Reclaiming Lives


Breaking All the Rules
Breaking Silence

by Colleen N. Race

He said: "I'm going to teach you. I'm going to teach you how to be a young lady." He taught me how to masturbate him. I was three years old. And he taught me not to tell.

He taught
me how to
masturbate
him. I was
three years
old. And he
taught me
not to tell.

I am moving away from that man next door; I cannot wait to get away; I cannot wait to start school; everything will be new, again. One field trip afternoon, the husband of my teacher caught me alone in a bathroom, and he taught me some even newer games. He peed on Primary. ABCD EFG H - I Don't Remember Grade One. He taught me fear and shame. He taught me well; I don't remember Grade Two. (Only the faded ink on those brittle report cards tells me I was an A+ student. Obviously, there are worries about any child with a row of D's; personally, I worry more about children who have row after row of nice neat A's.)

By Grade Three, I am perfect. I am less terrified of death than I am of being less than perfect. Every morning, I listen perfectly to the words: "0 Canada, in all thy sons command." I cannot sing. I dare not sing. Two of my brothers are preparing their ways to incest me: one by coercion, one by seduction. I am taught by my family not to trust anyone outside the family; this I already know.

And only I know, I cannot trust anyone inside my family. I go to school, and I go home. I am, literally, studying and applying my Boolean math at both ends. And in between, I make a pained escape into books. I want to hide forever. But the teenaged boy next door finds me; he is sure to find me - I am eight years old, and I am on my knees in the dirt. I am on my knees in the dirt because that is where he shoved me. "Open your mouth. Open wider you bitch; you like it." Over the course of a year, he would teach me to obey, but he could not teach me to like it. My family and I are moving away, moving again. I am nine years old.

I move on to the next school. I decide that, even with all the inherent dangers, it is still and always the safest move to become "teacher's pet": I am reading "at a level years above my age"; my comprehension and my spelling skills are "exceptional" (I can, in fact, comprehend and spell words and phrases I dare not put to paper: fellatio, cunnilingus, insertion of clothespins and bicycle pumps); I have "a wonderful imagination."

Lorsque j'avais trois ans, mon voisin m'a appris à le masturber et à garder le silence. Je ne me souviens pas de ma première année à l'école. Le mari de mon institutrice m'a appris à avoir peur et honte. Je ne me souviens pas non plus de ma deuxième année, mais d'après mes bulletins trimestriels j'étais en tête de classe. À partir de la troisième année, j'ai essayé d'être parfaite. Deux de mes frères eurent des rapports incestueux avec moi.

Je me réfugiais dans les livres, mais l'adolescent de la porte d'À côté me trouva. Je n'avais que huit ans. Je me mis à fumer et à boire du café et décidais de devenir écrivain. En quatrième année, un autre adolescent m'a appris à "le faire comme il faut". A l'école, mon niveau en lecture était tel qu'on me fit passer directement en sixième année.

À la fin de la onzième année, j'abandonnais mes études et trouvais un emploi à plein temps. Je me suis mariée et mon mari était alcoolique et me maltraitait. Je subis le viol le plus brutal pendant ma grossesse. Je me mis à écrire et à faire des économies pour prendre des cours par correspondance, mais j'appris que je ne pouvais être plus instruite que mon mauvais mari. Je laissais enfin ma colère s'exprimer et demandais le divorce.

Après des années de thérapie, je commence à guérir. J'ai terminé la douzième année par correspondance et j'ai l'impression que je commence à apprendre quelque chose.


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