Sexual abuse—a license to hate?

Even while writing about it today, the memory is distasteful. I was a preteen sitting in the back seat of a car, parked in the business center of our small town.

Several adults were in the car, visiting. The older man beside me began touching me inappropriately. It was dark, and my father, who was sitting on the other side of the man, had no idea what was happening. I was too naive and embarrassed to stop him or to say anything. I hated that man for many years. When we would drive past his house, I'd always look the other way.

NEXT IN THIS ISSUE
Poem
City street crossing
May 27, 2002
Contents

We'd love to hear from you!

Easily submit your testimonies, articles, and poems online.

Submit