I’m at home. In bed. Feeling horrible. I’ve been sick all weekend.

I emailed in sick from work. Yep, I did. I sent an email. It’s way more technologically advanced than using the phone and calling in sick.

They can easily survive with me. I’ve got the best staff ever!

Worst part about this cold…it comes with an insatiable appetite. I ate an entire bag of Cheetos on Saturday night. I know, it’s an exciting life I live.

Worst part about being home today…my housekeeper is at my house today. Listen to her talk radio show. Really loud. I may have to drown it out with the sound of daytime tv up in my bedroom. Which will be another reason to make being home today suck more.

Anyhow, I must end this post and check my work emails. I have to make sure nobody else emailed in sick and left me with work to do from my lap top. In bed.

P.S. I realize after several failed jokes over IM this morning and after rereading this post, my sick funny isn’t actually funny. I apologize and appreciate your readership in the good times and the bad.

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.