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I met David through a personals newspaper ad. He lived
on Vancouver Island in Port Alberni and after many letters and telephone
calls I took my daughters to go and visit him. Three months later we moved
in together. David had told me he was a nudist but I thought this confined
itself to a nudist beach and didn't find out differently until after we
had moved in together. Within a month David was parading around the house
in the mornings in front of my daughters naked and we had many arguments
about appropriate and inappropriate behaviour's. However I was sick with
what is known as polycystic ovaries at the time and circumstances was
about to change a promise I made to Jennifer the moment I first held her
in my arms. Polycystic ovary is one that forms huge blood filled cysts
each month around a fertile egg. These cysts would grow to the size of
a grapefruit then explode leaving me gasping for breath and in agony as
blood filled my abdominal cavity. Many trips during the previous years
to the hospital had resulted in 9 surgeries and more were yet to come.
One morning I awoke in agony. I had never experienced such pain since
my appendix had ruptured in 1970 and I had David call the ambulance and
went to the hospital. The doctors were alarmed with my drop in blood pressure
and within moments of my arrival I was on my way into the operating room
where they removed my right ovary. Concerned about my children I would
question David each time he came to visit and each time he assured me
they were fine. On my fifth day of hospitalisation David arrived he was
withdrawn and had a very sad look about his face. Questioning him we had
wandered into the stairway and found ourselves sitting on the steps where
he said, "I don't think I was cut out to be a parent". Laughing
and thinking of what I went through on a daily basis as a mother I said"
It's a rough job isn't it, I assured him he was doing a good job, thinking
he was overwhelmed with the past week and often praised him for the fine
job he was doing. But now that the facts about child sexual abuse are
emerging, we know that in 85 per cent of cases, relatives, family friends
or someone known and trusted by the child sexually assaults children.
Offenders are usually ordinary men and occasionally women. They're often
married and have good jobs and they assault children of both sexes and
all ages-including babies. When I arrived home from the hospital I found
a very altered child waiting for me. Jennifer who had always been ferociously
independent was now clinging 20 times a day to my leg, looking up at me
and saying, "I'm a good girl now aren't I mommy." I'd assure
her she was and send her back to play. Over the course of the next week
I was puzzled as to where Jennifer's training panties had disappeared.
Fights between David and I were escalating into wars I didn't understand
and at the end of the month I decided it just wasn't worth it and moved
with the children out of David's house and into our own place. Few days
later Jennifer approached me saying "Mommy it hurts down there"
I told her to go lay on my bed and I would have a look. In my mind I was
thinking yeast infection but when I looked I recoiled, then quickly gathered
myself so Jennifer wouldn't be alarmed by my reaction and asked her quietly
what had happened. Her whole vaginal area and thighs one massive swollen
bruise. Over the course of the next week the whole story came out with
the help of police, social workers and anatomically correct dolls and
video taped interviews with Jennifer. It was discovered David had ruptured
her Hymen with his finger, made her touch his penis and a few things that
I don't wish to disclose. Charges were pressed and a court day was set.
I was not confident the judicial system would be fair, to me nothing short
of his demise would compensate for his violation of my daughters innocence.
A well-meaning friend loaned me a handgun and I went to David's and awaited
his arrival home with a loaded gun in my hand. David pulled into his driveway
spotting my station wagon across the street. He got out of his car and
I levelled the hand gun right at his head. I was top markswoman of my
platoon in the Canadian Armed Forces. Turning he stopped cold and looked
with horrified eyes at the lethal weapon which I fully intended on using
to take his life. At the moment I slowly began to squeeze the trigger,
took a steadying breath visions of my daughters being raised in foster
homes swam in my mind and I slowly lowered the gun. Without a word I drove
away. Three weeks later in court David told the judge candidly that he
had always thought he was a child molester and had taken me and my girls
on in the effort to discover if he was or wasn't one. I thought the judge
is going to lock this bastard away for a long, long time. David received
8 months and was out in 3 on good behaviour. For Jennifer it took a year
for her to go to sleep without a light on. The poor baby would lay there
clutching her sheets afraid crying and sure David was in her closet. Eventually
the memory faded for her but little did I know this event had altered
her behaviour for the rest of her life and the damage was just beginning
to present itself. She was never the same child after this event and although
she was young enough not to have a real memory of it, she always sensed
something was wrong. By the time she turned 15 she was a violent drug
addict and I had to throw her out of my home for my safety and her sisters.
Jennifer has never forgiven me or talked to me again. It's now been six
years since she moved out. I wish I could have protected her somehow.
Doesn't matter how many times I roll it around in my head. I trusted him.
And in doing so my baby paid the price. We all paid the price. She is
now clean and sober working and has her own apartment. So I guess she
is doing well.
I really miss her and wish things could be better between us.
A little boy asked his mother, "Why are you crying?"
"Because I'm a woman," she told him.
"I don't understand," he said.
His mum just hugged him and said, "And you never will."
Later the little boy asked his father, "Why does mother seem to cry
for no reason?"
"All women cry for no reason," was all his dad could say. The
little boy grew up and became a man, still wondering why women cry? Finally
he put in a call to God; and when God got on the phone, he asked, "God,
why do women cry so easily?"
God said: "When I made WOMAN she had to be special. I made her shoulders
strong enough to carry the weight of the world; yet, gentle enough to
give comfort. I gave her an inner strength to endure childbirth, and the
rejection that many times comes from her children. I gave her a hardness
that allows her to keep going when everyone else gives up, and take care
of her family through sickness and fatigue without complaining. I gave
her the sensitivity to love her children under any and all circumstances,
even when her child has hurt her very badly. I gave her strength to carry
her husband through his faults and fashioned her from his rib to protect
his heart. I gave her wisdom to know that a good husband never hurts his
wife, but sometimes tests her strengths and her resolve to stand beside
him unfalteringly. And finally, I gave her a tear to shed. This is hers
exclusively to use whenever it is needed. You see: The beauty of a woman
is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way
she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman must be seen in her eyes, because
that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides. Every
Woman Is Beautiful." Author is unknown
Sent by
Luc
Majno
geaibleu@nbnet.nb.ca
This is my story, what happened to my family and myself. No names have been changed to protect the innocent or the guilty.
My name is Pamela Coupe, and I am the mother of a son who was victimized by a pedophile for over a period of 4 years. I never knew or "had a clue" as to what was happening.
Ever since I was a child, I wanted sons - why I don't know. I always dreamed of a happy family and children. I think that's most every mother's dream. In 1971, I gave birth to a beautiful daughter. I was not disappointed, even though throughout my pregnancy I dreamed of having a son. Naturally, I bought everything blue! On December 7, 1972 (Pearl Harbor Day), my 2nd daughter was born - in the middle of a blizzard in Frankfort Germany (Air Force life)! Yes, I'll admit it, I was disappointed, but Wendy was (and still is) a beautiful baby. I adored both of them, and by this time, I became used to the fact that I would have girls. When I became pregnant again, I bought all pink. I just knew I was going to have another girl. Guess my "psychic abilities" weren't that great, because my son, Christopher made his grand entrance into this world on August 27, 1974. I was elated! I had my son! Yes, I spoiled him rotten! He was so cute, tow headed, into everything. I "nicknamed" him Dennis the Menace. He was very energetic and really kept me on my feet. As he grew older, he became very mischievous and was always pulling pranks, the kind that really made me angry at the time but are laughable now. On the flip side, Chris was always very kind, made friends easily and was very generous. Although his teachers would get frustrated at him, they loved him. He had a lot of friends.
This is almost like a Christmas story - I remember one year, he wanted one of those "ski coats" that were popular at D&L's. Those coats were $120. I kept telling him that we just couldn't afford that kind of money. I felt that if we bought Chris that coat, we would also need to buy something comparable for the girls, and it just added too way to much. But, somehow we did it. Chris got his beloved coat. After the holidays, he proudly wore it to school. A few days later he came home without the coat. I asked him where it was and his reply was that he left it at school. Each day, I got that same story. Finally, mad and frustrated, I threatened to go to school and get the coat myself. He finally admitted to me that he gave away the coat to his friend, who had an old ragged coat. What could I do - go to the parents’ house and demand it back? No, of course, I couldn't! After my anger ceased, I realized how lucky I was to have a son who would give up something he wanted so badly.
That was my Chris. That was the Chris that I will always remember. Chris and I have a very close and loving relationship, but a pedophile by the name of Gary Booth changed that forever.
When Chris was in the 4th grade, he had Gary Booth for a music teacher, which was not a problem. For the next 3 years, Chris remained his happy go-lucky self. When he started 7th grade, my son's disposition and attitude changed overnight. He was not the Chris I raised. He became destructive in school and at home. The teachers were calling me constantly for meetings. One day, he didn't come home from school at all - he ran away. We had an APB out on him. Several days later (and most certainly an ulcer later); we found him - IN FLORIDA! (4 years later I found out that Gary Booth had bought him the plane ticket, took him to the airport, and gave him a nice vacation). We flew him home and for the first time, I put him into the hospital for observation with a good psychiatrist. I was at the end of my rope and couldn't figure out what was wrong with him. His behavior continued to get worse. The hospital that I originally put him in could not handle him and transported him to a mental facility; where they "bagged and drugged" him. He was there for several weeks. When he came home and went back to school, he became worse. I was allowing him to spend any time he wanted with Gary Booth, because Gary was a well respected and trusted teacher (I thought). Gary did things for Chris that we could never do - took him on camping trips, vacations, etc. Gary was married. His wife was a very religious person who worked daily in her Catholic Church. She also had her masters degree and was a well educated woman. They had 2 children and a beautiful home. A good loving family. Yes - of course I trusted him.
From the ages of 13-15 Chris was in and out of hospitals. At the age of 15, he attempted suicide by taking over 70 Trilfon and Tegritol pills. He was in a coma for over 16 hours. He would never tell any of the doctors, or myself, why he did this. He would say that he didn't "feel like living anymore." My heart was broken. By this time, my marriage was falling apart, and my husband wanted Chris out of the house and into a "home" permanently. I fought this. A mother always knows when "her son is not her son" and I knew something deep inside him was wrong. I just didn't know what. The best doctors didn't know what. No one knew. After his suicide attempt, he spent 6 weeks in the mental hospital again. Again, the diagnosis was the same - behavioral problems, cannot get along with his peers, etc. When he was discharged as an outpatient, he seemed to be pretty good for a couple of months. Then, one morning I received a call from the police department. He apparently sneaked out of the house and went "joy riding" with some of his friends. He was drunk, as were the others, and one of the passengers in the car had hurt another person. By this time, I was really at the end of my rope. I went to the police department and because Chris was a minor, they gave me a choice. I could either send him to Juvenile Detention or bring him home until his court date. I chose Juvenile Detention. I was hoping that would "straighten him up." Chris and I were left alone in a small room to discuss this. Without looking up at me, I will never forget the words he said. "Mom -- right now I would tear my heart out for you, if I could, but I can't give you any answers." My reply was "Chris I already tore my heart out for you a hundred times." I cried all the way home. Guilt got the best of me, and I hired a good lawyer to get him out. It still took several weeks. This nightmare continued. He continued to spend a lot of time with Gary Booth. At that time, I felt relieved because it seemed that the only time he was not in trouble was when he was with Gary.
Finally, this nightmare ended and a new one began - I was approached by one of the detectives at work (now a commander) who had been investigating Gary Booth. I won't go into details but they knew me, and they knew Chris (I work at our local police department). I was asked to give them permission for the FBI and our local police department to question Chris. They would not tell me at that time for what, as it was the beginning of an investigation, just that Chris was not in trouble. Of course I agreed. A hundred thoughts went through my head - what was going on, what was Gary into, what did Chris do? What? What!? What?!!
Chris would not tell me anything. The wait was endless. Finally, Chris
was given permission to tell me what the investigation was about and that
I would need to speak to the State's Attorney's Office. The only thing
Chris would tell me was that it involved sexual molestation. Chris was
17 by this time. Looking back, I think I went into shock. I desperately
tried to get a hold of the Detective on the case. Unfortunately he was
away for the weekend, and could not call me until Sunday night. I then
got the story as to what was happening for the past 4 years with Chris.
The FBI and Police Department raided Gary Booth's home and found literally
hundreds of pornographic materials. Chris was in them. During the past
4 years, he had been taken out of state, sexually molested, drugged, video
taped, and God knows what else.
After that the indictments and trials began, of which Chris was their
main witness. It was a nightmare that no parent would ever want to go
through. Gary Booth was given 10 years in Federal Prison, and Robert Sirois
(the photographer) was given 60 months in Federal Prison.
At this time, my son still will not speak about it. He knows about this
new web site, but will not get involved. He has tried to put his life
together. After the trials, it was rocky road - he was drinking heavily,
but I am happy to say, that he has met a beautiful woman who brought him
through a lot of hard times. He is engaged and will be married in October
of 1999. He still talks and screams in his sleep, but is maintaining a
good job and looks forward to a happy life. We do not speak of what happened.
One day, I hope and pray that he will.
My hope is that the victims and indirect victims (parents of victims) will receive some kind of help from this Website. There are some wonderful resources and links on here. Know that you are not alone, we have been there. Help is available to those who only need to ask. Don't cry alone because you are not alone.
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