Opinion

Across The Fence

Be courageous: Report abuse

People who hurt children make me angry at the very core of my being. I want God to send an Avenging Angel streaking straight toward each and every perpetrator. My rage deepens when I discover that the hurt came from a child's parents.

Columnist Kathie Greer

My brother and I were never subjected to sexual abuse. The well-remembered and often deserved belt across our backsides was physical, but it wasn't unmitigated or intentional abuse. A young relative of ours wasn't as fortunate.

"Bunny" was adopted from one side of our family and into the other when she was about two years old. Her biological mother was our mother's sister and her adoptive mother was our father's niece. It seemed like a perfect situation for everyone involved.

The adoptive family was relatively well-educated, more financially stable than most families and dedicated to their church. They sang in the choir, taught Bible study, attended prayer meetings, chaperoned summer camps and tithed as routinely as other people pay their water bills. They'd been married several years, and constantly expressed the desire for a child to bless their home.

Bunny was a teenager, almost ready to leave home, before she told me the secret she'd kept for years: Her adoptive father, by then an ordained Baptist youth minister, began sexually abusing her when she was only 9 years old.

Looking back, knowing what I know today, the signs were there. But we only saw that branch of the family a few times a year, and when large families come together, it's easy to overlook – or maybe even ignore – things. Social attitudes were different three decades ago. People didn't think they should get involved in another family's personal issues. And there were some things that were never, ever talked about, not even in a whisper.

I was in my early 20's when I started talking about what I knew deep in my gut was happening to Bunny. The older family members I approached dismissed me — and the possibility of a problem. How absurd and how rude it was of me, they said, to make such an accusation of such a devout churchgoer. "Mind your own business," they told me.

Some expressed concern about the effects my accusations might have on her adoptive mother. I found out later that was one of the threats her adoptive father used on Bunny. "It will kill your mother if she finds out," he told her.

Others were concerned about the man's "testimony" and reputation. They recited all the good things he'd done in God's name.

For more than a week I cried and cried, uncertain what to do. Sometimes I still cry over the pain and cruelty Bunny endured. And my tears are more bitter than they might have been, because I was a coward. That's right. I was a coward.

I shouldn't have simply discussed the matter with older — and those who I thought were wiser — family members. I shouldn't have worried it over with my best friend. I shouldn't have planned how to help her run away.

I should have called and reported the suspected abuse. Would it have changed the picture for this particular child?

I honestly don't know. The secret was so dark, the abuser such a cunning and persuasive liar, and close relatives were so horrified by the possibility of a public blemish on the family's good name, that this case might have stayed below the radar during an investigation.

But not bringing the issue to light caused irrevocable harm, and more than one life ultimately was affected. Even after escaping the situation, marrying and raising her own family, the abused child in Bunny continues to suffer. Her innocence was demolished, and her developing psyche was trapped in unremitting pain that has continued into her adult life. She never developed confidence in herself, and therefore she didn't have the strength to foster self-esteem in her children or to model a healthy relationship with their father. She has difficulty trusting people.

As a licensed social worker, my brother has devoted a majority of his life to protecting children, coaching parents and preventing abuse and neglect. He's helped me to understand that abuse falls into many categories that affect children's physical and emotional well-being.

Potter County ranks among the highest counties in Texas in 2007, based on 27.1 confirmed cases of abuse/neglect per 1,000 children. Alarmingly, the number for nearby Dallam County was 43.3 per 1,000 children, ranking it the second highest in the state.

Abuse and neglect happen in the homes of our relatives, our friends and maybe even in the house next door. Don't turn your back. Don't be a coward. Report suspected cases of abuse or neglect immediately.

Kathie Greer: Columnist and consultant for the Amarillo Independent. She can be reached @ kathie@amarilloindy.com.

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Posted: April 10, 2008