(This is kind of part II of The Beginning of a Long Journey, so if you don't understand the post you might refer back to my last post.)
When I was 9 years old, I was violently raped and hospitalized.
One evening, after I was discharged from the hospital, my family had just finished dinner. My dad suggested to my brother and little sister that they might want to go in the living room and watch some television. He asked me to stay at the table with him.
My mother was not very happy about it. He was about to tell me about the "birds and bees" and Mom was either against him telling me (and therefore explaining what had happened during the rape) or she just didn't want to hear what he had to say.
We had a large eat-in kitchen, so whatever was going on at the sink was definitely heard by all. The whole time my dad talked to me my mother slammed pots and pans around. She was "supposedly" doing dishes but I am pretty sure that she was just slamming stuff around. Made it pretty hard to hear everything Dad said, but what I heard was beautiful.
He told me that what had happened to me was one of the worst things that could happen to a child. That children were precious and should be protected not used. Then he told me about making love. He told me about love and what a beautiful gift sex was between and man and woman who loved each other. That conversation made me love my dad so much. He taught me about love, about compassion and passion. The best talk I ever had with him. Thank you, Dad, for giving me hope that one day in the future, I would be able to find someone who would love me for me.