I was 13. He was 28. That was 31 years ago. He was my art teacher I have since affectionately nicknamed Shithead. Fast forward. I married at 23; had 3 extra marital affairs. Thought I could regain the control and shame and loss of innocence he had taken. I lived 2 separate lives. I loved my exhusband; still do. But I had to manipulate and control and flirt and be sexual and be out of control and be suicidal because that's what you do when you're fondled and lied to and told to not tell anyone; ever. Any you don't because you have no voice because you grew up in a home where real things weren't discussed and where you weren't really noticed unless you were on drugs or acting out like my sister and brother. So you get straight A's and graduate with honors and are a star athlete and you die a little more each day until yout think at the ripe old age of 18 that you're worthless and contemplate crossing the street in very fast and heavy traffic. But you don't because the voice inside stops you. You don't because the little girl you and your therapist name "Pissy" saves you time after time after time. She still does. He had no choice after the 3rd affair and he did the right thing to protect and save himself. He told me to leave our house. Divorced. I lost or gave up everything I owned. But the most important thing I lost was my dignity. It's taken 31 years to get that back and I work on it every single day.

​

I was 17 and he was old enough to have kids in their 20's. He was a teacher too and the chaperone for my high school ski club. He "won" me on a bet race to the bottom of the run and when he asked me to meet him at the end of the season I said okay because that's what you do; you comply. I lied to my parents that I was going to the library and he raped me in the front seat of his car. I said yes because I couldn't stand to hear myself say no and here him pleading any longer. I lost my virginity to a pedophile in the front seat of his car. We "met" a few times after that and aside from the pleading and crying, the same thing happened. I wrote him off I guess when I left for college. LIttle did I know the problems were just starting.

​

I was 23 and newly married and I wrote to the head of human resources at the school Shithead was teaching. I told them who I was and that I was under therapeutic care and I had no vendetta against the school system. I just wanted them to know they had a pedophile teaching and coaching girls track. He acknowledged knowing me but nothing else. I dropped the whole thing when the last conversation I had with the administrator went something like this when they told me they hadn't seen anything wrong: "if you think he's going to walk down the hall and whip his dick out, you're sadly mistaken." I lost my nerve; until now.

​

I'm 44 and going through a second divorce. Bad choice. I waited 12 years to remarry only to realize that despite my therapy and 12 step work and reading and writing and exploring, I still make lousy decisions when it comes to men. I do great at work. I own a lovely home (myself!), have lots of true and good and honest friends. I eat right and exercise and have reconciled with my Mom. My Dad died 10+ years ago; no closure there.

​

I'm 44 and embarking on the fight of my life. The statute of limitations may be over for my case but Shithead is a classic career pedophile and my best guess and on the authority of others, there are lots of other women and young women and teenagers and young teens out there wondering what the hell happened to their world. I don't know if I can do anything about me but I'll be damned if he starts teaching again in September. Oh yeah, he's been teaching since 1975 despite my letter to the school system. Conservative estimates are 1 in 4 girls are sexually abused in some way by the time they are 18. Think about it. Let's say there are 25 in a class; 12 girls; 2 semesters. Thats 24 possibilities x 32 years. If you do the math that's about 192 possible "hits".

​

I'm scared to death but more frightened not to do anything any longer. I'm researching lawyers and ideas and it might just take me walking into the Superintendent of Schools and telling them point blank to their denial riddled faces. I'm scared but Pissy is with me all the way and if it gets too much for either of us, I know I will be safe and secure and loved and loveable. Wish me luck.

​

In Sisterhood,

Caryn S.