The Reckoning

The Reckoning

Cami Woods

ISBN 978-1-68517-836-9 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68517-837-6 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Cami Woods

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

For the sake of transparency, names have been changed in this story to protect the innocent.

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Part 1

Chapter 4

Part 2

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

About the Author

Acknowledgments

To the only Father I need, God Almighty, and my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, please accept my heartfelt gratitude for your magnificent love and sacrifice in my life and for refusing to give up on me when there was no reason not to. I love you with all I am. Thank you for your steadfast love and the value you placed on me when no one else would.

To my son, to whom I owe everything, thank you for believing in me and in this book. Thank you for refusing to let me give up and for your precious love in my life. Your faith in the Lord is inspiring. I love you, son.

To my daughter who stood by me when it wasn't always popular to do so. I thank you for your precious love in my life. I love you.

Chapter 1

When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.

—Psalm 27:10 (KJV)

God is faithful. I cannot tell you how many times our Holy Father has proven this in my life, even when I wasn't aware of Him. Through the heart-shattering, gut-wrenching trials and tribulations I've had to face, God was there, just as He said He would be. I may not have walked through those hardships perfectly or even well at times, but I did not walk alone. For me, I would rather walk-through life with God then to face life without Him. Jesus had a cross to bear; we have one too. Life is our cross. It can be hard to handle at times and seem impossible to handle at other times. Jesus Christ carried His cross alone, then died to ensure that those who accept Him would never carry theirs alone. Jesus knows exactly what we face and what we feel in life and how trying it can be. Instead of condemning, He saves. The story I tell, I tell to share my testimony and how God cared for me and to glorify His Holy Name, not to get sympathy or pity for my hard life. I'm not a victim. Through Jesus Christ, I'm a victor, and I love Him with all my heart. My name is Cami Woods, and this is my story.

I was born in the fall of 1960 in a small southern California town. From the moment of my birth, my father doubted my paternity. I never understood what made him doubt my mother at that time. My father was a very handsome man. He stood slightly over six feet tall with dark-brown hair and piercing blue eyes. My father's family was from New York. My mother was a beautiful woman with dark-brown hair and big brown eyes. Her family was from Alabama. My mother often received untoward attention from admirers. I'm sure my father had to deal with that as well. Regardless, this situation would prove trying on my parents' relationship and may have been one reason for my father's doubt.

My parents had a traveling spirit. They started their life in New York where my mother gave birth to my oldest sibling, Jared, in the winter of 1956. From there, they moved to Washington State where my mother gave birth to my second-oldest sibling, Daniel, in the winter of 1958. After my birth, life for my parents changed dramatically. Once my father questioned my mother concerning my paternity, he seemed determined to be rid of us. Over the next year and a half, he carefully considered what he might do. In the end, he went to desperate lengths to accomplish this task, especially after my mother informed him that once again, she was pregnant.

At some point in the spring of 1962, my father came in and informed my mother that we had been invited to a barbecue at some friend's house. My mother was more than happy to attend, perhaps hoping that this occasion would be just what they needed to relieve some tension.

On the day of the barbecue, my father gathered us all in the car, told my mother he forgot something in the house, and ran back inside. A few moments later, he returned to the car, and we left. While we were gone, our house burned to the ground. It was a total loss, a very devastating loss. Afterward, my father talked my mother into returning home to her parents in Alabama while he settled matters with the insurance company. Then he would come get us, and we would return to his parents' home in New York. My mother reluctantly agreed. My father put my pregnant mother on a train alone with three small children and sent her home to her parents. Jared was six years old, Daniel was four years old, and I was seventeen months old. We never saw our father again.

My mother called my father often to inquire when matters might be settled and how long it would be before he would return for us, but my father always had a reason why things were moving slowly. Eventually, my father vanished completely. After weeks or months of trying to reach my father, my mother had to face the painful reality that my father had abandoned us. That my father had abandoned her. My mother was devastated. She loved my father very much.

Once the shock wore off, my mother became quite determined to exact justice on my father. After the birth of my sister, Joy, later that spring and after settling into the housing projects, my mother hired a friend of my grandfather's named Greg Perkins, who happened to be a judge. Together they set out to find my father. For years, my mother looked for my father without success. Refusing to give up, she doggedly continued hunting him with Mr. Perkins's help. Life for my father wouldn't be a peaceful one as he may have hoped. It would prove not to be a peaceful one for any of us as well. My father's heartless actions left us very poor. Life in the projects was horrible. Jared and Daniel constantly fell victim to Butch, the neighborhood bully. Every time Butch caught my brothers outside, he would beat them up. This was frightening to me. I was always with them during these encounters. Each time, I would run home as fast as I could to get my mother, but by the time we returned to them, Jared and Daniel would be bleeding terribly.

There were a lot of things about the projects that made life seem negative. The transformers on the power poles would explode at times, making a tremendous noise and showering down sparks to the street below. Every day just before sundown, you could hear dogs making a horrible noise like they do when running in packs. My mother would tell us to hurry inside so the dogs wouldn't get us. This created a terror in my mind. Some of the older men in the projects used to grab my sister and I as we walked by and rub their stubble over our faces. This would leave our sensitive skin very irritated. They held us tightly so we couldn't get away as they laughed at our torment. We would scream out in pain, but they wouldn't stop. The apartments in the projects had no central heating and air, so we had to raise the windows in the summer to stay cool. This left my sister and I vulnerable. There were times at night we would be awakened by someone at the window. I became so frightened by the thought of being killed, I would surround myself with stuffed animals as I lay in bed. That way, if anyone got in, they would get one of them instead of me and maybe I could get away. I was too young to be worried about things like that, but that was our lives. There seemed to be a lot of danger around us back then.

As time went on, my mother became embittered. Her patience became short, and her attitude became harsh. I found myself on the losing end with her more and more. This was confusing to me as a child. I couldn't understand her feelings toward me. All I did was irritate her. Children analyze things the only way they can; for me, this was all I knew. At times I didn't feel like I belonged anywhere. This was the beginning of a very chaotic and confusing period in our lives.

Chapter 2

And whosoever shall offend one of these little ones that believe in me, it is better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were cast into the sea.

—Mark 9:42 (KJV)

My brothers got into a lot of mischief at times as boys do. Without a man around to teach them the way they should go, my mother found them to be more than she could handle. My mother found life with four small children to be more than she could handle period. Being at her wit's end and with limited resources as a stressor as well, my mother made the painful decision to send my brothers to an orphanage in south Alabama in 1964. This was a decision she would come to regret later. No one sat us down and explained to us what was happening. My brothers were literally there one day and gone the next. Because of the lack of explanation, I was devastated and confused by this. I loved my brothers; they were supposed to be with us, and now they were gone. Why? As time went on, I became withdrawn. I kept looking for them to come back, but they didn't.

After my brothers left, my mother became even more angry and resentful. I continued to receive the brunt of my mother's anger often. It never took much to make her go off on me. She lashed out at me with such fury at times, hitting me wildly. It didn't seem to matter to her where her hands contacted my body. Her behavior toward me had a very devastating effect. My heart was torn. I loved my mother, but she seemed to hate me. I couldn't understand why or what I had done to cause this. My little sister, on the other hand, was my mother's heart. She could do no wrong. Mother loved my sister very much. Joy was everything to my mother and looked just like her. I watched my mother's relationship with Joy and wished I had that relationship with her as well. I wasn't jealous of Joy. I just wished mother could have loved me too.

They played and laughed together every night. As long as Mother was playing with Joy, she wasn't hitting on me. I feel like my sister was the only thing that kept my mother sane at this point in our lives. And even though I was on the outside looking in, I can honestly say I'm glad my mother had my sister then. I used to pray to God and ask Him to please bring my father back. I felt that if my father would just come back, my mother would be happy again. But this wasn't meant to be.

My mother made friends with a man in the orphanage that would, at times, bring Jared and Daniel home to see us. It was always an exciting time and one of those rare occasions my mother seemed to come to life. On one occasion, when they were to come home, my mother asked me if I wanted to help her prepare for their arrival. She didn't have to ask twice. I loved the times Jared and Daniel came home. I couldn't believe my mother wanted to do anything with me. I was so excited! My mother asked me to open the boys' bedroom so it could air out and help make the beds. Their room stayed closed when they weren't there. No one was allowed to go in, ever. After my mother made her request, I didn't hesitate to help. I went into the room, opened the window, got some sheets, and started making up the bed as well as a small child can. Suddenly, my mother was behind me grabbing me off the bed, yelling at me hatefully and, once again, hitting me violently. I couldn't believe it. All I could do was take it until she was finished. It hurt so bad physically, but it was worse emotionally. When I finally got away, I ran to my room, jumped on my bed, and cried myself to sleep.

After some time, my mother came in, sat on my bed, and tried in her own way to apologize. I wasn't hearing anything she was saying. I simply didn't care after that. Then she asked me if I wanted to continue helping her. Without saying a word, and with no excitement in me, I got up and simply did as she commanded. When I finished, I excused myself and went back to bed. After this episode, I no longer trusted in what appeared to be my mother's happiness. I no longer trusted my mother. All I knew was that she hated me and would hurt me. My mother was verbally abusive as well. On one occasion when I didn't use soap while bathing, she told me she hoped worms would eat me in the night. Yes, there were a lot of negative things about the projects, but my family wasn't supposed to be one of them.

When I was about five years old, another type of abuse started taking place. Whenever the boys came home, Jared would come into my room at night when he was supposed to be bathing and tell me to come to the bathroom. Not understanding why, I went. He would tell me to remove my underthings and lie on the floor. Because he was older than me, and because I didn't want to get in to trouble for not doing as told, I did as he said. Then he would crawl on top of me. At times I didn't think he would ever let me up. I didn't understand what he was doing, but I felt that something wasn't right about it. I was afraid my mother would get angry, so I didn't tell her. I didn't like what was happening to me. Feeling powerless to stop it and with no one to help, I kept the secret.

At one point in time, it was believed that children should be seen not heard. The adults in my family seemed to live by this belief. What a tragedy. If only we put more value on our most precious asset, our children. Imagine the damage we could spare them. If only we understood that the way we treat our children in their youths determines the attitudes of the leaders that will be making decisions for us when we are old. How can children grow to be compassionate individuals if they are never shown compassion? And so, the world grows colder.

I was one of the lucky ones that got to start school a year later because of the way my birthday landed in the year. I was awkward in school. I was very timid and shy, very much within myself. I was so afraid of being rejected by the other kids that I didn't try to make friends.

The Lord blessed me with a wonderful kindergarten teacher. Her name was Mrs. Smith. She was a younger teacher. She was fun and witty and made learning interesting. She paid a lot of attention to me. It was almost as if she knew that I was in a negative situation at home. She really pulled me out of a shell, at least temporarily. She showed me a lot of love as well, so I couldn't wait to go to school every day.

Somewhere in the fall of 1966, I became very ill. I remember going to school and day care one day and playing with the neighborhood kids when we got home. When our mother called us in for the night, I felt bad. The next morning, I was sick. I was able to eat breakfast but had to sit in the dark to do so. I had a horrible headache. As the day went on, I became worse. My mother didn't have insurance for us most of our childhood so we couldn't run to the doctor at every whim. Because this illness mocked a cold, I wasn't taken to the doctor. The longer I went without medical attention, the worse I became. I started vomiting, I had a high fever, and eventually, I couldn't care for myself. I became lethargic and couldn't eat or drink anything. The little bit I was voiding, I was doing so on myself. I wasn't getting better; I was getting worse. My grandmother stepped in to help my mother and noticed how bad I was getting. She warned my mother that she needed to get me to the doctor.

My mother relented and called the doctor. He told her to bring me in. I'm not sure how the situation progressed from this point or of the time period; all I know is my mother received a call in the night from the doctor casually requesting that she bring me to the hospital. He informed her that there was a test he could perform that may help him figure out what was wrong with me. He told her there was no need to rush but to bring me in right then.

I remember my grandparents coming to get my sister while my mother frantically grabbed me up, wrapped me in a blanket, laid me in the back seat of the car, and rushed me to the hospital. I remember watching the lights flashing by the window as we hurried down the street. When we arrived at the hospital, my mother picked me up and ran to the emergency entrance of the hospital, where a man in scrubs and a mask took me from her and ran into this strange-looking room. It was so cold and white. He laid me on a table on my left side. Cartoons were playing on the television, but I couldn't have cared less at that point. I couldn't even hold my head up.

The doctor performed a spinal tap on me that I couldn't even feel. The doctor knew the answer to my condition as soon as the yellow liquid drained from my spine. I had bacterial meningitis, a very serious and contagious condition. I was started on antibiotics immediately and put in strict isolation. The doctor tried to assure my mother that even though I had this illness so long before treatment, I was in good condition. The prognosis was positive, but there was a greater concern looming. I had been everywhere in the days leading up to this: to school, to day care, to play outside once home. I had been around a large amount of people, all of which had been exposed to this illness. My grandparents set up a way to get medicine to everyone I had come in contact with through a local apothecary. During my stay in the hospital, I was afraid. I was constantly being poked and prodded on and given shots at first, then being made to swallow this medicine or that medicine later. Most of the time, I was alone. My mother did stay with me a few times in the beginning but soon stopped. The hospital is a scary place for a small child. I couldn't have visitors because of the isolation. I couldn't see my little sister at all. My grandmother came to visit when she could, but she couldn't stay with me at night. Nothing could leave my room. At that time, I was told everything had to be burned. Even though I recovered from this illness, the doctors informed my mother that I wouldn't be unscarred from it. They felt sure that I would have some sort of defect, whether in hearing, vision, or in motor ability. Fourteen days after being admitted, I walked out of that hospital under my own ability with no sign of defect whatsoever. I believe with all I am inside that God's hand was over me. That He was my healer and to God I give all the glory.

Soon after being released from the hospital, I became sick again. This time, it really was a cold, but it scared everyone. After this, I began staying with my grandmother a lot. I don't know why, but I was with my grandmother more than I was at my own home. I couldn't understand it. Once again, no explanation was given. It just was, no choice. My grandmother took good care of me. After staying with her for some time, I bonded with her more than I ever had with my own mother. I went home at times and other times I stayed with my mother's sister, Shari, but mostly I stayed with my grandmother. After a while, all I wanted to do was stay with my grandmother. I loved her with all my heart. Whatever faith I have in God Almighty and in Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior, I have because of my grandmother. She was a good woman and made sure if the church doors were open, we were there. Soon church became a very positive place for me. I loved going. I felt love and acceptance there. I felt like I found a home, a place I belonged.

The children attended the nursery while the adults attended the sermon. We used to have these wonderful dinners at the church at times that the elder women prepared. The table was always full of the best-tasting, most wonderful food. This was very different from what I was used to. All the elders cared for all the children. It didn't matter who you belonged to. If you needed something or your face and hands were dirty and needed washing before dinner, someone was there to tend to you. They would sit us down at the table where everyone sat, not just the adults, and they would serve us first. Then the adults would fix their plates and sit with us to eat. Everyone was together. The impression this left on me has remained with me all these years. I will always be grateful to my grandmother for making sure I knew about God. It has been the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.

My mother's sister Shari was less than loving toward me as a child. But her husband, Samuel, was very loving to me, and I loved him as well. Actually, I was crazy about this man. He seemed to know that I needed someone to be kind to me at that time in our lives, and he was. I used to beg him to take me home with him. I wanted to be his little girl. I used to watch the fathers come pick up their little girls from the day care and wish I had a father to come pick me up. Uncle Samuel was a perfect father in my eyes. But it wasn't meant to be.

Time went on. By the spring of 1970, my mother was able to get a house. I was nine years old then. I thought sure this must be the rich side of town. It was very different from the projects. The house was marvelously huge, with five bedrooms, so we each had our own room. All the houses in the neighborhood were big and wonderful and to me, fancy. I couldn't believe it. Then mother told us the good news. The boys were finally coming home! This was too good to be true. I remember our trip down south to get them at the end of the school year. I remember walking in the building where they were staying and helping them pack their belongings. I remember their homecoming. We were all on cloud nine. It felt wonderful to have Jared and Daniel home with us. They seemed to be happy and relieved as well. I didn't stay with my grandmother anymore after this point in time. It didn't seem to take long for the boys to settle in. I had a hard time adjusting to the house though. It was so much bigger than we had ever experienced. It was scary to me at night. My sister and I had shared a room as long as I could remember; now I was alone. Joy seemed to adjust just fine, but then, she was right across the hall, a very short hall, from our mother. I would lie in bed at night and wait until I thought everyone was asleep. Then I would sneak to my sister's room and get in the bed with her. After a while, my mother firmly insisted I stay in my own room at night.

There were a lot of kids our own age in the neighborhood. It took a while to get used to them. I sat back and watched them, probably trying to figure out if there was a Butch anywhere around. This time, things were going to be different for us, for my brothers. And different it was.

Chapter 3

For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, fear not, I am the one who helps you.

—Isaiah 41:13 (KJV)

After a while, Jared and Mother started arguing, a lot. It didn't take much for them to get angry with one another. They couldn't get along. Jared seemed to know which buttons to push to make mother furious. Mother would revert to her usual behavior, screaming and yelling. I thought sure she was going to start hitting him like she used to hit me, but with Jared, it was different. She wasn't so quick to raise a hand to him. That surprised me. He was about fourteen years old at the time and was a fair size. I'm sure that was the deterrent that saved him from experiencing what I experienced at her hand. One evening at dinner, as Jared, Daniel, Joy, and I were seating ourselves at the table, Jared said something to mother she didn't like as she started to put a pot back on the stove after fixing our plates. She snapped back at him, then he at her again. The next thing I knew, she threw that pot across the room at him, narrowly missing his head. Everyone froze, stunned by mother's actions. I knew better than to say anything. I just sat there. Jared left the room and wouldn't come back. The rest of us ate, then excused ourselves as well.

After this instance, Jared shut down emotionally. The relationship between Jared and Mother soon smoothed over but remained strained, to say the least. Jared was coming into his own, and Mother was trying to make up for the time she missed with him. Jared wasn't having this. He grew increasingly distant toward mother. Soon he turned away from Daniel, Joy, and I as well. I couldn't stand to see this happening. The problems Mother was trying to escape by sending them away, she now had to face. But the guys were older now with deep-seated resentments. Mother was no match for the fury that raged in their souls.

In the fall of 1971, while preparing for the new school year, Mother discovered our house was one block outside the local school zone. We were supposed to go to a school that was miles away. This was going to put a real hardship on Mother, so she rented a house one block over to make it appear as though we were in the proper zone. We didn't actually move into the rented house. The house had two stories; we had never seen anything like that before. Joy and I couldn't wait to play in the house, but the boys treated it like it was their own personal getaway. They had a ball. Eventually, Mother told Joy and I to stay out of the house.

One day in March of 1972, as I was walking toward our house from playing with my friends, Joy came out on the porch and started yelling for me to hurry. She stated, Your grandmother just died. Alarmed, I began running to the house with all my might. I was so scared. When I got there, Joy handed me the phone. I said hello and found my grandmother on the other end telling me that Uncle Samuel's mother, Mrs. Davis, had passed away. We talked for a few minutes. I hung up the phone, confused by the call. I couldn't understand why my grandmother called me about this. I didn't even know this woman. I angrily confronted Joy about why she had told me grandmother died. She was as confused as I was. She stated that she had told me what she was told, then stormed off. Mad as a hornet, I stormed off in the opposite direction.

A couple of days later, my mother called me in, told me to get ready to go to Mrs. Davis' funeral, and that Uncle Samuel would be there soon to pick me up. I was shocked, protesting vehemently as I refused to go. My mother demanded I obey and ready myself. I continued my protest, demanding to know why I had to go when no one else was going. It made no sense to me. I loved Uncle Samuel, but I had nothing to do with his mother. Now angry, Mother again demanded I obey. I reluctantly relented. I met Mrs. Davis one time when Uncle Samuel saw Joy and I walking down the street and picked us up. He then drove to his mother's house.

Once inside, Uncle Samuel called out to his mother, then pointed to a chair and told Joy to sit down as his mother came out of the kitchen drying her hands on a towel. He then stood behind me, put one hand on each of my shoulders, and gently pushed me forward as he introduced me to her. Uncle Samuel seemed happy as he smiled at his mother. I nervously smiled as I said hello, but Mrs. Davis looked at me angrily. Then without saying a word, she turned and went back into the kitchen. Uncle Samuel told me to have a seat, then went into the kitchen after his mother. It made me feel weird. Why did she seem angry with me? Without understanding it, I felt that I let Uncle Samuel down somehow.

A little while later, he came out with his head slightly down and said, Let's go, as he quickly headed to the front door, not waiting on Joy and me. We jumped up as fast as we could and followed him. Then we left. He seemed upset, but I didn't dare say a word. I felt like I was in trouble and that Uncle Samuel was mad at me as well. That was the only interaction I ever had with Uncle Samuel's mother. It confused me as completely as it could have, but I shrugged it off. Not once did I question this event or give it much thought. I figured if mother knew about this, I would be in trouble for sure, so I said nothing.

On the way to the funeral, I felt strangely out of place. The silence and tension in that car was thick. No one was saying a word. Aunt Shari kept looking at me sternly, which only added to my discomfort. My cousin sat there saddened by the events of the day and wouldn't look up at all. Once inside the funeral home, Uncle Samuel placed his son on one side of himself and I on the other side. With his arms around our shoulders, he walked us up to his mother's casket. Aunt Shari walked behind us. I couldn't help but wonder what this was all about. It was strange.

I could feel Aunt Shari's distaste with this situation, but she didn't dare say a word. When the funeral was over, they took me home. No one ever spoke of this again.

Mother enrolled the boys into the YMCA, and Joy and I into the Girls Club, hoping it would give us all something constructive to do. For a while, it worked. One morning in May of 1972, as each of us prepared to go to our prospective clubs, we found mother crying. Her eyes were already swollen so we knew she had been crying for some time. She wouldn't tell us what was wrong but informed us that she needed to talk to us as soon as we returned home for the day.

Once home that afternoon, Mother sat us all down in the living room and told us that our father had died of a heart attack in March. He was only forty years old. We were saddened to hear this news but unsure of how to respond. Jared was the only one of us that remembered him. Daniel and I couldn't remember him at all. We didn't even know him, and Joy hadn't been born yet at the time we left. His family never saw fit to be in our lives either. Later I cried because of all the times I had prayed and asked God to please bring our father back. There was a tremendous hole in my soul where a father should've been that nothing could fill. I wanted a father desperately when I was young. The pain in my heart by not having one was tremendous. The death of our father marked the end of the hope I had carried in my heart that one day he would return to us.

We wondered how Mother knew our father died. Who told her? The answer was hard to hear. It seemed that after our father sent us away, he married another woman without divorcing our mother first. When our father died, this woman tried to file a Social Security claim for her son but was not allowed because her son wasn't our father's biological child. Imagine her surprise when she found out her husband had a wife and four children elsewhere. And if that wasn't bad enough, to realize their marriage of nine years was for naught. I cannot imagine how hurt she must've been. No matter how indifferent the boys tried to act toward the news of our father's demise, his death devastated them. Their emotions came out in very negative ways. Each one dealt with pent-up anger in his own way. Jared continued to isolate himself from the rest of us, finding more and more interests we weren't a part of, and Daniel carried on like nothing was wrong, but he carried an anger inside of himself that almost ate him up. We were all trying to figure out how to be normal with no idea of what normal was. Our mother was unaware of the resentments brewing in the souls of her children against her. In our hearts and minds, no matter what happened, Mother was to blame, and we told her so often.

When the school year was over, Mother let the rented house go. Uncle Samuel was there to help us move the boy's things out. He had a small truck, so we had to make several trips back and forth to get everything. Uncle Samuel drank a lot of beer as we were working that day. Joy and I rode with him on each trip. He would sit Joy in his lap and let her steer the truck. We were all over the road, but Joy was having a blast. Night finally set in before we finished moving, but Uncle Samuel, now feeling good from the beer, talked Mother into finishing the move that night. Upon pulling up to the back door of our house on one load, Uncle Samuel sent Joy on into the house. As I opened the passenger door to get out, he grabbed my arm and told me to wait. I cautiously obeyed. When Joy was in the house, Uncle Samuel pulled me to him, holding me tightly. I was mortified. The next thing I knew, he was kissing me passionately; the smell and taste of beer mixed with cigarette smoke was sickening. He groped my body as well. I couldn't believe it. What was happening? The man I loved so and thought of as a father was now doing this horrible thing to me. What was I going to do? I couldn't tell my mother. I didn't dare. She would kill me. In our family, I would've been accused of lying about one of our most beloved and valued members. Aunt Shari already acted like she hated me although I didn't know why, and I felt my mother definitely did. I tried to tell mother that I didn't want to go on any more runs with them because I was tired, but she made me go anyway, with Uncle Samuel.

She couldn't see how nervous and tense I was. Every trip ended the same way. I was disgusted, purely disgusted. I felt so helpless and dirty. Anyone could do whatever they wanted to us, whenever they wanted, and no one was going to help. Jared joined the service about this time and was no longer around to watch after us. He left and never looked back.

We talked our mother into sending us to a private school for the 1972–73 school year that some of our friends were going to, assuring her that was all we needed to stay in school and do good. Mother agreed. I'm not sure how she was able to afford it, although she did get the Social Security benefits for us from our father's death. Once in this private school and feeling as though we didn't belong, Daniel began to act out a bit. My friend Steve was from a fine family, a big family. A family I looked at and wished we had. He was one of the friends that talked us into going to this school. Steve and I liked each other and started going steady. We were twelve at the time. He was beautiful. He had blond hair and big blue eyes. He was so handsome. I couldn't believe he liked me. We hung out every day and told each other secrets. He did sweet things for me like share his candy or leave me love notes. It was an innocent, sweet kind of love, and I remember it fondly. Through his actions, Steve placed value on me that I had never known before. It felt good.

Then Steve started changing. Soon he started doing things he never used to do. He teased me about my small chest size and how he had found a girlfriend who was bigger than me. When I asked his big sister Janie about this, she teased Steve about it. Steve became furious with me. He caught me outside one day, jumped off his bike, and hit me as hard as he could, knocking me to the ground. I couldn't believe it. He wasn't the same. My heart was broken. Because of his behavior, Steve and I broke up. Steve's sister Janie and I became friends. She used to invite me to spend the night with her. I liked Janie. She was very old-fashioned and sort of odd. She didn't make friends easily. I looked up to her, but some of the things she was into I wasn't interested in. Janie and Steve didn't get along. Steve was mean to Janie as well.

Janie came over once to see if I could come to her house for a while, but Daniel would only let me go if I kissed the bottom of his shoe. It was such a typical boy thing to do, but I hated being embarrassed in front of Janie. Steve was there too. Going