Our family’s Journey of Survivor, Healing, and Triumphant over Childhood Sexual Abuse
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Only about 1% of our children are able to tell that someone hurt them sexually. Parents are concerned of the sexual offender’s register list, but many of these sexual predators are in our family. I want my story to change how we as parents handle the trauma of our children, who have been sexually abused. I want my story to help children break the silence that they are terrorized into keeping. I want them to be able to tell all. I want parents to let God heal them of the guilt and embarrassment of someone sexually abusing their child, while they are helping the Police and DA prosecute these offenders. Our children need our help to be able to tell about their trauma and who did it. In addition, the law enforcement needs our help. I have designed an Angel Doll that holds a heart in her hands. The heart opens up and has the poem in it “Tell It All My Girl”. I want to design a Aslan lion with the poem on his back “Tell It All My Son” with permission of Chronicles Of Narnia. I want to join up with a group to distribute the Angel Doll and Aslan Lion to as many girls and boys who have been sexually abused as I can.
How could I have known that I came from a family of sexual predators? I had no indication, no indication that I needed to protect my children. How could I have known that I used my God given mechanism, to block out some horrific trauma as a child. I did not know that there was some reason underneath my little happy face that kept me scared to death. I did not know that I stuttered severely when I would try to talk, because of some frightened trauma. I want more than ever, for the world to know what happened. That my mom would not, could not believe it. I want my story heard, so other mothers will not make the same mistake that my mother did. My mother is in Heaven looking down on all of us right now. She would wish that every mother could have heard her wailing cry that day, after the police left. It was heart-wrenching for me to hear. If others could hear that cry, they would know how devastated my mom was because she did not believe when her children were little and the same thing happened later to her grandchildren. The police had just written a report up, charging her son, of the child molestation of her grandson and granddaughter, who were my children. I met Michael at Lithonia Lighting Company, where we both worked. It was love at first sight that day our eyes met. It was also bitter sweet because of the timing. When I was with him, I felt safe and protected and never had I felt more loved and wanted, than I did when we were together. Michael would cash my pay check every week and on the envelops, he would write a love verse to me. Next, he would watch me blush as I read it. We were married the following year, on September 24, 1982. Later came Morgan, who was born November 23, 1984. The year before he was born, Michael and I had just moved into our new doublewide trailer on 8 ½ acres that his mom had given to us. Two weeks after we moved in and we were very happy, someone came in and stole our rifles, camping tent and camp stove. This person used our own camping stove fuel and poured it into our master closet and down the hallway and then lit it. We both got a phone call at Lithonia Lighting Company. I had just gotten my job back after being laid off in 1983. (The year of big lay offs nationwide, the worst ever until now in 2009) We came home to our home blazing with flames and the fire trucks putting out what was left of our home. The fire Chief showed us where the marks of the fuel were still noticeable, traveling down what was left of the hallway and heading into the closet. The arsonist tossed the fuel can that he had used out the laundry room door. No evidence was left for the police to investigate, and no one was ever charged, must less convicted. Year after year flew by and before we knew it, it was 1995. Michaela had been born December 5, 1988. I know that a mom wants more than ever for her children to be safe. I know that any good mother would never leave her children with someone that would harm and inflict fear in them, but that was exactly what happened to my children. That year, right before Mother’s Day, began a nightmare that would never seem to end. On Mother’s Day, at church, I could not stop the tears that poured out, because of remembering when. Andrew brought Michaela back to me at the ball field, because she had t-ball practice that day. When she got out of Andrew’s car, she ran around and around my car, which was parked right beside Andrew’s car. She had this fearful outraged look on her face. Andrew came and sat against a tree, right behind home plate, watching her. Michaela played outfield and she was fearful and sucking her thumb that day. I knew that my little girl never sucked her thumb when she played ball. Therefore, when we were leaving the ball field in my car, I asked my little girl why she was so upset. Michaela said Andrew made her play doctor, but she didn’t say anything else. Her brother, Morgan was in the back seat and he said to Michaela, you have to tell her what Andrew did. However, it did not matter, Michaela would not talk. I did not know how to tell my husband, because I feared he would kill my brother. Therefore, the next evening, two men from our church sat down with my dad, my mom, my husband and myself. I then explained to Michael, what happened. We talked about calling the Sheriff’s office and my dad said no; let us handle this within our family. I was advised to call the child abuse hotline. I was advised to take my children to the hospital to be examined. Therefore, Michael and I took our children to Egleston Children’s Hospital and they were examined. Someone said to me, if my little girl reported the abuse to a teacher and it was found out that we did nothing, then my children might be taken away from us. I called the Gwinnet County Sheriff Department the next day. I handled this nightmare because my mom supported me when I called the police and she believed that her grandchildren were telling the truth. In Chapter 2, I write the poem “Tell It All My Son” where the name of the book came from. This is the poem that my husband wrote our son that year in 1995. Tell it all my Son. Tell the bad things he has done. Don’t be afraid of what others may think. To see you hurt makes my heart sink. So, my Son, I say unto you, be brave, be strong, I will always love you. You my son are not to blame. This came from someone who must be insane. So you must carry on and do what’s right. Tell all my Son, to Jesus tonight.
My book was written out of the experience in the recovery of childhood sexual abuse. I have lived the life of a child who was sexually abused and the life of a parent of my children, who was sexually abused. I want my son to know that you can still make something of yourself despite childhood sexual abuse.
I only read the excerpt but it is very intriguing. The story needs to be told. My heart goes out to all the children that can't tell it all. God bless you and your book sales.
Author Daphne Hampton

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