Pedophilia and Facebook

Blogging from your homeland is more difficult than blogging from afar. It is said that a good Anthropologist writes about their own land and experience. But I can see why it is so tempting to write about someone else's home and your own outsider experience. In many ways, it is easier with all its obvious inaccuracy and prejudice. And probably less telling of who you really are, other than, a foreigner. The things one notices in their own land are more specific to who they are. The knowledge that one is privy to in their own land is abundant. There are basically far more things to be thought about and decided upon besides soaking up the climate and trying to understand the language. Perhaps once you do in fact understand the language and other less obvious differences, then you could begin to attempt to analyze a second culture, but it's basically more PC to just record and analyze your own.

My friend Tami's neighbor friend was recently arrested for sending naked pictures of himself to what he thought was a thirteen year old female on Myspace. Members of my family even have called Obama 'arrogant'. I made sure they understood the historical term would be 'uppity' and that they better check themselves fast.

Speaking of family and little girl fetishes:
When I was five I remember my father molesting me. I don't remember it happening before that ripe old age, and he didn't correct me when we reviewed the matter together, but wouldn't doubt it if it started much earlier. Whenever I have to tell another member of the family or an outsider to avoid someone else having to suffer through the same indignity, the person I tell, whether it be his wife, an authority, a friend, always wants to know, "What exactly did he do?" So I will put it in words here and forever refer them here, or not, but I'll let ya all know anyhow.
My father used to touch me everywhere, and move my hands over his body the way he liked to be touched. He licked me everywhere and made me perform fellatio on him. Thank god for these technical terms. It makes my writing so much classier. I don't think he ever penetrated me in anyway, which is why I say molested, not raped. He did this pretty much on weekends and Wednesdays when he had us over to his place or was watching us at our place. He stopped when I was about eleven. I was probably beginning to mature. He said to me some time around then that I would never be as pretty as my mother. Later he said he believes his motivation was anger at my mother. In any case, he's a pervert. Then a year later my now ex-step-dad, George starts sneaking into my room to fondle my genitals while I am sleeping in the wee hours of the morn. I react as I usually did before by freezing up and shutting up. But eventually, when I am thirteen, it all comes out. At this point the story only gets more sordid. Dad/ Buzz blackmails George for money, or he's going to the authorities. Uncle Bill the lawyer who is George's friend sends dad/ buzz a threat saying in legalese to drop the blackmail thing cause we all know you are equally sleazy, and that's bound to come out too.

Then later, fourteen years old, we go to Texas for Christmas break and uncle Tom who is married in to the family like Bill and George, apparently wants to get some too, so he gets me high, probably drugs his wife and tries to get up on me after much pestering. Bizarrely, people who are skilled at this sort of thing have a way of coming on to children right in front of other people without anyone calling them on it or stopping it, making the children think they are the only one with a problem. He then again, years later jumps in bed with me in California, and when rejected, kicks me out of his house. Don't know what made me think it was a safe place to be then anyway. I was twenty. Who really needs safe from the likes of these guys after this much experience anyway? That is the big question now. How much of the family would one still be able to communicate with? Go ahead and factor in the two lovely female children and get back to me. I wouldn't mind hearing everyone's opinion on this.

Mom divorced George, not after she knew he molested me, but after Sean caught him outside my window masturbating when I was fifteen. My step-sister Laura warned me about George as he had apparently raped his own daughter Vicki years earlier, but it was all covered up, as it usually is, and the warning came late. Beth is still married to Tom, though she now knows about many of his infractions. They are having grand children now. More people to inform. My dad is very sorry and would like to be as much a part of my life, or my children's as I will allow, or condone, depending on your opinion of the matter.

I haven't seen my dad this summer except to use him for a ride in his van from the airport to Lynne's house. Part of me still likes the guy. He is my dad. But I can't figure out a single way to justify being around him with or without the children. Being around Beth who is still married to Tom is very sad. And she will likely still bring the man to family functions. In fact she wanted the whole family to go on Facebook, so I did and then was confronted with Tom's face as a potential Facebook friend as we have friends in common. So we've come full circle from Myspace to Facebook.

My friend Aviva says being invited to a family function is equivalent to being asked to sit and smile with the people you care about while they sit and smile with the man who raped you. She is one hundred percent accurate. It is truly upsetting to know that that man is more welcome in their lives than I am when I refuse to attend because of him and he is still welcome. These guys can come and go as they please without their lives being hindered or noticeably changed even.
By the way, all three of the perpetrators are or have been teachers at some time in their life. Dad taught English and Shakespeare at Manchester high school. George was a professor of Engineering at Ferris State University. Tom taught at a middle school, his favorite age group I think, for a short while but was called into question for hitting on a young girl so had to quit.
More irony still: My step-dad George went on to re-marry a woman who is a social worker working with pedophiles who she believes are incurable. When I wrote to her to tell her my experience with George, she refused to believe it and said my mother wrote it out of jealousy and somehow got it postmarked 'California' and there would never be anymore communication between either of the two families.

Curiously she has a spinal degeneration problem that she needed George to help her because of. My aunt Beth has a very similar condition and remains with her pedophile husband. My mother does have a little Osteo-arthritis, but had enough back bone to leave both of her losers and find someone who only wants her.