Newly discovered memory from when I was 7, after I processed some very bad trauma I refused to think about.
Using fake names…
Randy and Ronny were kids that lived next door to my good grandparents (dad’s side). These were the ones I got to visit rarely, since my mother’s side of the family hated them and invited them to none of their tribal get-togethers (she was from a large family).
I was at my grandparents (father’s side) house and, at some point, went out to play with the neighbor kids. While we were playing something fairly rough, Randy got angry. He was the older of the two, and significantly bigger than both me and his younger brother Ronny, so we were laughing… trying to play it off. That is when Randy went in the house and got his pellet rifle.
Ronny and I ran around the back side of the house. We saw Randy round the corner and was taking aim, so we ran in the opposite direction rounding the corner to the front of the house. We could hear him chasing us.
I passed the woodpile, went back, grabbed a sizable piece of wood, and hid behind the woodpile. As I heard Randy running up, I threw the log out at about his head height. He ran right into it, falling down, dropping the rifle.
I ran back to my grandparents’ house. As I came in the door, my grandmother saw a look on my face that immediately concerned her. I was feeling like I had done something wrong, and did not want to tell her what had just happened, but when my grandfather came in, I knew I had to tell the truth. He had a way… later in life I learned he had been an interrogator during part of his 38 years in the army… he was also special forces. But as a kid, I just had a sense that he could get the truth out of you, whether you liked it or not.
I told him what happened. My grandfather asked very few, but very to-the-point questions. And, just as we finished talking about it, there was a forceful knock at the door.
My grandfather answered the door. It was Randy and Ronny’s father. Not sure what was said, but my grandfather moved him back away from the door, went outside with their father, shutting the door behind him.
They talked… it got a bit heated and loud, but I don’t recall, exactly what was said. Their father was significantly bigger than my grandfather (who was in his mid-to-late 60’s at the time), but peeking out the window, I could see my grandfather standing his ground, and their father seemed to have an epiphany that my grandfather was more than willing to get physical with him, if it came to that.
My grandfather defended me.
He defended me at a time in my life when I was sure no one would.
(**TW** highlight below to see text)
The memory of this event was being blocked by my unwillingness to recall age 7, the year I was raped. I refused to think about the trauma of that year, and it had effectively blocked lots of other memories… maybe because it was so big and overwhelming.
While processing my age 7 trauma, I was at a loss as to how I could at least function.
I think my grandfather defending me showed me that there were, at least, some people who were good and would stand up for me.
This is probably how I got through it.
(**TW** highlight below to see text)
I never told him, or anyone, about the rape. My FOO was just too toxic. I see now, looking back, that I could have told my grandparents on my father’s side. But I think I felt like, if anyone knew, they would see me differently...see me as rotten on the inside. And, with these two being the only ones who seemed to take joy in me, I did not dare risk their knowing.
But, recalling this event has been like finding a gem in a pile of crap. It was not pleasant getting to it, but the memory is beautiful.
That is a beautiful memory, your grandfather defending you. Thank you for sharing it.
Wow! How wonderful. :hug:
Thank you 3R and notalone. Writing it out kind of enshrined the memory. Thanks for reading this.
This is a wonderful memory...to feel protected. I imagine it made you feel loved. And, today and in the future, you can go back to this memory and feel comfort in being loved. This is definitely a gem to cherish.
That is a beautiful memory. I have to imagine your grandfather didn't even think much of it what he was doing. Even "small gestures" can have huge impacts on ones life.
I'm sorry for the trauma you suffered, but this gesture was very nice to read.
Wow, that was a really beautiful memory. Im so sorry you had to go thru alot of awful ones to get to this but Im glad you remembered this wonderful moment. Thank you for sharing, it really touched me.