My father, my story…
When I think of my Father, I feel my whole body tense. My brain starts twirling around like one of those game show wheels. On what memory it will stop on…is anybody’s guess.
One thing I know for sure is there are no good prizes on a spinning wheel of memories. Just bloody, bony clawed hands dragging me back to a living hell.
My Father had one single redeeming quality that I can think of. He died.
The day he died the world became a better place. I only found out that he died this year – 2016. I was searching an online newspaper and found his death notice.
He left a trail of carnage as his legacy.
The countless victims and their families he left behind him is unmeasurable. My father was a top class predator. Any female of any age was fair game for this animal, and the lives and families he damaged through his hunger for sex and violence leave a lasting stain on all our futures.
My memories of my Father are as real and vivid today as they were decades ago. Every time I smell cigarette smoke I see and smell my father. If I see somebody smoking I take the biggest deep breath in and hold it for as long as I can. Then I let it out and try to breathe again. Its the little things that trigger the most pain. (PTSD)
My Father would make excuses to get me away from the house. On weekends he would take me to the bush and we would go wood cutting. He would bring home a trailer full of wood…as proof that we were doing exactly what he had told my Mother.
Why would you take a five year old into the bush while you were falling trees and using swing saws and chain saws? It doesn’t add up, does it!?
After raping and sodomizing me as soon as we were hidden in the scrub, my father would be on such a high he could have felled enough timber to fill that trailer with his own bare hands.
My Father was a champion liar.
He had an excuse for every single despicable thing he ever did. He was a thief and there was nothing he couldn’t steal or take if he put his mind to it.
His favourite game of all was to expose himself to me anytime my mother would walk out of the room…and when he did, he would be staring at me and smiling as if to say to me, ‘I know this is what you want, and as soon as I can I’m going to give it to you.’
I learned at a very early age to stare into my lap when Mummy walked out of the room, or if I thought she wasn’t coming back anytime soon I would run behind her.
My father was besotted with me, my Mother knew it…and I paid the price for it…from the both of them.
My Father never spent one day in police custody until around 2002, long after I left home, and the only reason I found out about this was because I had a Detective contact me. He told me that my Father had been caught raping a neighbors Down Syndrome daughter, that she was pregnant, and her family had insisted on a legal termination of that baby. DNA was taken from the fetus and upon my Father’s arrest for this act, his DNA was taken for testing and proved that he was 99.9% the father of that young girl’s baby.
My father was in police custody for one night, the day he was charged with this crime and when the DNA was taken. They let him out on bail until the DNA tests came back. As soon as they released him form jail, he shot through.
Apparently my father had taken himself to Darwin and the justice system said that it would cost too much money to extradite him back to Victoria. The cost of a single plane flight.
Now the reason I know about all this is because as I said before, I was contacted by Victorian Detectives. They asked me about standing as a witness against my Father in support of this poor darling Down Syndrome girl.
The Detective questioned me for some time and finally came to the conclusion that because of the sexual abuse of me was longer than ten years prior, the Victorian Justice system wouldn’t see me as a credible witness!
It still amazes me to this day, that my Father raped a Down Syndrome girl, got her pregnant (and she did have a legal termination), the baby was 99.9% my Fathers…and yet I wouldn’t be a credible witness in proving his pattern of behaviour.
Congratulations Victoria Justice System! Your head should hang in shame.
My Father had his rights protected by a system, that doesn’t protect Children or Victim’s rights.
Children and victims of Family Crime are easy to sweep under the rug.
Be kind to yourself,
Love Big Fat Dee