The Way Out

Looking back upon this old photograph of me, I look like any little child. Dressed in my Christmas best and standing along side of my big sister, no one would ever suspect the things we endured throughout our brief childhoods. My sister and I were the step children. (There were four younger ones born to my mother and step dad) Our father died when I was just six months old, at the hand of a drunk driver...himself. Not only did he die as a result of his drinking, he took along with him a woman in the oncoming vehicle that he hit. Apparently my mother felt the need to marry quickly afterwards and she did, thus leading my sister and I into a life of complete misery. It's tough to say this, but my step dad looked upon my sister as his own personal 'play thing'. I need not go into more. She was fifteen years old when she decided she had had enough of it and she went to school, telling the authorities what he was doing. Needless to say she never came home that day. None of us knew why she never got on the school bus to come home, but were soon to find out as yet again, my step dad was arrested for abuse against a child of the worst kind imaginable.

There was alot of turmoil in the house, more so than usual after my sister left home. She was described by both my mother and step dad as a runaway. The work load on all of us around the farm only got worse, as the Judge decided to send my step dad home on probation instead of sending him to prision. After all, there were five more children (left there to abuse, in my opinion) who needed to be fed, a 110 acre farm that needed to be worked, and a job in the auto plant that could not be lost. Child molestation was quick to take a back burner back then. He was sent home on probation and we were sent back to the fields to be his slaves.

It was a month later almost to the day that my sister left, that I also left...never to look back. I was only fourteen years old.