Memory Eight: Pool Party

Getting to go swimming was always a treat for me as kid. On hot summer days, it was a special treat to go to a beach or even better yet; the pool of a family friend. Even if I didn’t particularly like going into water over my head; it was still a great way to beat the summer heat. 

One particular summer evening though, my adoptive father told me to get my swim trunks on because he and I would be going over to a friend’s house for a swim. I found it odd that only the boys were invited, and my adoptive mom was staying home. No other details were given at the time, like packing a towel or a spare change of clothes. 

When we arrived at the friend’s house, everything seemed to be typical. I got in the shallow end and enjoyed some cooling off time. As the sun set, the temperature cooled, and I began to develop goose bumps and shivers. The adults were in the house by this time and when I asked to come in, I was told that I couldn’t because I only had my wet swim trunks on. No towel was offered at that time, although all the adults had one when they exited the pool and dressed in their regular clothes. Oddly enough, I was the only child there. 

As I sat outside in the dark, I began to have the feeling that something just wasn’t right. No one had told me to pack extra clothes or a towel and as the few adults sat and visited for what seemed like hours; I began to feel a lump in the back of my throat but refused to give into outright crying. Crying, in the new household was usually met with paddling, so I quickly learned to show no emotion when in front of people. 

Finally, after sitting out in the cold for what seemed like an eternity, I was allowed in the house but on one condition; I had to take off my swim trunks. I remember feeling very embarrassed being completely naked in front of a room with only adults. I was just thankful that there were no kids there to see me, 

I was offered something to drink and felt very funny afterwards. I remember falling asleep on a couch and waking up after some time. I was then allowed to put my, now-dry swim trunks back on and then we went home. 

Reflection 

Pulling this out of my memory as an adult has been painful; writing it down, even worse. It’s not as though I cannot find the courage to forgive my adoptive parents; it’s just that they have never taken ownership to the things that were done to me. Not even to this day. 

My adoptive father once made a grandiose speech about people who “mess with kids, should have their balls cut off”.  I believe to this day, that the statement was a feeble attempt to deflect his guilt. I am pretty sure that he knew what he had signed me up for. At the time, I had no idea that I was being manipulated. This type of tactic has been his MO for the entire time I’ve known the man; condemn to deflect any suspicion. 

I still remember the time he came to visit me after the birth of my daughter and told me that “you should never hit a child”. I was already well ahead of him and did not want to repeat the generational abuse cycle. But the unmitigated gall to make such a statement after everything he had done to me. You see, he had moved on to wife number two at that time and she was very much against hitting as a form of punishment. Mind you, he did not apologize to me at this time but instead, used the occasion to perpetuate the lie he had probably told wife number two. What a “great guy” who was able to get away with yet another one.  

I try to be understanding as an adult because I know that we all have flaws, but when there is no acknowledgment, apology, or remorse; it is a clear sign that the behavior will continue. It is a part of who they are as an abuser. It also lets me know that he views me as less of a human being and that view will probably never change; even if I try to be a “good son” or the “bigger man”.