"How long did this go on," Marlin questioned.

"The back washing went on for probably a year, until my grandparents came to visit from Michigan."

My grandmother Josephine was busy at the counter, getting the final things together for dinner. The tea simmered in a pan on the stove, and the deep well emitted wafts of spicy steam into the room. It would be a home made chili and corn bread night. Tangy apple crisp sat on the cooling rack, ready for the home whipped cream. My mother worked along side of her mother, and they chatted gossipy things, as always, working in harmony. My grandfather John was in the living room purring over the evening newspaper. I was setting the table, and my sister was in our bedroom, when my mother called for her. She came reluctantly to the doorway of the kitchen.

"You father needs his back washed, go and take care of it."

My sister turned and headed towards the bathroom. My grandmother looked at my mother in stunned silence, and turned to me. "Could you get my stomach tablets from my valise in the bedroom for me?" she asked me.

"Sure, Grams!" I headed off to the bedroom in search of the tablets. I couldn't find them in the valise, so I checked the dresser top, but couldn't find them there either. Giving up, I headed back to the kitchen, and passed my sister as she was coming to our room. 

"And that's the end of that!" She exclaimed, throwing herself onto her bed. I looked at her, but all she would do was smirk, as she pulled out homework. Puzzled I headed back to the kitchen.

My grandmother was angry, I could see it in her posture, though she didn't say a word. My mother was not so much angry and upset, and her face was flushed red. Neither of them spoke.

"I'm sorry, Grams, but I couldn't find them."

"Oh!" She cried out, "I should have let you know. I found them here in the cupboard; they were here all the time. Thanks for looking, honey."

"No more back washing?" Marlin raised his eyebrows.

"Never again."

"What about the rest, the explicit touching and exploring?"

"Oh, that has never stopped."

"Even now?"

"Even now, and she knew... she knew it shouldn't be."

My mind drifted back to a day when we first came to live forever with the Dunkens. They lived two houses down from my grandparents, and the families were always back and forth with each other. My grandfather loved to treat me to baths in their kitchen sink. He would fill it was warm, sweet smelling bubbles and then wash me from head to toe, all of me. Every part of me. But he crooned to me and told me how lovely I was, and how he would always love me. This might have gone on forever, except that I asked my mother if I could head over to be with my Gramps. 

"You certainly love him," she smiled, "but I don't want you to be a nuisance."

"He asked me to come. He wants me to come every day so he can give me a bath."

"What?" Her face flushed. "You stay right here, I'll be right back. And no, you may not go have any more baths with your grandfather!"

With that she slammed out the door, with me on her heels. I didn't want her to be mad, or to get my grandfather in trouble. She was so angry she didn't even notice me, as she pounded up the steps and through the door, yelling for her father. My grandmother wasn't home; she never was during bath time. My mother didn't hold back! She tore into him, and he just smirked at her, and turned off his hearing aid. I quietly backed out of the house and ran home, where I buried myself in my pillow.

"How was your relationship with your grandfather after that?"

"I loved him, and always thought my mother was mean to him. Until the day in my early teens when I came home from school and discovered he had been going through my underwear drawer."

I was furious, and stormed into the living room, where my father and grandfather were chatting, each with a pipe and a beer. 

"How could you?" I ranted at my grand father, "You had no business in my underwear? It's private. How could you?" I was crying.

I looked at my father.  "He has no business in my underwear, Dad. Do something! He has been ransacking my underwear drawer."

My father and grandfather exchanged glances, and both of them smirked at each other. 

"Well," said my father "if he wants to go through your underwear, then he can. I can't see any harm in that," and looking at his father-in-law he asked, "is there?"

Then they both laughed, as I ran from the room.

"Did you speak to your mother about it?"

"No, I never did. By that time I knew more about living among creepy, crawly things. It was the day I stopped loving my grandfather."

"Did you ever get that love back for your grandfather?"

"No. In fact, I never saw him again after that trip. I just couldn't find a way to love him anymore."

"But not your father?"

"No, I never stopped loving my father. Remember? I fell in love with him the first time I saw him at five years old; he was the perfect daddy because he opened his arms to me and said 'Welcome home, sweetheart', and, silly me, I thought he meant it."

"And now?"

"And now I know better, but that doesn't make me stop loving and hoping."

"So how do you perceive this relationship, now, today?"

"It's killing me."

Psalm 3:7 NLT  "Arise, O LORD! Rescue me, my God! Slap all my enemies in the face! Shatter the teeth of the wicked!"

 

Psalm 7:1-2 NLT "...I come to you for protection, O LORD my God. Save me from my persecutors - rescue me! If you don't, they will maul me like a lion, tearing me to pieces.."

 

Isaiah 48:10-11 NLT  "I have refined you but not in the way silver is refined. Rather, I have refined you in the furnace of suffering. I will rescue you for my sake -- yes, for my own sake!"

 

The year I was an angel for Christmas was the year I got a doll for my birthday and Christmas. I was giddy with joy when I opened the box. She was one of those all rubber dolls that came out in the 1940's, with eyes that opened and closed. And she had a little bottle so you could give her water, with diapers that would get wet from the water. I couldn't wait to dive into the clothes in the suitcase and dress her. My hands were shaking so badly with excitement. Although she came with a suitcase full of clothes, I was only allowed to choose one outfit. The rest of the clothes were discarded. I chose a little white knit shirt, a fluffy pink baby jacket, diapers, and knit booties, and bonnet. Betty became my hands-on friend. I could talk to her about anything.


"Her name is Betty," I announced. I chose the name from the comic book Archie, and I loved Betty. However, my announcement met with a frown of disapproval from Mom Dunken. I was to learn years later that she had an on-going feud with her sister-in-law, Betty, and so resented the fact that I had given my doll that name. 


"What happened to her?" It was our next session in Marlin's office.


We were riding in the car, and I was holding Betty and crooning softly to her, in the back seat. Suddenly Dad Dunken laughs and pipes up loudly, as he is driving "What ya doing back there, Linda?"


"Singing to my baby." I quipped.


"Looks to me like you have her on the titty. Right? That's what's going on. You have her sucking your titty!"  He guffawed. Mom Dunken joined in. Sadly, they never let up on it, and they didn't care who was around. Every time I picked up the doll they would remark that I had her on my titty," until it reached a place where I just tucked her into a drawer and stopped playing with her.

"Were there always these sexual inuendos?"

"Yes, a lot. But not just that. Everyday there would be something new for them to mess with my mind."


Everyday, it was something. I would wake up in the morning thinking that things would go back to the first time I stayed with them. That those were the real Dunkens, not these people. It was so unexpected. I had trusted them, but now I began to move with genuine caution around them. These precautionary measures would resonate throughout my entire life, until I finally laid my father to rest when he was 91. My whole life with them was like a burn on my hand, unhealed and knowing it would get scraped and the pain would begin again, never healing.


Everyday, I would ask God why He was so mad at me.


"Here's what I want you to do," Marlin broke in. "I want you to go buy a doll, and tell me about the doll the next time you come in."


The next week I was sitting in front of Marlin with a grin on my face. 


"Did you get your doll?"

"Yes."

"A new doll?"

"No, I got one from Goodwill, that just needed a home so badly." 

Marlin laughed out loud. "I knew you wouldn't buy a new doll; I knew you would have to "adopt" a needy doll. I wrote it down. And I knew this because you have a great heart, and a lot of love, and you are nurturing."


I just stared at him for a minute trying to get a grasp on what he was saying, and suddenly I realized he was happy for me.

"Let's go back to that discussion, and pick up on the torment you were experiencing at the hands of your new parents."


The first time I realized Mom Dunken had something wrong with her, I was five years old I didn't know why, but she was mean. She fried up a bunch of parsnips in lard, and heaped a dinner plate for me, telling me they were good for me. Her neighbor lady dropped by about that time, and my mother whispered something to her while pointing at my plate, and they both sniggered.

The first bite of the parsnip sent fumes through my nose and ears; they were dreadful. And so sweet I could hardly get them down. My stomach was churning. I began to wolf them down just to get through them. When I was done, she asked me if I had liked them. I knew better than to tell the truth (little did I know it wouldn't matter which answer I gave, it would all come out the same.) My lips were quivering, but I answered, "yes".


"Oh, good!" she exclaimed. "Here, you can have the rest of them."  And she dumped the rest of them on my plate.


The two of them gleefully watched as I would swallow, wretch and struggle through. When I was finished, I asked if I could be excused, then left the table. I ran as fast as I could for the alley and some shrubs a ways down. There I vomited all of it. I have never eaten one, knowingly, since then.
"There were so many other other things," I sighed, looking at Marlin. "For example, I loved peanut butter on wheat toast for breakfast; therefore, it was forbidden for me to have it. A friend of my mother's came to see me when I was very ill, and brought me a gift of color books and crayons. I was thrilled! My mother took it away from me and gave it back to the lady, telling her I didn't get to have gifts, that I was lucky to have a decent home, and I didn't deserve gifts from people. The lady eyes welled with tears. She patted me and told me to get well, then left immediately. I got a slap for accepting the gift, as well as a lecture. I was six years old at the time. I never saw the lady again. And my parents always made me return gifts other people gave me."


Through the years it was always the same. If there were financial woes, she would tell me I was the cause of the. Without me in the house everything would be fine.
My mother would spank me, (she never spanked my sister), ordering me to cry. I refused. She would lift me by the hair and slam my head in the wall, telling me I was a "pain in the ass" and had done nothing but cause problems for the family. I didn't cry. Continually and repeatedly, she reminded me that I was trash, that I came from trash, and would never be anything but trash... then she would ask me to thank her for giving me a home and food, even though I didn't deserve it. I was adopted, after all. I was trash. I didn't cry.


I was always very modest. One evening they were having company. My mother brought out half dozen pairs of shoes with shoe polish. She set it on all newspaper. I had taken a bath, and she had me put on panties that were too big, and showed everything about me. Then she sent me to the shoes to polish them all - wearing just the panties. Every guest had to pass by me coming in. I can't explain how humiliated and mortified I was, even when they tried to make me feel at ease. They all saw; they all said nothing. I was ten years old when this happened. I didn't cry.


These are some examples. It was getting my mouth scrubbed with Fels Nafta when I said the word "darn"; they swore like sailors. If I tried to make friends, my mother would step in and accuse me of "suck holing" around other people. After awhile, I stopped trying. The day came when my mother "adopted" the young woman across the street from them. That's when my mother turned her back on me. She was sick of having me in her life. So I went my own way, and ended up eloping with Bill Carola (that's a story for another day). She was furious that I didn't get her permission and screamed at me, in front of others to get out of her house and never talk to her again. I was 22 years old. She didn't speak to me for more than two years, while I kept sending birthday, Christmas, mother's day and other gifts, cards and letters. She kept everything. Except the cards and letters. 


"And you didn't cry? Ever."


"No my mantra became "please them, please them... do what it takes to move through day without them seeing you. Please, please, please". I would repeat those words to myself throughout the day, every day.


"Did it work?"


I sighed. "No, of course not. When I was 14 I realized that all hopes of ever pleasing them were gone. Yet, you chain an elephant to a post, and it will walk in the circle you have planned for it. Take away the post, and it will still walk in that same circle."

I had been watching a program on our television, some old comedy show. The TV was new in our house, and I took delight in it. It was a late Sunday afternoon, and I was enjoying a day without recriminations, so it was twice as good. My father left the living room and I thought he went to the kitchen. He liked to make popcorn, and I hoped maybe he was going to do that. What I stumbled upon made my heart pound like it would come out of my chest. My father was telling my mother that he just couldn't stand to live with me anymore, that he couldn't stand me, that he never could, and they should never have adopted me in the first place. She was trying to calm him down. He only got angrier, and asked her why they couldn't have just taken Virginia, and left me. I was disgusting. He hated me. 


I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out. I was in the hallway, and stopped mid-stride. I wanted to scream and scream until I had no breath left. I was an honor roll "A" student. I was the one with the house cleaning jobs, the ironing jobs, the job at the soda fountain and the babysitting. I designed and sewed my own clothes, and won awards for it. I did whatever they asked, and didn't complain. I sang while I did it. I didn't cry! It was a hard lesson to learn: you can't do anything to make people love you or like you. They either do, or they don't. Even so, I held on to the sheerest thread of hope that at that very precise moment, my mother would rise to the occasion and stick up for me. Instead, she said, "I know, I know. But you need to lower your voice or she'll hear you."  To which he raged at her, "I don't care if she does hear me. I want her to. I don't want her in this house."


"What did you do after that?" Marlin wanted to know.


I ran away from home. Not far. I went to the police station and asked if there was somebody I could talk to, because I needed some help. They called my parents, and drove me back home. My mother came running and crying out the door, real tears running down her face, calling me her darling, baby girl. The policeman looked at me with scorn, and told my parents I was just a spoiled brat, and they needed to be taking a belt to me. He turned on his heel, got in the cruiser and left.


"Then what?"


"I told my mother not to touch me, that I had heard everything, and we all knew what liars they were. So they didn't need to play a game anymore, because the police were gone. And now I was forever trapped. She said it was too bad I had to hear it. Not too bad they said it, just that I had to hear it. I didn't cry."

The clock on the desk softly ticked.

"I learned later that my father lived in fear that I would "blab" to people. Funny thing is, it wasn't me. It was his beloved Virginia that did the blabbing - to anybody and everybody."

"What was he afraid to have said?"

"My father was arrested when I was nine. He was arrested for indecent exposure and spent 60 days in jail, plus three years probation. He also had to go to Portland to meet with a court appointed psychologist twice a month for a year. My folks used to get into horrific fights about it."

"Did it help him?"

I knew my smile was ironic. "Nothing changed in our house. He would come up to my mother in the kitchen, and slip his hands into her bra, or halter top, and give me what I called a "wolf" smile, eyes glittering. And he would pull and massage her breasts, like milking a cow. Next he would put his hands inside her panties and start messing around. He would smile so big then, and call her his "heifer" and he was going to "get some", and she was going to "love all that he had to give her". We could have a look at it if we wanted.


"He did that more than once?"


"He did it often. On a regular basis."


"And she allowed it?"


"She actually almost purred, she liked it so much."


Those times were so painful to me; I wanted to hit him. I wanted to hit her. How could they do this? How could they? She had me go in to wash his back in the bathtub every night. He would be sitting in very shallow water in the tub. And he would have a full-on erection when I went in. Virginia was required to do the same thing - they alternated nights. He would look up with those serpentine eyes, and that horrible smile. Then he would look back down at his erection, and touch it.


"Did you tell your mother?"

"Yes I did. She said 'nonsense', and told me not to be nasty. So I knew I would have to find my own way out. And I did."

I wouldn't look at him or his erection. I closed my eyes, held out my hand for the washcloth and strizzled it over his back. He complained that I wasn't scrubbing hard enough, so I rubbed the cloth lightly over his back one time, and told him it was done. After that, he told my mother that I didn't know how to wash a back properly, and they just sent my sister in.

"And the door was opened while this was going on, so you mother could see all this?"

"No. They told us to close the door."

Lamentations 3:7 NLT "He has walled me in, and I cannot escape. He has bound me in heavy chains."

Luke 21:36 NLT "Keep a constant watch. And pray that, if possible, you may escape these horrors and stand before the Son of Man."

 

Psalm 50:15 NLT

Trust me in your times of trouble, and I will rescue you, and you will give me glory."