When I was 4 years old, I was kidnapped.

Tragic story. Except I’m alive today. And stronger because of it.

It happened in broad daylight. In Houston, Texas. In 1975. I was with my 13 year old babysitter, Vicky.

Everyday after school Vicky came to my preschool. We’d walk to my house from there. Through the quiet Houston neighborhood.

One day a man in a sedan pulled up to ask us for directions. Then he asked Vicky for a pencil so he could write down the directions. She handed him a pencil. He twisted her arm and instructed us to get in the car. Bastard.

He looked normal. But his tone was forceful. This made him scary. Bastard.

He ordered Vicky to “tell the little girl in the backseat to lay down”. I heard him. But he wouldn’t talk to me. Bastard.

He didn’t touch me. But he did violate Vicky. I heard her cries for help from the front seat. He was a sick man. Bastard.

He told Vicky that if she didn’t stop crying he would “kill the little girl in the backseat”. Bastard.

He kept us for many hours. He told us not to tell anyone. He dropped us off. He had to get home to his own family.  Bastard.

He broke Vicky. Her spirit. Her innocence. Her childhood. All gone. Bastard.

He put me, a 4 year old child, in a position to testify in a courtroom. My parents weren’t allowed to be with me. I was alone. Bastard.

He was caught. He was locked up. Eventually he was released from prison (while I was in college). Bastard.

A man kidnapped me. He put fear into my life at a precious young age. Bastard.

This event forever changed me. It changed my outlook on life. This event made me believe that nothing bad (like really bad) could ever happen to me again. So if you ever experience me finding the upside in a negative situation, this is why. It was him. The bastard.

My mom, my dad and my brother had to see me go through this. Without them I would have been broken too. The real courage came from them and the rest of my family. They saved me.

Luckily, at the time, I was too young to know how this would impact my life.

And it did. Forever. And significantly.

This is a shortened version of my story. There is so much more: The memories are so clear. The feelings are so fresh. Even as a 4 year old, I vividly remember holding my artwork as I laid down on the back seat and wishing nothing more than to show my mom what I did that day in school.

With my birthday approaching, I’m taking a little walk down memory lane. Flipping through pictures, I found the dark alley I once lived on.

I was a punk rocker. Sporting the dark hair, pale skin, red lipstick look. Oh yeah, with rosary beads and combat boots.

Seriously, rosary beads?! Some beads shouldn’t be worn in public. I’ll add those to the list along with anal beads. But that’s an entirely different post for an entirely different blog.

Want proof of my darker days?

That’s me on the left with my dear friend Tiffani on the right. It was taken back in 1986 when we were 14 or 15 years old.

Ironically, I’m sporting a similar look with jewelry today. Totally unplanned. But worth noting.

A dear friend of mine
has been through it all.
But 4 years ago
he had the worst fall.

His mom passed away,
she left him here.
To get through life
without her near.

He is blessed with love
to give and to get,
why his mom watches over
and he’ll never forget.

The memories they have
are all he’s got left.
But luckily he knows
he’s loved by those he’s met.

Hugs to you my dear friend. I’m thinking of you today.