This is Sex Abuse Through a Child’s Eyes

Children don’t have the language or knowledge to tell unless you give it to them

My father sexually abused me at an early age. I was three or four in my first memory. My father liked to read me cartoons in Playboy and Penthouse like they were bedtime stories. We’d cuddle up in the bed, look at the pictures together, and he’d keep his hand under the sheet, masturbating.

I’ve had memories like the one above for most of my life. When I describe it to you now, I do so as an adult with full knowledge of what was taking place. That isn’t what the toddler me experienced.

I want to share the oldest memory of abuse in its purest form through my little girl eyes. I’m hoping it may help you understand just how little a small child grasps what is happening to them.

Mommy is going to the store. She’s buying me a treat if I behave while she’s gone. Daddy is on the couch in the living room. I’m going to play with my toys there.

I am gathering my books to build roads and ramps for my hot wheels. I make a road that goes across the rug and to my Daddy’s feet. I am going to run my cars over his toes, and he will say, “Ouch!”

“Vroom! Vroom!” My little red car zooms across my roads paved with Goldilocks, The Little Engine Who Could, Bert, and Ernie.

I push my car hard and let go so it can crash into Daddy’s foot. But his foot isn’t there. I look around.

I can’t find Daddy, and I’m frightened. I’m afraid he left with Mommy, and they forgot me.

I cry, “Daddy! Daddy!”

Daddy doesn’t answer, so I run to find him. I look in the kitchen. It’s empty and dark. It’s the middle of the day, but our small windows have curtains, and there are scary shadows everywhere. Everything is dark orange or brown, and I don’t like the colors. I don’t like the dark wooden walls with faces hiding in the grains. I don’t like the way the light and shadows move like little creatures when the curtains dance in a breeze.

I run from the kitchen in a blind panic. I run for Mommy and Daddy’s room. The door is open, and I immediately feel better. Daddy is sitting on the bed, covered with a sheet and lots of colorful books like mine.

The tears are still wet on my face, but I am not crying anymore. Daddy holds his arms out to me, and I jump on him.

I’m happy, safe, and warm in Daddy’s arms now. After a bit of a cuddle, I look at the pretty, shiny colors on the books around Daddy. He doesn’t mind me touching them, and I begin to page through them. They are mostly naked people, which doesn’t interest me. I find a cartoon, though, and that is funny.

One of Daddy’s arms is around my shoulder, softly rubbing my neck and chest under my shirt. It feels nice and comfy. I try to read the cartoon, but I can only make out some of the words.

I ask Daddy to read, and he pulls his other hand, which was under the sheet out to hold the book. He stops rubbing me and uses that hand to balance the book so he can put the other back under the sheet. I see a bump under the sheet and movement, but I don’t pay it much attention.

I help Daddy balance the book so that he can read to me, and he does funny voices. I giggle and snuggle closer, hugging him. He gently moves my arm from his chest down his body, past his stomach, and to a warm place. It feels strange and a little wet, like the toad I was holding the day before but much hotter. Daddy puts his big hand over mine and moves it around and around the weird toad thing.

He’s not reading the book to me anymore. He’s holding me tightly to him with his eyes closed. All at once, my hand is very wet and gooey and hot. Daddy moves my hand away and throws the sheet off of him. I laugh. He’s naked!!! I wipe some yucky, slimy stuff off my hand on the mattress.

When I look up at Daddy, he’s grinning at me. I smile back then notice he’s holding his weenie in his hand. Silly Daddy! And it’s sticking up. It looks funny. He stretches the skin, and it changes to a purple color, and a little bit of white stuff comes out. It seems like lotion, and I reach over to touch it. Daddy laughs, and so do I.

I help Daddy clean up his books, and we put them under the shoes in the closet. Daddy has pants on now, and I wonder when he put them on.

I help Daddy stretch the fitted sheet over the mattress, and he throws on a blanket.

He says he’s going to make me a snack, and I need to wash my hands. We have bologna sandwiches and watch TV. I sit at his feet, playing with my car. I crash the car into his foot, and he yells, “Ouch!” in a funny, high pitched voice. I do it again and again until he says, “That’s enough.”

I play with my cars until Mommy comes home. She asks Daddy if I behaved. He says yes, so I get a treat. It’s a chocolate cupcake!

I don’t remember much else from that day.

When I was little, I didn’t think about the time with my father much. I thought about the cupcake and cars a lot. I wanted more of both.

It was several weeks later before while playing with my mom. I told her, “I saw white stuff come out of Daddy’s weenie!”

I then erupted into a torrent of giggles.

Children don’t know what is happening to them is wrong, especially tiny children. It was only by chance that I said anything. It didn’t occur to me to talk about it.

The very best thing you can do for your kids to protect them is to give them insight and language. Protecting your kids from sexual education is a gift to predators. It ensures the child will have no idea what is happening to them.

Sharing necessary sexual details with your child along with the knowledge that two-person sex is an adult activity, will let your kid know that what’s happening to them is wrong. Let your child know that they should tell you or another adult they trust if anyone tries to engage in sexual activity with them. Make it very clear that you will believe them and protect them.

Sexual predators are sneaky. They prey on their family and friends because it’s accessible and more comfortable to hide their activity. Where else are you more trusted than within your walls?

We can’t all keep our children safe 24/7, no matter how hard we try. But we can all give our children the knowledge and tools to protect themselves.