|Happy sad house fire
I have to confess: I've been coming up with excuses not to write this post for the past few weeks. My life, my perspective on life is a good one, but it hinges on a set of dark events in a relationship that I'd never wish on another person.
Relationships are funny in that they can seem to be traveling along one trajectory for the longest time. Then without warning, that trajectory can suddenly and permanently change--for better or worse.
I mentioned in an earlier post how I was always a happy child. I'd run up to strangers in public and give them hugs. I always smiled (still do, in fact). And I attribute this happiness to my home life.
My brothers and I would sleep together in the same room and bathe together in the same tub. We'd cuddle with our parents on the couch. Our parents--both of them--would tuck us in and hug and kiss us good night.
We were all so affectionate that I'm not even sure when the lines started getting crossed. Instead of taking baths with my brothers, I was taking them alone with my father--unaware there was anything weird about that arrangement.
I was around six years old when I started becoming aware. That's when my father took it upon himself to teach me a new sort of kiss in which he'd put his tongue--huge and warm--into my mouth, and I was supposed to do the same back to him.
"It's called a French kiss," he said, "and you need to put it in my mouth longer. Like this."
That's when everything started to change, and something new and strange began to dominate my life. And it's when I started keeping a secret that would not be told for nine long--and lonely--years.
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