It was very cold outside and even in our house. I focused my eyes toward our very large picture window that cast a warm light on the hard wood floors across the room where I sat. It heated a space there in the shape of a rectangle. I sat there on that cold day warmed by this space, playing with a doctor kit that I was given. I felt assuredly safe. My dad was taking a nap on an ugly olive-green vinyl couch with uncomfortable wooden arms.
My Dad called me over with a whisper, “pst Linda come here”. I leapt off that warm spot, eager to approach him out of curiosity. He said, ” ..why don’t you play doctor on me”. I, being excited with child like innocence, began to pull out my stethoscope to check his heart beat. He reached for my hand and turned it with palm up. He asked me how it felt as he caressed my hand. I being just a child said, “Daddy that tickles”. He then said, “how about now. Suddenly, and almost instantly I felt an uncomfortable even creept out sensation. Childrens instincts tell them when something is not right. I knew that playing changed to something else but being so young I had no clue what that something was. I was to learn in time that he was priming me for other things.
I will continue this story in a later post as this material is difficult for me to write. This was my childhood. It should be reasonable to understand why this would be so difficult for me. However, I know that it is so important for survivors to share their stories as it is in some way, comforting to know that we are not alone. Validation of what it was like is equally important. In this respect. I find it valuable to share this with readers of this blog.