7. History Repeats Itself

Junior high school. Don’t remember much about it and my marks sure told that story well. Passing by a hair. I attended school in fear and with no sleep. It started to catch up to me. The bullies sure had a hayday with this. They would repeatedly call out “packy packy” screaming it to the top of their lungs. I could never understand this because I was not Pakistani. Born and raised in Canada. Armenian, Russian in my family history. My skin was a little dark but just a little. Least of my worries those days. The nightmares began to take over what little sleep I did manage to get. We are Christian people. We do believe in God. I would pray for his help and wonder why matters would continuously get worse. Did God really exist or was he like Santa Claus or the Easter bunny? I new what little faith I had left would hold me as strong as I could. I was always told things happen for a reason but what was reason for being raped everyday by someone I trusted and loved. The word “father” today means nothing to me. It never did then. I, today, still shiver when I hear that word. I don’t know what it’s like to have a father. The family went out for dinner one night leaving me with one of my older sisters. I remember feeling so excited knowing we were ordering Chinese food! My favorite! We spent the evening watching movies and enjoying some of my favorite dishes. I truly don’t know what started the conversation but I asked a few questions that apparently triggered her knowing what had been happening to me every night with my father. She went on to tell me that I was not alone. She told me all of my sister’s had endured the same thing. I was in shock and disbelief. The whole time I thought I was alone, I wasn’t.

The pig, and believe me I had worse names for him then, was raping all his daughters. Behind my mother’s back. A true sneaky SOB. Wow, the madness in his brain. Are you kidding me?? It took this long for us sisters to come together and figure out that each of us was not alone? It took me becoming suicidal to trigger the questions? For the first time I felt a sense of relief. Although it was still happening and I was still in fear, I felt relief? So strange. My eldest sister would not talk about it at all. The second youngest sister had a rough time speaking about it to me as well. The middle sister became my confidante. It turned out we had all been threatened with such fear that even when the powerless hope of one became four, we still felt powerless and scared.

As time went on, I became very close to one of my uncle’s on my mother’s side. He was a very tall, good-looking, funny, well mannered man who was also very wealthy and had a family of four kids of his own. He became interested in my talents in music and at every moment he could get, would lecture us on how to be wise, smart and maintain good grades in school. His lectures started to get so intense as my marks and report cards would set him off. I remember one of his lectures after failing my grade 9 year and having to repeat it, being a long long lecture. I didn’t really pay much attention to what he was telling me because I really didn’t care. In my heart I figured that if he had any idea what I was going through, his advise would change. His four kids were all honor roll students and attending university to soon become financial icons,millionaires,engineers and educators. It was not long into one of his many lectures leading into the wee hours of the morning, that I blew. I couldn’t take it anymore. My heart was racing and I remember my hands shaking. I began to tell him why I could not do well in school. We were alone. All alone. My brain was fighting to stop speaking but my lips spoke anyways. I began to tell him that I was being touched inappropriately by my father. There was no way I could tell him the whole truth. I remember starting to feel dirty while talking to him so I lightened up the situations a great deal. When I was done, I remember feeling like I didn’t truly get my point across. I was relieved in a way because I was so scared of telling him in the first place. As the days passed, I waited for the death, the torture of those I loved around me but, no one died. There was no torture. The nightly visits were the same so no change. I did not understand what was going on. All I could think of was that my uncle just kept it to himself. When i told my sister’s of our conversation, they became so fearful as was I. They made me promise with tears in their eyes that I was to never do that again or we would lose each other. So I promised. The fear that man had on us was unreal. As a woman today, I wonder if I would have stabbed him or done things differently.

We would go visiting relatives all the time. I really loved them. We had fun together as cousins. I had crazy cool cousins. We all got along. At so many gatherings, I wondered what would happen if I told even one of them what was happening to me. To us. What would have happened? We were all alone many times. Enough times to ask for help. I could not do it. Could no one tell? Could they not see him rubbing up on us when he thought no one was looking? Did they know but they were too scared too? Perhaps threatened?

All I remember was whomever knew or found out down the road, did nothing. Nothing at all. I think that messed with me the most.

Why would you do nothing? Think about this my readers. If you knew someone was being threatened and raped horribly every night, could you sleep at night? Would you do nothing?