The Calling

“You don’t have to tell me.” Mack said, without a hint of judgment. I can tell just by looking at you.

“You need to find your poker face, or develop one, because your facial expression and body language gives you away.” He encouraged, “Tell me what you feel comfortable with.”

I answered after a moment of introspection. I was puzzled by what might have given me away, but realized that I had never worked at hiding emotions, and in fact I believed I was a “thinking” person rather than a “feeling” one. I like research and analysis. People who cry excessively put me off. I never cry, or at least, rarely. I had participated in enough counseling to be fairly in touch with my inner emotional world yet I still valued thoughts much more than feelings. In fact, some people told me I needed to learn to STOP thinking at times.

“It isn’t so much that I was a victim,” I stated, my head tilting as I thought,
“It is what I’ve seen.” I can relate stories about my family, friends and neighbors. I’ve seen sex abuse from almost every angle, real to imagined to allegations that are downright vindictive and bogus. I have felt the pain of victims and offenders alike.”

Mack wondered aloud, “Where do you think your loyalties lie?”

“Actually, I believe my loyalty lies in getting to the truth.” I answered, “Is that too idealistic?”

Mack nodded, but then shook his head, and shrugged his shoulders with a wry grin, “Yeah, he said, it probably is idealistic. The truth can be told so many different ways, and sometimes you never know if you are really hearing the whole of it.”

“Most of my workers swing a little farther toward the perspective of the victim,” he continued in explanation. “I just don’t want to think you will take the side of the perpetrator over the victim since you’ve been dealing with offenders for the last three years.”

“I think I need to reassure you then,” I was quick to defend, “I will never justify sex abuse. I just want to make sure the investigation is accurate and thorough. I think it is just as big a crime to falsely accuse someone, as it is to allow real abuse to continue. Besides, I’ve also co-facilitated an adult survivor group for the same amount of time!”

“Good Answer,” Mack agreed, “But here’s the thing, when you are out there, it gets emotionally draining, and you will find yourself leaning one way of the other. The best thing to do is keep your mind as free as possible from assumptions. Never, ever let yourself think you have it figured out when you read it on paper, before you do the actual investigation! Treat each case as if you have never seen it before, but use every skill you’ve ever learned.”

“That sounds like good advice,” I was quick to add, mentally assuring myself that I would always work with that thought uppermost in my mind. I didn’t want to be naive or biased, or stupid. I wanted to be able to look someone in the eyes and know the truth, but suspected it wasn’t all that easy. I had a lot to learn but believed I had the skills to do it, and the heart to do the right thing, at least that is what I told myself, then.

“One more thing, Mack paused and whispered again, what is your hook? Everyone does this work for a personal reason. What is yours?”

I was a little confused by what he meant, but I looked in my heart and knew right away what my personal hook was. It welled up without bidding, taking me back almost 30 years.

“When I was 13, I walked in on my best friend as her grandfather was raping her.” My voice was flat, unemotional. “I can still see the video replay in my mind after all this time. She was crying.”

I paused for a moment and looked into Mack’s eyes to gage whether to go on or not. He had leaned forward; his eyes told me this was somehow important.

“When I entered the room, he got off her and pulled up his pants. I will never forget the smell in the room. Her legs were open. I could see her naked crotch. They were on the bottom bunk and he hit his head on the top and said some bad words I hadn’t heard before. I startled him but he didn’t really seem upset. He casually walked into the bathroom down the hall. I heard the water running in the sink. He came back with a slender piece of soap. He told my friend, Tina, to stop crying, that she would be fine. He said she was a woman now, and then he put the soap up her….you know….her vagina. I didn’t know that word back then. She started moaning and pulling away. He told her to stop it and said the soap would make sure she didn’t get pregnant. I watched him turn and leave the room. We were alone in the house. The family had gone into town for accordion lessons. He did it while I was unloading old lettuce and vegetables he had brought for the pigs. He told me to throw everything from the trailer into the pigpen. Really, I had no idea he was doing that to Tina until I walked in to tell him I had finished.”

Tears stung my eyes unexpectedly. I took a deep breath, paused, and gained control. I did not let any tears fall. I sucked them back.

“That night I held her as we slept in the same bed. She sobbed and begged me not to tell and I never did, well at least until I was about 35. That’s when I told my mom. She was shocked to know I was involved and told me the rest of the story. You see, after that weekend my family moved to another state and I never saw Tina again. I have always wondered what happened to her. My mother said that Tina’s grandfather got another granddaughter pregnant about 2 years later. He was prosecuted and went to jail for a couple of years.“

Mack allowed silence to stretch out into minutes as I sat there, emotionally undone.

“I feel guilty that I didn’t say anything. I did nothing to stop that man. She wasn’t the only one either. He touched all of us. What he did to me was minor compared to what he did to Tina. She knew he would do this to her eventually. I wasn’t as aware, maybe because I only went to her house occasionally. She had to deal with him daily. Now I realize why she begged me not to let anyone know that she had started her period. I never understood it then. She told me he would do it to her when she got her period and she tried to hide it for a long time. I wish I could have done something. He had to have touched dozens of kids. He had about 15 granddaughters. My mother told me he had sex with all the girls. He had 5 sons and most of them hated him when they found out what he had done. Tina’s family was so devastated they moved to another state. I wonder about her. I feel sick sometimes when I think about him. I can still see his smirky smile in my head. He was a big religious man, a deacon or something. I remember that he touched me on a Sunday while I was wearing my red birthday dress, after church got out. The picture will never be erased."

(Note to reader: I know this man’s religious affiliation and status of high rank, but won’t divulge it here in an effort to protect all religions. Sex abuse occurs in every religion and among people of every socio-economic level, race, and culture. I would never want to imply that one group is more affected than another!)

Mack waited in silence until I looked up. I felt tired, limp.
“Congratulations,” he said, holding out his hand to shake mine. He held my hand a few seconds longer and stated with some force, “I’m going to give you the power to put bastards like that in jail.” I was unconsciously holding my breath and I felt the air swoosh from my chest in an exhilarating sigh of relief.

I felt chills run up my body and for a moment I felt as if I was standing outside myself, watching. I distantly heard my voice say that I would do my best. He told me to show up for work the next day at 8 a.m., but I could only hear Tina’s voice in my head. She said, “Now, you can do something to help me. Make it STOP.”

That was the only time in my life I can truly say I received a call. The memory is still vivid. I have never doubted it. Tina’s voice has continually guided my work for more than 10 years. Today she tells me I haven’t finished her work so I keep going. I hope she knows that I think of her often.