school. The sexual assaults were over, but I was a mess, a disassociative mess. At the age of 16, my highschool guidance counsellor and the Children's Aid Society intervened and forced me to move from home. They said, "find somewhere to live with relatives, or we'll 'place' you in care." I found friends to live with. But my life was fragile. Less than 18 months later I tried to committ suicide. I was hospitalized for 9 weeks in a provincial mental asylum with adults. I was 17 yo. I met another child there, he was in worse shape than me. I eventually escaped the hospital and ended up on the streets, more specifically Grosvenor and Yonge. I did what I had to do. Mike Church is able to describe that scene far more effectively than I.
I was lucky, or maybe I made my own luck, I'm not sure. I have been blessed with meeting the right people at critical periods in my life. But certainly through force of will, I finished highschool and went on to Humber College and then York University. I ended up with a couple of degrees, but the one I am most proud of and have found to be the most useful is my QBE! Qualified By Experience.
My grandfather died when I was 13. His wife, my grandmother, and both his daughters were aware of what he was like, so was my mother. No one in the family did anything to protect the children, it was something that was hushed up and never allowed to be an issue. My cousin and I suffered the consequences of that silence. I know I should be angry with the family for their inaction. And I was for a long time, but can't be any longer. They weren't capable of anything better. Nor is/was my mother capable of being more loving and less violent. She was a product of her dysfunctional family environment. Thirty years later ... I am married, mostly happily, have two very healthy and happy children. I live in suburbia and drive a minivan. I have arthritis and according to most am delightfully eccentric. I am dreading the day when my kids are too old to jump in the old lazy-boy chair with me. Thank gawd the cycle is now broken. Peace, Andrew
You have been thru a lot and seem to be doing a pretty good job of coming out on the other side. 
This is always encouraging to hear, for newbies and for us old farts! 