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During these years I was living with my youngest sister, four brothers and my dad. My older sisters and brothers had left home and married. Even though there were still seven of us living together, I was lonely.

My dad had a hard time dealing with my mother's death. In fact, he had been hospitalized for a while. Even though he was doing better at this point, he still didn't want to cope with life without my mother.

Dad was a very proud man and did not like being sick or poor. We were living in a huge house that he really couldn't afford-only because he craved the prestige. Instead of moving to a less expensive place, he struggled to make the payments.

My dad could have provided all of us with plenty of shoes-and the popular styles-if he had been willing to shop in some of the less expensive stores, but he feared that someone might figure out how poor we really were. So once a year he took us to a specialty shoe store in the local Rancho Corners and bought us a pair of Buster Brown saddle shoes. I hated shoes. Barefoot was my favorite transportation. But when I did have to wear them, I wanted to buy an in-style pair of shoes. One year Dad gave into my pleading and bought me a new style called penny loafers. At first I was delighted-until six months later when they were worn out and I had to wait another six months for my annual pair of shoes. I was so embarrassed walking through the school corridors with the soles of my leather shoes flapping and clapping and echoing in each classroom. When the end of the year came, I went back to those classic Buster Brown saddle shoes.

Dad worked for Triple A Insurance. Because his ongoing depression had affected his productiveness at work, he had been demoted. His demotion took him to the San Francisco office. He rode the train every day and worked long hours, often gone from six in the morning until six in the evening. I didn't get to see him much. I had never been close to my dad, and he seemed further away than ever by now. It didn't even occur to me to tell him what my brothers were doing to me.

Aunt Carol

Aunt Carol was a bright spot in my life during these traumatic years. She had come to our home to stay a while after Mom died and was there with us when my dad worked long hours. I thought she looked a lot like my mom, and she was my favorite aunt. She taught me more about how to cook and bake. When I was nine, we made raised glazed doughnuts as our first project together. They were so delicious-steaming hot and smothered in a powdered sugar glaze.

Looking back, I wish that I had confided in Aunt Carol about the abuse. My life might have turned out so differently. But I was embarrassed and ashamed and afraid she would think I was a terrible person.

Ms. Rainforth

Because of the sexual abuse I was experiencing, I felt different inside. I thought no one liked me. And then God brought Ms. Rainforth into my life.

I loved my teachers all through school. Some of them kept changing the grade levels they taught, and I would have the same one for three years. Ms. Rainforth was my favorite. She taught fourth, fifth and sixth grades. This terrific teacher always made a special effort to care for us and love us. She treated each of us with kindness and shared joy and laughter with us.

Ms. Rainforth took the time to call me special. She would call on me in class-no other teacher seemed to really care. Her loving attention made me happy. I felt like someone liked me, after all.

Thank God for great teachers. They are the stems of beautiful vines in a person's life. I know now that Ms. Rainforth would have helped me, but at the time I couldn't bring myself to talk to her about the nights. I wanted her to continue liking me.

Christmastime

At Christmastime, each of us kids received one gift. Well, usually that happened. Most years we all got a stocking filled with nuts, chocolates, oranges, a candy cane and jacks or some other popular small toy. I still have my Santa stocking. One year my brother Matthew waited and waited to hear his name called to come and claim his one gift, only to end up empty-handed. He didn't tell anyone-just went without.

My best Christmas was the year I received a used bicycle. Two of my sisters Savannah and Ashton woke me up and held me on either side as I walked down the stairs to the living room. They must have thought I was going to faint. I think they were more excited than I was. I entered with living room, and there it was-my very own bicycle. I loved my bicycle, and it looked new to me. Wearing my pajamas, I rode it all around town that Christmas morning.

As my older brothers and sisters married and returned home for Christmas, they would all make a special effort to bring a gift to the kids still living at home. My oldest sister, Mackenzie, and her husband, Hayden (the ones I lived with for a year), would arrive Christmas morning-always with something wonderful to eat and a homemade item to wear. One year my brother Ryan and his wife, Abby, brought me a shiny red raincoat. I was thrilled. I thought they must surely be rich to buy me something so special. Ryan was my hero. He had a nice home and family and an important job, and he never forgot about the kids still at home. We had fun together and I knew Ryan and Abby liked me. Time with them almost made me forget . . .

Natalie

My neighbor Natalie was the richest kid I knew growing up in Los Altos. At Christmastime, at least 100 gifts would be wrapped up under the tree for her. Natalie was my special friend, and I often escaped the horror at home by staying overnight at her house. And yet, I couldn't even tell Natalie what was happening.

Sometimes Natalie's cousin Keith would spend the night. He was so kind and sweet. As youngsters, we all slept together in the same bed. Natalie had a bad habit of bouncing her head up and down on her pillow until she fell asleep. Keith held his arm up in the air until he dozed off. And I rubbed my feet back and forth until I fell asleep. One time we had a bet going on whose process worked faster. And so Natalie bounced her head; Keith held his arm in the air, sometimes changing to the other arm when the first one got tired; and I kept twitching my feet back and forth as fast as possible so I would win. I must have not have won because I can't remember who fell asleep first. I laugh now when I look back and visualize how silly we must have looked going through our falling asleep routines.

Natalie's grandfather Popie was a genuinely caring person who loved his granddaughter. He built a cabin on the river and sometimes took both of us with him when he went fishing on the Russian River and Lake Oraville. Mr. Carter (Popie) was a carpenter and had built a bomb shelter next to their house on Holly Street. The shelter was so cool. We used to have slumber parties in this cement block room deep below the ground. All the girls in the neighborhood even threw me a surprise thirteenth birthday party there-the first birthday party I'd ever had.

Natalie's Aunt Christine was another important person in my life. We all need someone who can cover us with his or her experienced wings, and Aunt Christine was my covering. She sold Stanley Home Products and put me to work every day. I helped her move boxes and set up for the parties. This daily routine taught me a sense of responsibility and how to be honest, polite, sociable, personable and friendly.

The seeds Aunt Christine planted in my life eventually grew and blossomed. If you know a neighbor kid who is struggling, I encourage you to take the time to put this child under your wing until he is ready to fly on his own. The time you spend loving one child can make such a change in the lives of many.

Natalie and I are friends today, and she will always hold a special place in my heart because of the love she and her family showed me.

Unraveling

All these moments of fun and happiness-baking doughnuts with Aunt Carol, the Christmas celebrations, special times with Natalie-were shallow and fleeting in the midst of the abuse from two of my brothers. Every happy moment in the years from the time I was eight years old and on into my teens was overshadowed by abuse and the accompanying confusion, shame, guilt, anger and embarrassment. It really was an "unraveling." My self-image plummeted. I became desperate for love, so desperate and lonely that I would do anything to win attention and affection. It was in this state of mind that I entered my teens . . .

REFLECTIONS (Chapter 4)

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Feel free to email me with any questions / comments at changinglives74@yahoo.com.au
by addressing your email to Kaylee.



© Copyright 17 May 2005
Taken from the web site www.changinglivesonline.org
This story is copyright and can not be reproduced without the author's permission.