I grew up in what some would consider an idyllic setting. We had a house in the woods, surrounded by trees and hills. There was a creek at the end of the lane where we spent most of our days in the summer.
Our house was just a summer cottage when my parents bought it, as were most of the houses. Five or six other families lived there year round. My dad poured a ton of sweat into making that cottage a house we could live in. He worked third shift at the post office, then he'd come home and work on the house. What he didn't know, he learned. He apprenticed anyone who would let him.
When we first moved in there weren't other children my age, so it was a big deal when this family moved in down the lane. They had a daughter and three sons, one my age and one my younger sister's age.
This family put a mobile home on a large corner lot, and some time later added another mobile home, creating an "L" shape. They then built a deck that filled in the space between the two.
Dennis was closest to my age, and the third child in his family. He had a stay-at-home mom and a dad who worked long days. His mom was nice enough, but his dad was terrifying. The kids would stay away from the house as much as possible when he was home. He drank, a lot, when he was home. Then the yelling would begin. I could hear it all the way up to my house. Any minor incident would send him into a rage. The older two boys were beaten on a regular basis, as was their mom.
One day, Dennis's dad had an accident at work and he lost his eye. Eventually, he was fitted with a glass eye. This wasn't like the modern inventions we have now, the one you can't even tell are fake. His was a full-on 1970's nightmare. It was fixed in place, and totally resembled a marble. I was both frightened and fascinated at the same time.
After his accident, Dennis's dad became even angrier. Ultimately, he had an affair and abandoned his family.
Dennis was mean to me almost from the beginning. He had found someone weaker than him. Walking to and from the bus stop was torture! We lived on a dirt road that was covered in gravel every summer. All the way up the lane he pelted my feet and legs with stones while he yelled "dance". I would pray for the bus to be there so I wouldn't have to wait with him. Coming home was no better. At one point, I remember the bus driver giving me a head start before he let Dennis off the bus. I would run as fast as I could down that dirt road, praying that I wouldn't fall. (Don't get me started about how the bus driver handled this!)
My younger sister was a scrapper. She had brute strength and wasn't afraid of anything. I remember a time when Dennis had been threatening to beat me up. I was supposed to meet him behind the fire hall. I was filled with dread. I knew for sure I was dead meat. When it was time for the fight, my sister stepped in. She beat the daylights out of him! He got in a few punches, but she won in the end, loudly demanding that he leave me alone.
She bought my peace.
There was a brief time between adolescence and puberty when we had a love/hate relationship. We'd get along for a bit, but then he'd show up at my house with a sledgehammer, demanding I smash something with it (usually a frog), or he would smash my foot. I don't remember ever smashing something myself, but I saw him do it plenty of times. It was enough to keep me in fear of him.
My parents didn't like me hanging around with him. They had that parental spidey sense, the desire to protect their child. They didn't know what he'd done to me in the past-- I never told them-- but they were determined to protect me in the future.
Once we reached puberty the general taunting ended. My body developed early, and soon both Dennis and his older brother were sniffing around. I knew enough to stay away from his brother, but Dennis and I had a few make-out sessions, but nothing sexual. My boundaries were murky. Mom and dad taught me to save my body for marriage, to not let men take advantage of me. This contradicted with my early childhood experiences. Grown men had already taken advantage of me. It was all too confusing.
Ultimately, Dennis sexually assaulted me. Twice. I didn't tell anyone.
I write these experiences all to get here: how different would Dennis's life had been if another adult had intervened? Would he have been a kinder, gentler, non-abusive person if he had received tenderness, acceptance and unconditional love? I believe so. I'm not excusing his behavior. Not by any means. But, now as an adult looking back, I can feel empathy for him.
How different would our world be if we all did what we can to bring healing? What if we stopped turning a blind eye to abuse and neglect? What if we saw beyond a persona, beyond their living situation, beyond the clothes they wear or if they're bathed? What would happen if we all reached into those people's hearts? That's what Jesus would do.
I want to be more like that.
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