by Claire Luna-Pinsker

Created on: August 31, 2008

Friend's Vow of Silence

You hear it all the time, another case of repressed memories resurface and another case of destructive, sexual child abuse joins the rising statistics. Dysfunctional African-American families join other races in this critical problem. But for some reason incest was accepted as a natural part of life in the African-American community. Somehow we don't go shouting our stories at recovery group meetings or with the media or write them in literary magazines and novels. We don't have our stories exposed on television or the movie screen, except in rare cases, such as in the case of a public figure; for example, Oprah Winfrey.

We join closest friends and next door neighbors in a worldwide vow of silence. We shut our doors, close ears to children's agonizing pleas for help. Why is that? Is it because we as adults remember that father, mother, aunt or uncle who crossed over the line of accepted displays of affection, brushing them off as accepted behavior?

When I was younger the subject of child abuse was never discussed, nor was the word incest mentioned, like they were sacred issues. Raised in a black family you accepted the belt, the lilac switch, or the overly affectionate adult with exposed body parts, as if they were part of your family's natural life. No one peered behind neighbor's closed doors to question the horrible screams of tormented victims. I'm just one among the statistics of survivors of childhood abuse and incest.

At fifty three years of age; a wife, mother of three, a pediatric nurse and freelance writer, I'm functioning quite well as a survivor of verbal and physical childhood now. Still images linger on, rearing their ugly head when I'm reminded by another published incidence. Horrific memories flood back as I relive my childhood. Every day I prayed I'd raise my family without my children ever becoming statistics. Having suffered, I'm acutely aware of the agony sexual child abuse can inflict on the rest of your life.

When I first went to work after graduating from high-school, I met my future best friend, who happened to be of Peruvian descent. We met at lunch the first day and quickly became great friends and co-workers. We listened to all the torrid office gossip, indulged in spreading torrid gossip, and even became part of the torrid gossip with our busy single dating lives. Being efficient workers by mass producing above quota work, we spent excessive time talking. The problem was our office demanded a code of silence policy.

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