Crap Happens People have always preached to me that we all have a sole purpose in life and “everything happens for a reason”. I detest this saying and I hate to admit that it’s true. Everything does happen for reason. We endure so much crap throughout our lives to build us into the people we are supposed to be. Even the smallest events make us stronger; they keep us grounded by bringing our minds back to reality… What a concept, crap happening for our benefit. I’ve learned that life isn’t a fairy tale; it’s more like a boxing ring. Your opponent throws the punches and you either block the punch or your face plummets to the floor with a single hit. Crap happens though, we have no control over that but, we do have control over the will to pick ourselves up by our “boot straps” and keep on rolling with the hits otherwise we’re giving up on everything that we have endured to get where we are now. In 1997 eight hundred and thirty-nine children were reported molested.1 Two little girls I once knew were not on those records, however. They were molested by their godfather in the summer of ‘97 when the girls were only four and six-years-old. Author Edward Rowan, M.D., states that “younger children with fewer defenses and underdevelopment coping strategies are more susceptible to negative aftereffects and may even show significant impairment in personality development”.2 Ever since then they have both been completely changed. Before they were stripped of their innocence life was much simpler without knowledge that evil does exist in this world. Today the older of the two lives in denial that anything happened to her and refuses to remember it, while the younger one cannot help but flashback to what she witnessed every day since; the memory is imbedded her thoughts. An editor of Columbia University’s Health Q&A Internet Service “Go Ask Alice!” reassures that all survivors of “sexual abuse” have their own “short-term” solutions toward coping with the feelings, thoughts, and their

individual experiences that come from each one’s trauma. She further explains that sexually abused persons are not to be stereotyped for this reason. While some survivors revert to drugs, alcohol, and an excessive number of “unstable and erratic relationships” others “find a peaceful resolve to very hurtful stories”.3 Alice was right about one thing. My sister and I couldn’t be any more different when it comes to facing the fact that we were molested by our own kin. While my sister looked toward the sex and drugs to temporarily consume whatever confusion she had, I found that the therapy hadn’t really helped me cope but time had. I still remember that day so vividly in my mind as if I were reliving it again every single day of my life. I’ve tried to forget it completely like my older sister, tried not to think about it but nothing seems to work... We were visiting my grandmother and my Tia Lola in Mexico that summer. The air that day was so heavy yet dry. It was incredibly hot for morning hours with very few breezes. The scenery was browner than green due to the lack of rainfall that summer. I woke up that morning so happy and full of energy with the feeling in my gut that it was going to be a great day- Who knew my gut feeling was completely wrong at the time. I ran out of the hut with my sister to greet my grandmother who was already awake washing clothes and preparing the chicken ready for lunch. I begged my dad to let us go somewhere to get out of having the “honor” to behead the chicken that was to be digested later. Once my sister and I were dressed, we rushed down the hill with my dad towards my godfather’s little store at the bottom of the hill. When we arrived at the store, my godfather was in the back with the stocks. Since we were never allowed in the storage area my dad left my sister and I to climb onto the huge bags of dried corn while he went to retrieve him. The smell of that corn is the strongest trigger point that causes a flood of flashbacks in my mind to this day-- “Persistent re-experience of the traumatic

event” is identified as one of the “three clusters of symptoms that characterized post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)”.4 My dad and godfather distracted my focus from the corn when they entered the room to the Mexican snacks in my dad’s hands. There was a catch to the snacks though. My sister and I had to promise that we would behave ourselves while my dad left to run an errand he thought to be difficult to accomplish with two little girls to care for. We played on the bags of corn until a customer walked into the store and my godfather signaled to us to join him behind the counter. Whether Bonfilio already had been planning to touch us or it was just a spur o f the moment thought, I have no idea but either way he did what he did and my sister and I have had to live with it since. We stood on step stools behind the counter waiting for Bonfilio’s customer to check out. While the customer was looking intently at the bags of corn in the back right hand corner of the store Bonfilio seemed sure the man would not turn around soon and he grabbed my sister’s hip. The movement of his hand disappearing into my sister’s little white shorts caught my eye until I felt something caressing the inside of my thigh… I wasn’t sure what exactly it was he was doing at the time so I didn’t make it obvious that I was watching him. My sister shared a glance with me; she didn’t seem to know what the hell he was doing either. We didn’t confront him, keeping in mind that he had a terrifying temper. At that moment the man turned around, breaking our glance as Bonfilio quickly but discretely pulled his hands away from our genitals. Bonfilio slightly wiped his right hand on the side of his faded blue jeans and took the bag of flour in the gentleman’s hand. He placed the flour in a bag and proceeded around the counter to assist the man load a huge bag if corn on his donkey. I stood there shocked; I didn’t know what to do. I wanted desperately to know what my sister was thinking; whether or not we should just go back home… She went back to being her same bouncy up beat self when he left. It was all so

confusing. Once the gentleman with the donkey was long gone Bonfilio came back behind the counter to join us again only this time he asked me in Spanish if I wanted “some” too. I wasn’t sure what to say, I was only four-years-old and my own godfather wanted to shove his hands down my shorts! I turned back around toward the counter ignoring him, hoping my dad would come back soon. Before I could finish my wish though he told my sister that she could go jump around on the corn again, leaving me with him behind the wooden counter. A part of me desperately wanted to cry. I may not have understood what or why Bonfilio was doing at the time but I had a horrible feeling in my gut that it wasn’t right. “It doesn’t feel good the way hugging and holding hands does. It doesn’t feel close and comfortable the way it does when someone you love puts an arm around you.”5 He pushed himself rubbing up against my backside, sliding his large dark rough hands into my pink little flimsy shorts. I looked up at him searching for some kind of an explanation on his face. His tight smug smile made me sick. I could feel my stomach churning. His grim smile was one of the creepiest things I have ever seen in my life. I turned my head back around hopeless, watching my sister play around on the bags of corn. I tried to squirm away from him, but Bonfilio told me I had to stay because I promised my dad that I would behave myself. For the next several minutes I put up with his hands tracing around in my shorts, the pushing behind me and the stupid rough breathing until I decided what he was doing was wrong because my dad would never do that to me. I told him I was going to play with my sister on the corn and walked away. I ran over to my sister to convince her to come back home with me but she reminded me that my dad told us to stay there until he returned. I ran home anyway scared, confused and feeling dirty. I felt terrible for leaving my sister behind; unaware if he would touch her again. I ran hard and fast up the hill cutting through the pressure of the wind. Everything was one big blur and next thing I knew I was there. I was out of

breath when I reached my grandmother’s ranch. The air burned ice cold in my throat and lungs with every breath as I pushed through the gate. My mom was chatting with my grandmother when she saw the terrified look on my face. I explained to her what Bonfilio had done and why my dad had left us. My mom was furious as we walked back down the hill to save my sister from the store. I have yet to return to Mexico since then. I have never had the desire to revisit the place where my innocence was torn away from me. My stomach churns every time I think about that day and relive the feelings I had then. My dad unfortunately has ever since blamed me for what happened and treated me differently than my other sisters, but its okay. I understand now that he’s confused too. His years of trust in Bonfilio were betrayed and he needs someone to point the finger at for his pain. Whether or not my dad points the blame towards me though doesn’t hurt me anymore because I know that he still loves me, and I am very well aware that I do not do anything wrong. I would be lying though if I said that I have gone unchanged. To this day I have trust issues, especially toward men and I can’t sit with my dad they way I used to before that summer. I’m very weary of physical contact with anyone. I am, however, much stronger now than I was before and I understand things more clearly. I stand up for myself faster now. I’m not afraid to protect myself. Crap happens. It’s not always fair, but that’s life. We just have to roll with the punches and finding the will to stand back up again. I’m not letting Bonfilio’s disgusting perverted self ruin the rest of my life. I’m moving on with the next chapter in my life.

Research 1. Candice Kim. “From Fantasy to Reality: The Link Between Viewing Child Pornography and Molesting Children.” NDAA.org (2004). 12 May 2010 2. Edward L. Rowan, M.D. “Understanding Child Sexual Abuse”- ‘What Are the Effects of Abuse?’ pg. 30 (2006) 3. “Go Ask Alice!” Molested as a child: Promiscuous as an adult? 31 January 1997. Goaskalice.columbia.edu. 12 May 2010, 4. See 2. ‘What Are the Effects of Abuse?’ pg 29 5. Oralee Wachter. “No More Secrets For Me: Sexual Abuse Is a Secret No Child Should Have to Keep! [Revised Edition]”.(2002)