When I grew up, in the 1960’s, no one ever talked about what went on behind closed doors. I was adopted by my grandparents when I was three years old and resided with them until I was fifteen. I developed early and this did not go unnoticed by both my grandfather and uncle. From the time that I was twelve, until I had left home at fifteen, I had been molested continually, each unbeknownst to the other, for over three years. During that time I was also approached by two trusted neighbors for sexual favors. Although nothing transpired from those inquiries, those encounters still linger strong in my mind. This may be the reason that I am not the neighborly type. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with neighbors, but I don’t go over and share morning coffee; if that makes sense.

I left home at fifteen and put my life on a downward spiral that would take me years to recover from. Drug abuse, three children by the age of twenty and a journey that would take me across the country and back. However, during that journey back, I encountered a psycho truck-driver and endured a twenty-four hour ordeal that would culminate in the man being caught and put behind bars. This man would later commit suicide while in prison.

Throughout it all I would say to myself, “no one will have control over my life and my feelings”; and I proceeded to limp through my life in denial. That is, until eight years later, when I would find out that my ten year old daughter had been consistently molested for over two years, by a man that I was going to marry. What a mess. It was becoming quite clear to me that what I had fought for so long had reared its’ ugly head again. I realized that I had been in a state of denial. By not dealing with it, I felt, I had allowed it to happen to my child. I was reeling. Can this really be happening, again? The sins of the fathers, the progression of the sin. So I fought for my daughter, with the reasoning in mind that this was the right thing to do. Fight for justice. Throughout the year long court ordeal, we persevered, sending the pedophile to prison for five years. Justice served.

What would happen next would send our family into another tail-spin. Nine months after sending the first offender to prison, we discover that the grandfatherly gentleman across the street, within days of the conviction of the first molester, had started molesting the same daughter. It was heart-wrenching when we called the man’s son and sat down to let him know what was happening and what we were going to do next. Again, we went through the legal process to find justice and again, justice was served by the imposition of a year in the county jail. You would think this would be the end of it, right? You would be wrong.

When our daughter turned fifteen, we had moved into the city. Trying to put the last couple of years behind us and move on with our lives, we were again slammed to the ground with the fact that our daughter, again, had been raped. By this time we were becoming quite familiar with the judicial system and the crime of sexual abuse. Way too familiar for anyone’s’ comfort. Again, another year in the county jail sentence.

By this time our daughter’s life was going out of control, and try as we may, we could not harness her. To this day her life is out of control and only God will be able to save her now. It is now twenty years later, since the first incident and I have learned a lot over these horrific years. I have learned that there is no such thing as justice, for the victims of child molestation. Whether you choose to ignore it and not seek justice, or you decide to take the bull by the horns and fight this insidious monster, you nor your child will win.

Here is the stark reality that I have come to terms with. Whether you receive mans’ justice or not, the effects of those early childhood perversions leave a permanent scar. Some people are strong enough to work their way through it, but there are always residual effects. Some are not strong enough and they face a life of screwed up decisions and self-destructive behavior. The offenders spend a couple of years behind bars; the victims spend a lifetime in hell. The offender serves his time and returns to his or her life; the victim doesn’t have a life to return to, because this will always be a defining factor in their existence. Even for those of us with strong wills and strong minds are affected, be it by withdrawing sexually or unconsciously making decisions that are not always conducive to the betterment of their lives.

Although Mr. Sandusky has not been convicted, the reality is that this has happened. It is terrifying that we can’t trust the grandfatherly gentleman next door, who does charity work, all in the guise to be a mentor to children; when in reality his is a monster, looking for easy access to our kids. It’s unnerving that it has been happening forever. Forty years ago it was taboo to even talk about it. Now that we talk about it we find out that it is and has been occurring in alarming masses for years upon years. It has actually grown with the families throughout the generations. I found out years later that by the time our daughter had been violated, she represented the third generation of sexually abused victims within our family. What is sad is that we are only one family in a sea of millions.

I still believe that seeking justice and getting these monsters away from our children is the right thing to do. If I had to do it again I would. But don’t for one minute believe that it will all be better when the molester is in jail. You may have to deal with the perpetrators supporters, who will work hard to make you feel like you were the ones that committed the crime. You may have to deal with family members turning against you if the offender is related. You may have to watch as your child becomes someone you don’t know. You will send them to counseling and they may or may not respond. For those that don’t, you may find that they are cutting themselves, or putting themselves in “victimizing” situations; having the word “VICTIM” stamped firmly on their foreheads for all the offenders to see.

The reality to me in the Penn State story is that pedophiles don’t just appear. The reality to me is that this man has been doing this for many, many years and that we are going to find out that there are more victims out there than we know. You don’t become sixty and decide to become a pedophile. It’s a lifelong process that steadily becomes worse throughout the years, leaving the purity and innocence of the victims to rot on the vine for the rest of their lives.