I was twelve. I was in sixth grade. Truly, just a little kid (this was 1972). I knew the generalities of intercourse, but that was it. My parents were out of town smelting (I didn’t even know what smelt were; again, I was young). I was staying at a friend’s house around the corner while my parents were out of town with my godparents. All was going great but then I got sick. The doctor wouldn’t allow my friends parents to take me, so they called my uncle who lived in town – my aunt and cousins were out of town. I was taken to the doctor, I was put on meds (I assume I had an ear infection and a sinus infection). But the adults decided I should stay with my uncle (where my brother was staying). I was asleep on the couch and the phone rang. It kept ringing so I got up to answer it. It was uncle’s boss – he told me to wake up my uncle. I did.
After my uncle hung up the phone, he came over and began molesting me. Mouth and hands everywhere. I had no idea what this was but knew it was very very wrong. I was so scared. I kept telling him to stop it; I kept pushing him away. I kept telling him to go to bed. I do feel extremely fortunate that I wasn’t raped. I climbed up onto the top bunk where my brother was sleeping in the lower bunk. I walked home over a mile the next day. I still remember walking home with a blanket wrapped around me.
I told my parents. Unfortunately, while my parents believed me, their response was ridiculous. They said “yes, your uncle is a jerk, he’s made passes at your mother.” I was twelve years old. And this wasn’t a pass. I wanted him to go to jail. They did do their best to keep him away from me.
I am sick to my stomach writing this 46 years later.
He was a drunk. He beat his children and his wife. He finally died in a drunk driving accident probably 20 years later (no one else was hurt). Karma.