He was my Mother’s Best-friend’s son. His name was Benjamin and I lived in constant fear of him. He was only about five or six years older than myself. I know it started around the age of five. I know this because age five is the earliest age I can remember being afraid of him. This is where people start calculating and say, “Oh, but he was only 10! That’s just childhood curiosity, not abuse!” They were wrong then and anyone who feels that way now, would also be wrong.
Age five:
I had started kindergarten. It was half-day kindergarten and we lived in Dyer, IN. Benjamin and his family lived in Hammond, IN. Not far from each other…for me, not far enough. Kindergarten was a time when the signs of abuse were present but no one recognized them. I threw up EVERY night in my sleep when I was in kindergarten. I would wake in the morning to the smell of vomit in my hair and my Mother worrying about who was going to watch me while she went to work. (She was a single Mother with a live-in boyfriend who wasn’t reliable to hang out in moments of need.)
After WEEKS of the constant vomiting in my sleep and missing a lot of school, my Mother took me to the doctor. He determined I had the flu and sent her home with nothing more than a cough drop and a pat on the back. It would “pass” he said. Only it didn’t.
You see, the vomiting was actually a case of bad nerves. I was afraid but was unable to express it so it came out in the form of vomit. Benjamin would see me several times during the week when either his Mother came over to our house or my Mother dragged me over to his. Weekends meant inevitably seeing him as our Mothers were inseparable. Again, I don’t remember how he began the first abuse episode. What I do remember is playing Legos in his basement playroom. One minute I was building a really great tower and the next I was being towered over by a boy with his pants pulled down.
He would put his penis my face and tell me to touch it. I would ALWAYS refuse. Then he would lie on top of me (I was still clothed) and proceed to dry hump me. I would always cry and he would tell me “shut up and stop being such a baby!” My mom or his mom would hear the commotion but usually they just yelled down the stairs to “knock it off!” It was a rare day that they actually trekked down the stairs to see why I was in hysterics. In all fairness, I was a child prone to being sensitive. So crying was nothing new to my daily activities…but those cries were different. As a Mother now, I cannot understand how they were never able to distinguish the difference in my cries.
There was a moment when my Mother suspected someone might be doing something to me. I remember her taking me into the bathroom and asking if anyone had tried to touch me “down there?” Inside my head I was screaming, “YES!” but what came out of my mouth was a very solemn “No.” I can’t explain why I didn’t tell her the truth other than I don’t think I trusted that she would believe me.
I missed half of kindergarten. HALF. I still managed to pass. The only saving grace was that I was able to read since the age of four thanks to my Aunt who helped me. She had a child older than me that she was teaching to read at the same time. I was lucky to tag along through his reading lessons.
My Mother, as I stated earlier, was a single Mom with a live-in boyfriend. He was in and out of our lives quite often through those years so when they were off again, we would move. After kindergarten was over we ended up moving to Hammond, IN. Unfortunately, right around the corner (literally) from Benjamin and his family.
First grade:
I started again with a new school, new friends, and neighbors that included my tormentor. At first it was ok. He didn’t try to do things to me every day. We were settling in and I began to relax. Finally I was no longer throwing up in my sleep. Life seemed to be going back to normal.
Benjamin’s father started working. He was a truck driver. When he would have long periods on the road, Benjamin’s Mother would ask if I could come and stay the night at her place. She didn’t like to be alone. The more people she had around her, the better she felt. So, my Mother agreed and my sexual abuse started all over.
Every time I would sleep over, Benjamin would wait for his Mother to be occupied and would find reasons or ways to touch me. A grab on my breast, a squeeze on my butt and sometimes he would try to forcefully put his hand down my pants. I would scream and tell him no but he would either pretend it was 'accidental' that he touched me in wrong places or used coercion to shut me up.
I was very conflicted about what was happening. I loved Benjamin’s Mom. I liked playing at her house because they had all the really cool toys that my Mother could never afford. I even liked playing with Benjamin when we were not alone. Alone is when he would always do things to me that made me feel very dirty and horrible inside. It was then that I realized that I could still be around him as long as I didn’t allow myself to be alone with him. I thought I had it all figured out.
Alone was harder to avoid than I could have ever imagined. In the 80’s children would go off and play unsupervised. It’s just what children did. So we were often tossed outdoors and told to just 'play.' Of course, outdoors was actually a safe haven for me because it usually meant other children were around and therefore not alone with him. It was when we played indoors that I would have to be afraid. He got comfortable with never getting caught. So his advances became more and more exploratory and more and more aggressive.
One time, his dad caught him on top of me. Benjamin’s pants were down and he was attempting another dry humping episode. His dad told him to pull up his pants and stop that. Then he laughed and shared the story with Benjamin’s mom. They thought we were playing 'doctor' and somehow they found it cute and funny. I guess having tears streaming down my face made it that much more cute?! All I know is after that moment, his mom would make jokes about playing 'doctor' or 'house' together as if she felt I was the one who started these 'games.' She actually made me feel that I had somehow encouraged this type of play.
Second grade:
We were still living in Hammond, IN but had moved across town because the ‘boyfriend’ was back. However, it didn’t mean seeing Benjamin any less. Our Mothers were still just as inseparable. I was in his basement one day and there was a bed there. Benjamin had forced me onto the bed and pulled my pants down with my underwear still up. He pulled his pants AND underwear down and lay on top of me with a humping motion. I was screaming the ENTIRE time. Tears were running down my face and I was frantic. I knew that whatever he was doing was beginning to escalate. He had never pulled my pants down before. What was worse is friends from down the street had come over to invite me to play outside. They passed by the window and saw him on me. They made eye contact with me, laughed and ran away.
When I was at school the next day, they began chanting, “Benjamin and Trina sitting in a tree...” I was very upset. The teacher came over to stop all the teasing and they told her that Benjamin had my pants down and was lying on top of me with his down. I was mortified. I was convinced I was the one who was doing something wrong and didn’t want anyone to know. She looked at me sharply and I remember crying and saying they were lying. It was another moment of my life that what was happening to me had been brought to light but nothing had ever been done about it. She didn’t call my Mother or even send me to talk to the nurse. She walked away without another word.
Benjamin’s Mom had a dark side that in second grade I discovered. She was physically abusive to Benjamin. She believed whole-heartedly in corporal punishment to the extent that when she spanked him, he would remember it for weeks. It was rare he got spanked, but when he did, he had to wear long sleeve shirts and pants to cover the welts. Even if it was summer he was completely covered so that no one would see the marks her spankings left. She used a leather belt and didn’t aim for anywhere particular…she just swung until the anger inside her died out.
Once after Benjamin was being mean to me (just normal kid mean) I cried and told his mom. She spanked him horribly for it. His dad turned to me and said, “See?! See what your tattling and whining did?! Do you feel proud of yourself?” Of course I didn’t feel proud. I was 8. What I did feel was afraid to ever tell on Benjamin again. This becomes important because from this moment on…no matter what he did to me, I couldn’t bring myself to tell on him for fear of would happen to him if I did. Go figure, the abused protecting their abuser.
At the end of second grade a miracle happened. Benjamin’s dad got a job transfer. They were moving out of state to Birmingham, AL. I was very happy. My Mother was very saddened but I didn’t care. I knew this meant freedom from Benjamin!
They moved and my life actually improved. I wasn’t afraid anymore. Until one day my Mother and her live-in boyfriend broke-up (again). I had just started third grade. My Mother called her best friend and determined that we should move to Alabama too.
So we moved again and I had to re-adjust, again. By this time I was nine and he is about fourteen or fifteen. His sexual ‘curiosities’ included full-blown erections.
If I had shorts on, he would try and slide his hand up them to reach into my panties. He would beg me to let him stick his tongue on my vagina. I would refuse but he would just do what he wanted to me anyway. He would place his tongue on my vagina and I would kick and scream. His Mother would check on us and he would pretend nothing had happened and I would foolishly protect him from a beating.
Once his older cousin (a male) was over babysitting Benjamin and I. They didn’t feel that Benjamin was mature enough to watch me on his own so the cousin was called to monitor. He brought a male friend with him. Benjamin didn’t care that his cousin was in the room or his friend. He pulled down his pants pushing his erect penis in my face. I started crying and his cousin and friend began to laugh. Benjamin started to chase me through the house and every time he got close enough he began pulling my pants down. I knew that whatever was about to happen, it was not good. I was distraught. Tears were streaming, I was running and trying to pull my pants back up with a boy twice my size with an erect penis chasing me. His cousin and cousin’s friend were laughing as if this was a normal occurrence. A neighbor heard the screaming and knocked on the door. They saved me from what I am sure would have led to me being raped.
Within a week of the scariest moment of my life, my Mother and her best friend had a major fight, a fight that would find us moving to Atlanta, GA at the end of my third grade. My Mother’s youngest sister lived there. Again, I was VERY happy. This time we never moved back to Alabama or any place that had us near Benjamin again. But there would come another time when our paths would cross.
I had a lot of nightmares and anger over the abuse I endured at the hands of a 'child.' A doctor, a teacher, a parent and a cousin had an opportunity to intervene and either looked the other way or chose not to delve into what wasn’t their problem.
I moved several more times before I would find myself in a counselor’s office when I was in seventh grade confessing what I had told no one before. I was again living in Hammond, IN. By this point in time I had officially attended eleven different schools from moving. I was having a hard time focusing and I found myself spilling out ‘the secret’ I had kept inside me for so long. I think what had spurred this to a head was that Benjamin’s Father had just died. We were going to his funeral in Alabama in a few days time and I would once again be confronting him, my abuser. The counselor told me for the first time that it was NOT my fault. I did NOTHING wrong and if he made any advances towards me at the funeral for me to tell him in no uncertain terms that it was NOT ok. I felt empowered. It was NOT ok! I knew back then it wasn’t right but had convinced myself I was causing him to do these things and the fear of watching him be beaten kept me from every finding the courage to tell if I had ever wanted to.
Alabama:
I was almost 13. He was officially an adult. We went to the funeral with my grandparents and they towed along a camper so we had somewhere to sleep without the cost of a hotel. I remember that at the gathering after the ceremony I went to my camper to grab something I had forgotten. Benjamin followed me. I didn’t know he had followed me until I felt his had sliding in a very sleezy way across my butt. He was caressing it and squeezing it. I turned around startled by him and his brazen advances. I had a very hard look in my eye. I remember him looking startled at my expression. I finally had the voice to say “NO!” and I meant it. I didn’t cry. I simply said it as sternly as I could “Do not EVER touch me again or I will scream and this time I will not lie about what it is you have been trying to do to me!” He backed up both hands in the air and said, “Please please, please, don’t tell. I won’t ever do it again, promise.” He never did. Of course I have never seen him again since that day.
He tarnished a large piece of my childhood. I am still angry at times. I have looked him up trying to find out if he still has issues. My guess is he does. I think his issues ran very deep and everything inside my gut says he is probably out there still abusing. My only regret is that I feel I am somehow responsible if he is still abusing out there. I didn’t tell. I have been unsuccessful in locating him. My Mother and his Mother never really rekindled the friendship they had all those years ago and have lost touch.
All I know now is that I NEVER want any of my daughters to suffer the shame, humiliation and fear at the hands of someone else. My Mother wasn’t very open with me and I think that also played a part in me never quite feeling comfortable enough to ever tell her. So, with my girls, I am completely open. I teach them about ‘good touch and bad touch.’ I teach them that their bodies are THEIRS and no one has the right to do anything to them without their permission.
I am sure you are wondering if my Mother knows now. Yes. She’s cried because she’d suspected something at the beginning of it all and didn’t trust her gut. She didn’t want to believe it so she took the first chance to ignore it. She never thought that it was Benjamin. She had suspected it was the on again off again boyfriend. I don’t hate my Mother. She really never did anything wrong. She wasn’t the parent who saw, the doctor who did the exam, the teacher who heard from other students or the cousin who witnessed a near rape...the rage ignites inside me when I think of the people who could have stepped in but didn’t. So instead of allowing this rage to fester and explode, I choose instead to share this story with you. It is a healing process and telling people what was always kept a dirty secret helps me to liberate myself from the rage that has a strong grip inside me.
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