"Blog Day"

The last day of the month, except when I'm completely overwhelmed and forget what day it is, even if I've thought of it earlier in the day. Not even a blip on the radar from disclosing a 'family secret' from anyone who is even remotely connected, not that I expected any necessarily. If anything, I expected someone to be angry. No one in particular, really. It shows just how much people actually link to what's provided in an email signature, or where it might be otherwise located.

It had to come out: the only time I can ever remember while still very young being 'happy' upon finding out that someone had died. He was loved by his mother, the author of a hand written family saga with a much better memory for names and people than I have right now. He was also a child predator, of family members. Nothing all that new given the statistics; it just so happens it was in our family, too. The fact is this came out after the victim(s) were far into adulthood; old enough to be a grandparent themselves. The truth is it came out when it was happening, and nothing was done, nothing I was made aware of.

Maybe there was a threat by a father who was more abusive in a different way; maybe he was never asked to come around again to do 'handyman work' around our house. One thing is for sure, if Grandpa had been told, his nephew (I didn't know he was a blood relation at the time), our family handyman may have mysteriously disappeared, off the planet.

Grandpa was a strong positive patriarch, 'man of the church', and former police officer, with lots of guns, as all the male relatives had in those parts, in those days. Grandpa had no 'record', of course, though had he found out his granddaughter had been affected multiple times by this person, 'heaven only knows' what the consequences may have been. Maybe that was what the adults involved were afraid of in not letting it get very far, at all.

All the child knew at the time was that no one did anything, even when they told. And it wasn't the first time something had happened. There were others, like the next door neighbors before we had moved. No memory if anyone was told until again in adulthood, which was met with anger for causing stress. What about the child? What about feeling at the time that no one would listen or do anything anyway.

Grandpa only had a second grade education, forced to go work in the coal mines at age ten for literally pennies. He was wise and smart, and fortunate to be a hard worker not bound by educational requirements in being able to earn a living and provide for his family, unlike today. I wish he had known enough to go to the police himself after he had retired when I was being bullied in school to recover something precious that we knew who took it. The emotional impact was the same. Don't bother telling or 'pushing it', 'you're not worth it', no one will care enough to make it right: that's how it felt. It's what I won't forget, and how I can remember and feel or understand a child's emotions.