Member-only story
I know a child molester. In fact, I know several of them. They still come over for social gatherings and I still see them there with their wives and their children. I see them sitting at the table, eating food I helped prepare, drinking beer my family bought.
Oh, and you know them too. They are cousins, brothers, uncles, fathers — and yes, sometimes, they’re women too. They sit next to you, chat with you, shake your hand. They even hug your kids.
I feel rage burn in my chest as I watch them laugh, and I know that there is next to nothing that I can do to out them. Have I tried? Have others tried? Yes, of course, but we’re told “it’s in the past, let it go.” We’re told “why do you want to make trouble?” We’re told “get over it.”
These words, from our mothers, fathers, and brothers. Being four and having your uncle touch you inappropriately is something to just “get over”. Being thirteen and having your cousin constantly grab your breasts is “no big deal”. Feeling scared and ashamed because some cousin locked the door, pushed you onto a bed and tried to get his hand up your skirt is just something “in the past.”
I want to grab that plate of food he’s stuffing his face with and throw it against a wall. I want to scream what he did to me and to the other girls in our family, but I don’t. I can’t…
