Inside deJoly

My Story
Going Public
Chapter One
Poet's Corner
Photo Gallery
Art Gallery
My Story
Five Kinds of Child Abuse
S.M.A.R.T. Presentations

"Incest carries criminal penalties in every state.  Until recently, however, our current laws and sentencing policies have been grotesquely lenient.  Most people still receive a longer prison term for stealing a television than for molesting a child.  Incest is difficult to prove, there are rarely any witnesses, and the case usually comes down to the word of a frightened disoriented child against that of an adult who, many times, represents himself as responsible and credible."  Betrayal of Innocence, Dr. Susan Forward and Frank Black, Penguin Books, 1978.
Back in first grade at Camp LeJeune, North Carolina (over 40 years ago), I was on the playground playing ball.  Suddenly, the ball came toward me and in a wink "Butch" came out and caught the ball.  He's a terrific athlete for a 10-year-old boy.
My story begins at China Lakes Naval Weapons Station in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California.  I was born October 20, 1948.

I was alone and lonely in my pain and with my secret.  I was convinced that no one could help me.  That’s what I was told.  That no one would believe me and the story would be so bizarre that I would be labeled as a liar and a crazy person.  But the stories are true and I have survived to see the sun and appreciate the beauty of my life as it is today.
It wasn't unusual to feel fear in my father's house.  He ruled the roost with an iron fist.  Both my parents were Marines when they met, but my mother left the Corps when she started having babies.  Father stayed in for 20 years, and brought the drill sargeant mentality home to his four kids.
Each Saturday was "Field Day" where the house had to be cleaned from top to bottom and the yard had to be "policed."  After cleaning, we stood at attention while our father went from room to room and inspected.  If any part of the house  or yard was done wrong, the whole thing had to be done again.  My mother used to brag that by the time her children were three years old, they could make Marine Corps corners on their beds.  (that's when the sheets are pulled tight and a quarter can bounce when dropped in the middle of the bed)
We stood at attention to address our parents as "sir" and "ma'aam."  Often we stood at attention for hours while receiving our "dressing down" -- a technique used in the Corps to break the spirit of the recruits, so they could be molded as needed.  During those times, I became adept at leaving my body in the room, whild floating away to a more peaceful and loving place.
Besides being a strict disciplinarian, my father was also a pedophile.  He sexually molested each of his children, and used me as the "Chosen Child" for his narcissistic pleasure.  By the time I was six, having sexual contact with my father had become routine for me.