I can’t really say innocence because I don’t think that was it.  I had kissed a boy maybe two and that might have contributed to the problem.  At least that is what I told myself.

I have lived in the same neighborhood for 35 of my almost 41 years.  I talk to people I went to school with on a regular basis and not just on facebook either.  I am still very much of the community that shaped me, both good and bad.  This is one of the reasons there are several things we just don’t talk about.  This is probably one of those things.
I also feel like I need to say that this is my memory, I know I am human and that memories are elastic, details become fuzzy.

But, it has been on my heart for awhile to let go of somethings and I think this is one of them.  That became very clear last week.

My son has a friend that loves to pester him, sometimes I think he wants to get in a fight.  Last week he called one of my son’s very dear friends a “ho”.  Under normal circumstances that might have made me angry, but last week, I went a little insane.  I had to think long and hard about my reaction, I am involved in my sons life, but now I know I have gone over the edge when I start telling my son what to say back to that “bleep” “bleep” kid.

God didn’t make me wait to long to figure it out.  Things started falling into place rather rapidly.  First it was a blog post by Missy @ it’s almost naptime.  She mentioned how a recent event threw her back, emotionally to an event from her childhood.

BINGO!  We have a winner.

When I was 13, the boys in my neighborhood, THIS neighborhood thought the same thing about me.  I had barely kissed a boy, just happened that he was a part of this crew.  They all went to school together.  One summer day my best friend (who also went to school with these boys) invited me to a pool party with them.  I think there were five or six guys and probably five girls, counting me.

We were playing some game like Marco Polo-or not, some how I ended up on one end of the pool with all the boys and all the girls were on the other, watching.  Before I was fully aware of what was happening they had my legs and my arms restrained.

My bathing suit was being pulled down.
I was screaming and kicking and fighting.
They were poking and pinching and laughing.
And the girls, sat back and watched.

Not one of them came to my rescue.
Not one to my aid.
Not even the woman who owned the house where we were swimming.
I know she was there, somewhere.

I remember looking over at them screaming for help and my best friend, smirked.  Another girl said something about ‘being quiet, don’t act like I don’t like it, they ALL knew I did.”

I wanted to die.
My own mother hadn’t seen me naked in years and now everyone in my neighborhood had.

I think I finally kicked one of them hard enough for him to break his grip on my leg and then I was able to beat the rest of them away.  I ran all the way home.

Crying.
Broken.
not just because of that those boys tried to take from me, but because my own “sisters” didn’t see fit to help.
My own “sisters” enjoyed what was happening to me, feeling I deserved it.
Wow.

I was 35 years old when I finally told my mother.
She always wondered what happened to my “friend”.
I made something up.
I was scared the would have either said that I did something to deserve it or she would go kill them all with her bare hands.
Guilt.
I couldn’t take.

I soon realized that the boy I kissed told all of his friends he had done so much more.  He based his sexual conquest stories on me.  Most boys who lie should be smart enough to say “you don’t know her she lives in Siberia”.  I have no idea what he said, but it was enough for every single kid at that party to believe I wouldn’t be upset with what transpired.

And me, in all of my stubborn “power” never planned on letting them know they hurt me either.

This, my friends, is when I started hiding behind vices.
No one would ever see, feel or hear my pain, because on some level, I knew they wouldn’t care even if they did.
I hid so well that I didn’t even know how much I was hurting.
Sometimes, I still don’t.

But, I do know that just because no one stood for me, does not mean that I can not stand for them.

(I have more thoughts on the subject,
Another post,
Another day.)