Around 2004 I worked at a safe house for women and their minor children. A coworker who was an older woman, often told the young girls to keep their bodies covered up. She told me that she told her daughters the same thing even, especially at home "to stay covered up because a dick don't have no conscience." What a way for a girl child to grow up. Feeling like she is responsible for the long stares at her body, for the unwelcome touches, even rape because "a dick don't have no conscience."
I remember being in Bible class and the minister, who was the teacher of the class, telling us, mostly women, that when we (women) walk around with our breasts and other body parts showing, the boys and men can't help themselves but to reach out because I guess dicks and consciousness. This is the same minister who used to stick his tongue in my mouth every time he saw me. And when I would turn my face so that he would kiss my cheek instead, he used his thumb and forefinger to force my young face to his. That wasn't my fault. I wasn't wearing something wrong. And even if I was wearing the wrong thing, so what? Keep your goddamn tongue in your mouth! How about that?
I was a cheerleader my junior year of high school and there was the time he (with no children on the football field to watch) showed up at an away night game. Creepy much? I was still in middle school when he caught me alone in the middle room of the church, behind the sanctuary where the water fountain was. It was during night service and there weren't that many people there. He and I were alone in the room and he asked me if I knew what oral sex was. I knew what it was but said I didn't because I didn't think I was supposed to know. He began to explain what it was. How a woman puts her mouth on a man's penis. Of course, a woman giving to a man. After his verbal oral sex lesson he told me that if a man ever asked me to do that then that was wrong. Wait. No. Not wrong. He didn't say wrong. It was a sin.
At fifty years old I look back and I could should my younger self to death, but none of it was my fault. He was a grown man and a minister. I will say here that he was not the pastor. I was uncomfortable with that kind of attention but didn't know what to do with it. Didn't know who to tell or what to say. Like, what would I really say? He told me not to have oral sex? Well, yeah. I was a child and shouldn't have been having oral sex. His was the first tongue in my mouth. I might have been eleven when that started. I didn't understand how his tongue even got in my mouth or why it was there. I was afraid to tell...that. I knew it was wrong. I knew we could both be in trouble.
My father didn't go to church. He often said in the house how he didn't like how much those deacons "be kissin' all over the women." But we brushed him off because what did he know? He was a sinner.
Funny thing though. As awkward as it was I preferred that side of him than the other side. The side I was afraid of. We, especially the children in the church, all knew how scary he could be. Tuesday nights the children's choir had rehearsal. I don't know why he was there on this particular night but he was and came up on the choir stand where we were singing. He gave us this long and mean sounding speech about how we needed to sit our "big heads down somewhere and be quiet." Then out of nowhere, one of the boys in the back row shouted, "hey, you got a big head too, cuz!" And we were children and that shit was hella funny and his head was kinda big so we all bursted out laughing. He stood there, steaming as we laughed and made the boy in the back row come down to him. Then in one quick swoop he grabbed the boy's arm with one hand and took his belt off with the other and beat him with the belt. Right there in front of us! All the laughter stopped. We sat our big heads down somewhere. And were quiet. I was shocked and terrified. I knew that as often as he wanted his tongue in my mouth it would be in my mouth because no way was he going to beat me like that. I was like, meh...what's so wrong with a kiss? At least a kiss wasn't that.
From way too early in my life I experienced being violated. And worse than that, somehow I was at the source of that violation. What I said. What I didn't say. What I wore or didn't wear. Something. Somehow. But I say again, for me, for you, for your niece, son or daughter. It wasn't my fault. I should have been safe with him and I was not.
Another thing. What about the boys and men who have it instilled in them, from our homes, society and churches that they are not even in control, let alone responsible, for how they treat another human being? So many children (girls and boys) grow up feeling guilty and taking responsibility for abuse we didn't call for.
This situation was long ago but it still wears on me. You know what I mean? It still makes me angry. I still taste the strawberry soda on his tongue inside my mouth. I'm still triggered by a man turning my face to his with his finger and thumb under my chin no matter what his intentions are. Still. I still give a too quick side eye to male ministers and the compliments they give. Still. Still cautious of male figures in authority around children.
I'm still growing though. This ain't my forever. I'm working through my stories. I'm writing through them. Painting through them. Praying, dancing and singing badly through all of them. I hope you are too. Truly, truly I do.
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