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I like that Jerry. . .Dreamwords, I keep thinking of you being 11 . . .this was my most vulnerable year. I had just arrived in Brazil, and was very opposed to all these people telling me that I had to learn Portuguese. My rebellion only went as far as writing "We don't need no education" on the chalkboard wall, when the teacher went out of the room.
What a terrible age for transitions. My body changed overnight, and I had no clothes that fit. The boys I knew were turning into monsters. I was warned about men who leered. But they all leered.
It makes me quite nauseous, to think of little Lori getting beat. That's what I was so afraid of--my nightmare. Because the men in our community of Christian missionaries wore their authority so proudly. We would whisper about which parents hit the hardest. If it had happened to me, I wouldn't have had anyone to go to, to tell. We NEVER, EVER talked about the police as people to be trusted. We couldn't talk to people in other missions openly. I didn't know enough Portuguese to tell anyone outside of the circle, the island. We had no phone. Letters took two weeks. Complaining about the family would have been treated as a worse sin, so just wasn't done. Consequences were very high when it came to loyalty.
I can't stand the thought that it happened to you, Lori. But worse, I can't stand the thought that other people, other missionaries, mission agencies panel advisors, thought it wasn't bad enough.
When my dad would see a big snake across the road, where you don't see the head or the tail, he became almost gleeful. He would run over the snake with the truck, and the ends of it would pop up and thwack the sides. He would back up over the bump, and do it again and again, until the snake was quite flat, and certainly didn't move. Then he would get out and look at it proudly.
Are you proud, NTM?
The snake has returned, is still beautiful and lovely, and we love her.
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