As a small child growing up in the 70’s, please understand that child sex abuse, and pedophiles were rarely spoke of, and virtually never confronted. Unless, the predator caused great physical harm, or murdered an innocent child, people just didn’t address the sexual assaults committed against children very often. To clarify, I don’t blame the “system” for what happened to me. (there was no system back then) I don’t blame my parents. I don’t blame my teachers, the schools, or the neighborhoods in which I grew up in. I only blame the sex offenders who assaulted me. For these are the people that had a direct hand in their actions, and the power of the decision to assault me. It was a choice they consciously made. I think its a little thing called “free will”.
It wasn’t until decades later, as my own children were being raised that the “good touch – bad touch” slogans were promoted in schools, and the act of sexually abusing a child was openly confronted, and prosecuted. Society voiced their opinions of the despicable acts, and laws were created to deal with a plethora of offenses by a variety of pedophiles, and predators. Incest, child sex abuse, child exploitation, child trafficking, child prostitution, statutory rape, etc. In my particular situation, there was not any education, discussion, or preventative measures taken to pro-actively protect me from child predators. Based on the number of incidences, and predators who assaulted me as a child, there must’ve been other dynamics that left me more vunerable than the average kid my age. The sheer variety of the assaults commited by each predator, differing from one another is just mind boggling to me even today. I spoke once to my parents about my second grade friend in school. I told my mother the next morning after I spent the night at her house, what her father did to me. My mother was a Nurse. If there were any intervention programs, or trauma response protocols in place, she would know about them. But, I am confident there were not. Wringing her hands, and fretting over what to do, she went to my father. My father being who he was, wasn’t thinking about what I was experiencing after the assault. The only thing he could think about was going to my school friends house, and breaking her fathers knee-caps for assaulting his little girl. Which, according to my older brother, that’s exactly what he did. I no longer had my friend in school, and I felt responsible for the violence my father inflicted on hers. I never spoke to anyone about the sexual assaults committed against me as a child again. Not to anyone. It was a long, and horrific way to grow up. My clarity is not so good about the various assaults, and sexual abuse I endured anymore. I choose to numb the specific acts, and painful details. However, there are a few that are burned into my memory like a tattoo on my brain. There was one incident that nearly ended my childhood, and my life. I didn’t need to tell my parents. The police did. Today, I am convinced that the only thing that prevented me from a horrific torture, and death was divine intervention, and a little bit of good luck. I was actually abducted from my front yard by a man that, it was later revealed stalked me for two days as I played outside. I was 6 years old, and I willingly stepped into his car. Had it not been for my older brother playing flag football with his friends 3 houses away or the fact that he loved sports cars…and the Corvette the predator was driving, with me in the front seat, he would have never seen his little sister waving excitedly as the kidnapper sped past. The man asked me immediately who that was that I had waved to. I responded that it was my older brother, Jimmy. The man drove around until it was soon dark. Surely he was grappling with the thought of all the witnesses that had seen me driving away with him. Then he pulled over to the curb of a street that seemed very far from my house. He leaned over, pulled the door handle open, and told me to get out. Reflecting on that moment, and the innocence of a child’s mind, I can only remember being disappointed that I wasn’t going to get the “blow pop” candy the man had promised me, and how mad my mom was going to be that I stepped into a mud peddle with my new sandals. I walked briefly down the dark sidewalk until a policeman who had been looking for me scooped me up in his arms, and took me home. That was only time I ever saw my father cry in my whole life. The man got away. For a long while anyway. Then, watching one of the first episodes of “America’s Most Wanted” one day when I was 18 years old, my Aunt had noticed all the color drain from my face. It was him. the man that had kidnapped me. He was a fugitive from Canada who had been responsible for the torture, and deaths of two small children. He was much older, and heavier. But, it was him. I have no doubt in my mind. The shock of seeing him again on T.V. as he was led, handcuffed out of the back of a police car is not what led me to seek therapy. It was the fact that he had already tortured, and killed two children that really drove my near death experience all the way home for me. I experienced a fear I had never known, and soon guilt set in for the innocent victims whose life this monster had violated, perverted, and stole from them. How had I been spared, and why? I only went to see a therapist twice. It helped but, I just could not bring myself to discuss the details of the assaults I had experienced over the years? As time went by, and the years ticked on, I found myself developing a self-destructive hatred for myself, and the pedophiles that never seemed to get caught or face any consequences for violating, and raping me. If they were caught, nothing too serious was ever imposed on them. Certainly nothing as serious as the damage they caused me, and countless other children. There just didn’t seem to be serious consequences for their acts. I realized that across the board, by, and large society did not take serious the damage inflicted on a child victim. Just 10 years ago, rarely would you read or hear about a child predator facing serious consequences for their crimes against children. My self hatred had subsided a bit over the years but, really I just stuffed my pain deeper, and began to withdraw, and numb my bitterness, and pain which were a result of the unprosecuted crimes against me. I didn’t have a lot of confidence in our legal system, and I had even less confidence that child molestors really had to pay for their crimes.
Per the request of this Judge, I have removed his name, and any reference to him from this website
Obviously, it would be extremely time consuming, and not very practical to express my gratitude to every Judge out there that has been responsible enough to sentence child sex abusers to long enough sentences that virtually guarantees they will never be able to assault another child again. So, I began to research the ones that have. It is very healing, and very satisfying for me to publish my gratitude to them, and help inform the public at the same time. It is my opinion that the Judges listed on this site are among the best in our country for taking the crimes against a child very serious, and for keeping the world for the children as safe as they possibly can within their power. They are nothing less than Heros to me, and I will be forever grateful for their actions. I am only one victim that has grown up, and survived the assaults against me. If I feel so very strong about this, than surely there are thousands more survived victims that share my gratitude, and respect for these fighters against crimes inflicted on the young, and innocent. Thank you very much each, and everyone of you from the bottom of my heart…….for putting the innocent, young, and defenseless first.