child.jpg (17219 bytes)The Healing Lodge

Child Abuse Story 2

I was a pretty boy, blond hair blue eyes; the works. My earliest memory of visiting the house of my father's friend is when I was about four or five. I have few memories at all of the times before. My father's friend (a millionaire whose father was a streetsweeper) had a son.

It is all so hazy, I can't quite remember what happened. I remember hating having to go there. I remember the fence around the pool. I remember going to the bathroom...a bathroom with grey square tiles. Was I changing out of my swimming costume or was I just going to the toilet? No, I think I was naked. I don't know what was after that. It's been stored away, probably with a lot of other things I'm not particularly interested in knowing.

I remember that they must have caught him. I just hear my Mom screaming and his father shouting at him. I think he got a hiding. He must have been around twelve, thirteen at the time. I still remember the image of an unrolled toilet roll lying on the gray floor. It was a very long time before we went back there, and I myself only returned a few months ago. I saw the "boy." He is now a man. He is studying to become a priest. I do not laugh or cry at this. My head is raised, my mouth twisted in a sardonic smile, and my eyes reflect a haughtiness which is unmatched in any of my opinions.

Then I had an uncle with whom I was made to share a bed on occasion. Thank the Lord he waited until I was asleep. All I remember is that the bed stank terribly when I woke up and that he liked to corner me and lie on top of me so I couldn't move... very unclear on this too... They are forgiven, not forgotten.

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