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It's amazing how one e-mail, one posting on facebook or one phone call can bring back a flood of memories. When the Fanda report was first posted on facebook, I tried to ignore it. I glanced at it, but I knew that it was just opening the flood gates. Then the email message…will you share your story too? For me, the flood gates of memories came rushing back some years ago when my daughter reached the age that I was when I lived in Frank Parker’s dorm. See, up until that point, I stuffed it all in and wouldn’t talk about it. But then, I started having nightmares. My husband, who stays up later than I do, would come to bed and I would partially wake up, see a man in the doorway and begin to scream hysterically. Depression set in and I would sit in my room for hours every day crying. I remember listening to a song by Nicole C Mullens called, “Call on Jesus”. I would rock myself, cry and beg God to take the pain away. It finally got to the point where my husband and I knew that I needed counseling to help me deal with my past. You see, I didn’t go to counseling to help me remember, I went to help me deal with the pain of my memories. It was so strange afterwards to have my sister-in-law and best friend tell me, “we knew you had been abused, but we knew you weren’t ready to talk about it.” So, the signs were all there.
I lived in Frank’s dorm my second year at Via. I was in 6th grade and soon found myself in the position of having to fight for my protection and the protection of the younger girls. You see, I thought that it was my job to keep them safe from Frank. Little did I realize that it wasn’t my responsibility, but I took that on myself then and for many years later. I felt guilty that I wasn’t able to protect us. Aunt Joanne labeled me as a “bully” to Aunt Francis. I wonder, did she know that I was fighting against an even bigger bully?
Random instances come to mind. I remember the time Frank picked up one of the younger girls by her bottom to seat her on the back of his bike. I remember yelling at him and telling him that he was not to touch her there. I was banished to my room for that. Next, I remember the day the two younger girls barricaded themselves in their room behind a dresser. Frank was at their door, banging and yelling. I raced out of my room and jumped on his back and started to beat him. I knew what he would do to those girls once he got in that door. Well, he took his rage out on my. I will never forget the beating I got that day with his belt.
We weren’t allowed to go into anyone’s home. Frank would follow us everyone on his bike. The only escape that one of the girls and I had was climbing the tree at the corner of the property with our books. We would go there, hide and read for some escape and quiet. One day, she fell from the tree and landed on her back. I remember her crying and begging me to not tell Frank. She was so afraid of what he would do if he found out what we were doing. I remember going to the Ficek’s (sp?) house one day. She gave me a snack and I hid in there for a while. I remember watching Frank ride around, looking for me. When he finally figured out where I was, I remember him yelling at Mrs. Ficek for having me inside and not having me go home straight to the dorm to do my homework. I’ve wondered what she thought about that?
I remember dressing in my closet because we never knew when Frank might walk in. For many, many years, I slept with the covers over my head, even when I was sweltering hot, because I was so afraid of the dark. In fact, I didn’t stop doing that until I was married. Even then, it took me a while to know that I didn’t have to do that anymore. Frank wouldn’t be coming in that door at night.
My sister remembers my mom telling her that I has written a letter to them that so upset them that she decided to go alone to Via to “deal” with the situation because she was afraid of what my dad would do to Frank. To this day, I wonder what I wrote. I don’t remember. I must have snuck the letter out because Frank read all our letters and listened in to all our phone calls home on Sundays. Mom came. I remember her leaving to meet with Frank and the leadership at Via. I’ve always wondered what was said in that meeting. I guess I’ll never know. Mom says she doesn’t even remember the letter or going to Via. I do remember, that my mom left for home after that meeting and I felt deserted. So, it continued. Towards the very end, Frank became “nice”. He would allow us, “the graduating 6th graders” the privilege of staying up later and having extra snacks. We all knew what that was. It was his way of buying our silence. I guess, in some ways, it worked. For me, when my mom left and nothing changed, I gave up hope of Frank being stopped. I remember the rage and anger that I felt the day I saw the beating scars on the back of one of my friends. I remember she and her roommate held me down until I calmed down and she explained that I couldn’t do anything because if I did, her younger brother, who was still in Frank’s dorm, would be punished. So, he bought our silence with fear.
Oh the guilt and sorrow that hit when the final “abuse” came to light. I remember grieving and crying because I felt that I could have done “something” to stop Frank long before he got to all the other kids.
Yet, there is hope. Jesus can heal the broken hearted. He can cleanse fear. He can help us to forgive. I didn’t have it in my own power to forgive Frank or even the leadership that didn’t do anything to stop it for so many years. He had to do it through me. Though the memories are never erased, they don’t overshadow my life any longer. I’m not a victim. I’m a survivor. I’m thankful for the Father for the healing He has done in my life.
When I went through the counseling, I did write to New Tribes. I remember the relief I felt when they acknowledge that the story I shared, was the same story as many others shared. I didn’t feel so all alone.
Thanks for allowing me to share my story. My name is Ruth and I’m here to share and say that I understand and you are not alone.
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