Coming To Grips With It

By Andrea B.K.

In all fairness, my childhood was not that bad, Really, it wasn't. I had 2 parents who were still married and in love, a younger sister who thought I hung the moon (no, not really but it sounded good, right?) and 4 grandparents were still alive. I adored my maternal grandfather especially because he DID hang the moon. The first 9 years of my life were great. Nine years is not a long time but I will always be grateful for those years of ignorance and bliss.

When I was 9 years old, a certain older relative discovered I was a girl - something I had been fighting against my entire life. I was a total tomboy who had a lot of friends at school, most of which were boys. In fact, when I was 4 years old, I wanted to know how to pee standing up like all of my male cousins did. I quickly found God did not mean for me to do that.

As I was saying, this relative discovered I was a girl about the time I started wearing a training bra. I hated wearing them. They were itchy and uncomfortable. What was I training, anyway? Just like my glasses I got when I was five, I took them off every chance I got. 

This got his attention and he would constantly embarrass me by asking (too loudly)
"You're not wearing a bra, aren't you?"
(No, s**t, Sherlock!)

About the time, I was 11, my best friend gave me a bathing suit that I loved. I could not wait to wear it. Unfortunately, the jerk pointed out at the public pool, "You're growing hair down there!"
(Again, no s**t, Sherlock!)

The creep kept up his comments and "accidental" touching from time I was nine to 14 years old. The whole time I was thinking what does a 50 year old man want with a kid?

I still wonder that at 47 years old. The years have not been kind to this now 86 year old. Karma, I guess. I have not seen him or talked to him since his wife (my mom's sister) died 5 years ago. I am at peace with that because I know I didn't ask for the abuse and it was never my fault.