Alright, so I'm tired and don't edit very well. When I use "their" instead of "there" please swap words for me. Back home from ANOTHER football game. Fortunately, my sixteen year old son did get to play tonight. Yea, Go Bears!! Football is not a pretty game anyway you slice it. For those of you following my youngest (fourteen) son's injury last night - when we spent 5 hours in the emergency room - he is doing well. Probably will be back playing next week. Yikes.
I hope you enjoyed memories of the shrine story that I posted this morning. Or was it last night? I can't remember. That was fun. Listening to Mr. J tell the shrine story and challenging us to walk to the shrine, alone. I didn't make it the first time, or the second. It took me several times before I got up the nerve to go.
I remember when my oldest son, now 27, was a cub-scout and I was the "Cub master" I revised the shrine story and told it to a group of scouts one night at a camporee. They believed me and I had parents the next day telling me that their boys didn't sleep the entire night. It was great!!
I hope you enjoyed that memory. Isn't it interesting that amidst the abuse there are good memories? I guess that is what makes it so difficult to disseminate.
Okay, back to the reunion in San Francisco. My brother-in-law was engaged in the picture taking of each of the classes. When the class of 1973 or 1974 came into the room he evidently ran across this woman who was asking some questions about the past. I don't know exactly what she was asking, but what ever it was prompted my brother-in-law to come find me. When he came and got me and said, "Come, there is someone I think you need to meet.", I went. When he put this woman together with me I instantly recognized her. It was Michele Conner. The then girl who helped me and let me put my futon next to hers. That was when the abuse stopped.
Michele and I began talking and I reminded her that I had approached her during the reunion in Long Beach in 1990 and she admitted that she didn't remember that I had talked to her. That night, Michele and I began a long journey together.
The rest of the reunion was smothered in memories of Mr. J and the abuse he imposed upon, not only me but others. Up to this point I had no knowledge that anybody else had been molested. I only knew that I had been. I heard rumors that there were others but I didn't pursue it. Michele's memories only helped to solidify At this point, she was on a mission. And by association, I was on one with her.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Day Twenty Six - Tired but resolved
Something strange is going on. Yesterday afternoon I got home and decided to write a little bit before the kids got home from football practice. We had college night at the River Center and I knew we wouldn't be home very long. I wrote two paragraphs and got a call from the football trainer/orthopedist saying that my youngest son got hurt. He was going for a tackle and put his head down - evidently you are supposed to do that in football - and went helmet to helmet with the other guy. He hurt his neck and as precautionary steps I took him to get an x-ray/ct scan. Etc. All the scans came back normal - thank God and thank you to all who prayed and communicated to us in the emergency room. He'll have to sit out for a few days but back in a few to get brutalized again, I'm sure. Whew!! This football stuff is crazy.
When the call came in, I was in the middle of writing Day Twenty Five. I didn't get to finish it and so I saved it. Well, somehow it got published to Facebook (but not to my blog) without it being finished and it had a tag line on it that I had not put on there. Weird. Anyway, I'm going forward from yesterday by copying the shrine story below. Sorry about the confusion.
The story of the shrine at Miyakejima - as told by a classmate who I didn't really know very well. Based upon her communications with me, I get the feeling we would be good friends now. Thanks for sharing.
"Jack would tell this story as if it were true.Long ago in old Japan, when an older person felt like it was time for them to die, they would often simply leave their families and wander off into the woods or head to the mountains and find a spot where death could claim them and they wouldn’t be a burden to their families.
Many years ago, on the island of Miyake, an old woman wandered off alone.Several weeks later, a young man was found dead on the steps of the shrine at Miyakejima. Oddly, he had scratch marks on him. His body was on the fourth step of the fourth flight of stairs leading up to the shrine. (There were seven flights of seven steps.) Four, in Japanese, also means death.
His friend found his body, and was shocked and appalled. Who or what could have done this? He decided to camp out one night on the fourth step of the fourth flight of stairs, to see for himself. He went to the shrine and sat on the step, and waited and waited. Finally, around midnight, he heard a slow whistling that rose and then fell. [You have to do the whistle thing here.]
Before long, he saw a ghostly old woman with straggly hair and long fingernails and eyes like hot coals, and the whistling, louder and louder, coming right at him!So he ran off, as fast as he could!
At this point, Jack would switch on the lights and ask who wanted to go to the shrine and replace the wooden spoon he had placed on the fourth step of the fourth flight of stairs with a metal one. If you did this, you got to write your name in a special book, AND if you didn’t, you really couldn’t run for class office or expect to do anything else important for the rest of your life. (Editors note: This sentence is probably my favorite.)
I was the first one in my group to do it, because I knew my older brothers would be waiting for me back in Tokyo, saying, “Dja go to the shrine?! Dja go to the shrine?”"
For those who didn't read through the entire blog, this is relating to previous posts on Day Five towards the end and Day Fifteen - Diving Back In.
It is now eight hours after I got back home from spending five hours in the emergency room. I have to be at work this morning at 7:00 so I shall end now and hopefully get some time to write tonight.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
When the call came in, I was in the middle of writing Day Twenty Five. I didn't get to finish it and so I saved it. Well, somehow it got published to Facebook (but not to my blog) without it being finished and it had a tag line on it that I had not put on there. Weird. Anyway, I'm going forward from yesterday by copying the shrine story below. Sorry about the confusion.
The story of the shrine at Miyakejima - as told by a classmate who I didn't really know very well. Based upon her communications with me, I get the feeling we would be good friends now. Thanks for sharing.
"Jack would tell this story as if it were true.Long ago in old Japan, when an older person felt like it was time for them to die, they would often simply leave their families and wander off into the woods or head to the mountains and find a spot where death could claim them and they wouldn’t be a burden to their families.
Many years ago, on the island of Miyake, an old woman wandered off alone.Several weeks later, a young man was found dead on the steps of the shrine at Miyakejima. Oddly, he had scratch marks on him. His body was on the fourth step of the fourth flight of stairs leading up to the shrine. (There were seven flights of seven steps.) Four, in Japanese, also means death.
His friend found his body, and was shocked and appalled. Who or what could have done this? He decided to camp out one night on the fourth step of the fourth flight of stairs, to see for himself. He went to the shrine and sat on the step, and waited and waited. Finally, around midnight, he heard a slow whistling that rose and then fell. [You have to do the whistle thing here.]
Before long, he saw a ghostly old woman with straggly hair and long fingernails and eyes like hot coals, and the whistling, louder and louder, coming right at him!So he ran off, as fast as he could!
At this point, Jack would switch on the lights and ask who wanted to go to the shrine and replace the wooden spoon he had placed on the fourth step of the fourth flight of stairs with a metal one. If you did this, you got to write your name in a special book, AND if you didn’t, you really couldn’t run for class office or expect to do anything else important for the rest of your life. (Editors note: This sentence is probably my favorite.)
I was the first one in my group to do it, because I knew my older brothers would be waiting for me back in Tokyo, saying, “Dja go to the shrine?! Dja go to the shrine?”"
For those who didn't read through the entire blog, this is relating to previous posts on Day Five towards the end and Day Fifteen - Diving Back In.
It is now eight hours after I got back home from spending five hours in the emergency room. I have to be at work this morning at 7:00 so I shall end now and hopefully get some time to write tonight.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Day Twenty Five - A little digression before I go forward
I received an email today from my friend, Michele Connor. The reason I'm using her name is because she told me I could. If you go back to Day Fifteen and read about the girl who let me put my futon next to hers, that was Michele Connor. If you go back to Day Eighteen - Long Beach Reunion you will also find her there. It is to my friend and protector, Michele Connor, that I say, "Thank you for holding my hand." I will be talking more about Michele as the story progresses. I will say one more thing about her, however, I don't think she really understands what she did that night when she said, "Janet, you can sleep by me tonight."
I also received several other emails recalling specific things and people who were with me during the barbecue and other times. Another classmate sent me the shrine story. Her recollection of it is not only good but quite humorous.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
I also received several other emails recalling specific things and people who were with me during the barbecue and other times. Another classmate sent me the shrine story. Her recollection of it is not only good but quite humorous.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Day Twenty-four - Going forward - ASIJ 75 Anniversary
As I continue to write, my thoughts about going forward become a little more fearful. The reason is that everything I experienced with Jack as an eleven, twelve and thirteen year old pales to what I experienced as a forty-four year old. And you wonder why it took so long for the young men who were abused by their priests (almost God himself) to finally come out and tell. So sad. Don't tell........
In June of 2003, ASIJ hosted the 75 year anniversary of the school in SanFrancisco, California. My husband and I attended with my oldest sister and her husband. We were pumped. I was so excited about connecting with old friends. I thought that because of all the information I had given the school, Jack was in the past and I wouldn't have to worry about anything associated with him. Because it was a very broad reunion, alumni from every year and age were there. I think there were over 1000 people there but I can't remember precisely.
Can you imagine an American School from another country bringing together that many people? It was incredible. I think the spouses of alumni were completely overwhelmed that we could bring together that many people at a high school reunion. That shows the bond, passion and love people had for this school. As an aside, I have never attended any of my college reunions. There is just something about high school. As my two youngest children experience high school, I hope I can recognize the importance of that in their lives. For some reason, we want to prove ourselves to our high-school class mates. Maybe it's because we were all in such a vulnerable state, going through puberty, competing with classmates in sports, popularity, looks, academics, and many other things. High school is where we prove ourselves. It's an interesting phenomena.
What happens after you attend a high school reunion? Doesn't everybody say, "Wow, did you see how great so and so looks? He/she was so fat but lost so much weight." "Man, blank looks so old. He's bald. What happened? Or she's bald. Yikes." "I never expected so and so to be soooo successful." "Wow, and to think he was the quarter back." And on and on we evaluated everyone based upon our thoughts about them from high school. We also evaluate ourselves based upon that. Don't we want to look our best? Don't we want to say we've moved mountains and cured cancer? Don't we want to be recognized as the "most successful" and not the "most likely to fail"? We talk about whale watching in the northern Pacific, deep sea fishing in the Gulf of Mexico, traversing the highest mountains in Austria, landing the most lucrative deal in all of American history. We all compete for recognition. We all compete for acceptance. We all want to be the "best" unless we aren't and then we criticize those who have made it to the top. Wow, lots of psychological stuff. Maybe it's the red wine talking...... I told you before I like red wine. Particularly a nice 1995 Liberty School Cabernet. Okay - sorry - so I digress - my oldest sister can relate.
Okay - I've been busy catching up on facebook and got sidetracked. Alrighty then. (No, I'm not an Ace Ventura fan - even though everyone of my kids can recite verbatim the lines in the movie.) I'm really getting off track......sometimes humor can cure all illnesses.
Back to 2003. We arrived in San Francisco to attend the reunion. I can't remember the sequence but while we were there we visited Sonoma Valley and the many of the wineries there and in between. Remember I like red wine. We didn't make it to Napa, which I believe, produces some of the best Cabernets. It also is home to the remake of Parent Trap and Dennis Quaid - swooooooooon.
I had visited Carmel during one of our furloughs and so we did go south to Carmel for a day - too short. Carmel is probably one of the most beautiful places I have visited. Would love to spend some time there one day. My daughter and son-in-law went to Carmel for their honeymoon. Wish I could be there.
Okay - back to the reunion. On the first day of the reunion the class of 1976 planned to connect at a blues/jazz bar in San Francisco. We also invited anybody else who wanted to join us to come. I remember being scared, anticipating seeing old friends I had not seen for years. I was with my husband and sister and her husband. We arrived and as we entered started seeing people we knew. It was fabulous. I loved seeing old friends, old boy friends, old girl friends. It was what I had imagined seeing people for the first time after high-school would be like. We talked, laughed, drank, shared, laughed, talked, drank - you get the picture. It was great!!
After meeting at the club, we all proceeded to go to the hotel where the reunion was to be held. I can't even remember the name because we actually didn't stay in the same hotel. There were massive amounts of people at the hotel. We registered and after registration decided to see the extra things available for purchase at the registration table. We stumbled across the book, written by one of the former headmaster's wife called, "The American School in Japan: A history of our first century." Of course, because of the radar in my mind caused by the three years of abuse (need I remind you),I immediately went to see if there was mention of Jack Moyer in there. Of course there was. But rather than down play his successes in Marine Biology or his contribution to the school, there was an entire chapter dedicated to him. To me, it was as if he was the king of ASIJ.
My sister, her husband, my husband and I began reading the chapter about Jack and Miyake. My husband, who has a good sense of humor, began adding after each sentence or name the words "child molester" or "pedophile". It really was quite a humorous read. We got a pretty good laugh at it. I guess that was the way I was going to get through the next few days.
Alright - I'm feeling that some of you aren't sure why this was such a big deal. For those of you who can't understand this yet.... I want you to imagine if this were your daughter. How would you respond? Would you defend her? Would you try to cover up the truth?
Quite frankly, I was disappointed but not surprised. After thirty three years of expecting people and institutions to change I don't know why I expected change when it had not happened before. What cowards! (Oh - you don't like that description of yourself.) Of course, I did not purchase a book. Hind site being twenty twenty I now wish I had - because I could then share with you the sickening eulogies being attributed to this celebrated child molester.
All of this happened in what seemed a whirlwind. We descended down to the area designated for our reunion, connecting to friends along the way. It was exciting, scary and electrifying. Many of the alumni were being summoned to take pictures with their class. I think they started back in the 1930's or 1940's and moved forward. Quite impressive. As they moved up the years, more and more people gathered to capture their class photo. My brother-in-law got caught up in the picture taking process and began participating in the banter consistent with this environment.
All of a sudden, he appeared out of nowhere and said to me, "Come, there is someone you have to meet." (My brother-in-law didn't attend ASIJ - although being a military brat, he knew quite a few ASIJ graduates. He hung out at the "coffee shop" with a lot of ASIJ students. That's where he met my sister.) My response was to follow him. We went into the photo room while the class of 1973 or 1974 was posing for the photo. He said, "You have to talk to this girl. She's asking a lot of questions. I think you might can answer some of them."
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
In June of 2003, ASIJ hosted the 75 year anniversary of the school in SanFrancisco, California. My husband and I attended with my oldest sister and her husband. We were pumped. I was so excited about connecting with old friends. I thought that because of all the information I had given the school, Jack was in the past and I wouldn't have to worry about anything associated with him. Because it was a very broad reunion, alumni from every year and age were there. I think there were over 1000 people there but I can't remember precisely.
Can you imagine an American School from another country bringing together that many people? It was incredible. I think the spouses of alumni were completely overwhelmed that we could bring together that many people at a high school reunion. That shows the bond, passion and love people had for this school. As an aside, I have never attended any of my college reunions. There is just something about high school. As my two youngest children experience high school, I hope I can recognize the importance of that in their lives. For some reason, we want to prove ourselves to our high-school class mates. Maybe it's because we were all in such a vulnerable state, going through puberty, competing with classmates in sports, popularity, looks, academics, and many other things. High school is where we prove ourselves. It's an interesting phenomena.
What happens after you attend a high school reunion? Doesn't everybody say, "Wow, did you see how great so and so looks? He/she was so fat but lost so much weight." "Man, blank looks so old. He's bald. What happened? Or she's bald. Yikes." "I never expected so and so to be soooo successful." "Wow, and to think he was the quarter back." And on and on we evaluated everyone based upon our thoughts about them from high school. We also evaluate ourselves based upon that. Don't we want to look our best? Don't we want to say we've moved mountains and cured cancer? Don't we want to be recognized as the "most successful" and not the "most likely to fail"? We talk about whale watching in the northern Pacific, deep sea fishing in the Gulf of Mexico, traversing the highest mountains in Austria, landing the most lucrative deal in all of American history. We all compete for recognition. We all compete for acceptance. We all want to be the "best" unless we aren't and then we criticize those who have made it to the top. Wow, lots of psychological stuff. Maybe it's the red wine talking...... I told you before I like red wine. Particularly a nice 1995 Liberty School Cabernet. Okay - sorry - so I digress - my oldest sister can relate.
Okay - I've been busy catching up on facebook and got sidetracked. Alrighty then. (No, I'm not an Ace Ventura fan - even though everyone of my kids can recite verbatim the lines in the movie.) I'm really getting off track......sometimes humor can cure all illnesses.
Back to 2003. We arrived in San Francisco to attend the reunion. I can't remember the sequence but while we were there we visited Sonoma Valley and the many of the wineries there and in between. Remember I like red wine. We didn't make it to Napa, which I believe, produces some of the best Cabernets. It also is home to the remake of Parent Trap and Dennis Quaid - swooooooooon.
I had visited Carmel during one of our furloughs and so we did go south to Carmel for a day - too short. Carmel is probably one of the most beautiful places I have visited. Would love to spend some time there one day. My daughter and son-in-law went to Carmel for their honeymoon. Wish I could be there.
Okay - back to the reunion. On the first day of the reunion the class of 1976 planned to connect at a blues/jazz bar in San Francisco. We also invited anybody else who wanted to join us to come. I remember being scared, anticipating seeing old friends I had not seen for years. I was with my husband and sister and her husband. We arrived and as we entered started seeing people we knew. It was fabulous. I loved seeing old friends, old boy friends, old girl friends. It was what I had imagined seeing people for the first time after high-school would be like. We talked, laughed, drank, shared, laughed, talked, drank - you get the picture. It was great!!
After meeting at the club, we all proceeded to go to the hotel where the reunion was to be held. I can't even remember the name because we actually didn't stay in the same hotel. There were massive amounts of people at the hotel. We registered and after registration decided to see the extra things available for purchase at the registration table. We stumbled across the book, written by one of the former headmaster's wife called, "The American School in Japan: A history of our first century." Of course, because of the radar in my mind caused by the three years of abuse (need I remind you),I immediately went to see if there was mention of Jack Moyer in there. Of course there was. But rather than down play his successes in Marine Biology or his contribution to the school, there was an entire chapter dedicated to him. To me, it was as if he was the king of ASIJ.
My sister, her husband, my husband and I began reading the chapter about Jack and Miyake. My husband, who has a good sense of humor, began adding after each sentence or name the words "child molester" or "pedophile". It really was quite a humorous read. We got a pretty good laugh at it. I guess that was the way I was going to get through the next few days.
Alright - I'm feeling that some of you aren't sure why this was such a big deal. For those of you who can't understand this yet.... I want you to imagine if this were your daughter. How would you respond? Would you defend her? Would you try to cover up the truth?
Quite frankly, I was disappointed but not surprised. After thirty three years of expecting people and institutions to change I don't know why I expected change when it had not happened before. What cowards! (Oh - you don't like that description of yourself.) Of course, I did not purchase a book. Hind site being twenty twenty I now wish I had - because I could then share with you the sickening eulogies being attributed to this celebrated child molester.
All of this happened in what seemed a whirlwind. We descended down to the area designated for our reunion, connecting to friends along the way. It was exciting, scary and electrifying. Many of the alumni were being summoned to take pictures with their class. I think they started back in the 1930's or 1940's and moved forward. Quite impressive. As they moved up the years, more and more people gathered to capture their class photo. My brother-in-law got caught up in the picture taking process and began participating in the banter consistent with this environment.
All of a sudden, he appeared out of nowhere and said to me, "Come, there is someone you have to meet." (My brother-in-law didn't attend ASIJ - although being a military brat, he knew quite a few ASIJ graduates. He hung out at the "coffee shop" with a lot of ASIJ students. That's where he met my sister.) My response was to follow him. We went into the photo room while the class of 1973 or 1974 was posing for the photo. He said, "You have to talk to this girl. She's asking a lot of questions. I think you might can answer some of them."
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Day Twenty four - Few more thoughts about responsibity
Yesterday, I wrote about lessons learned. Those lessons weren't actually stated to us, but more implied. We weren't told that it was all our responsibility, we were told that "men can't help themselves." These "lessons" told me that if I was not being pursued by a man, then something was wrong with me. With these lessons and the sexual abuse my entire sexual psyche was screwed up.
I also shared with you that I could finally tell my parents when I was 36 years old. Why did it take so long? I had anticipated their response. I had to get to a place where I was strong enough to take their response. It pains me to say this in writing because my dad has changed (my mom died in 2004) and is willing to accept his responsibility in this, but often times when we had an issue with someone the first thing my dad would ask was, "What did you do to cause this to happen to you?" Now, to be sure, he DID NOT ask me that when I told them about the sexual abuse. What he did say though was that he was proud of me for being strong and seeing that I had forgiven and "gotten over" the pain and suffering. I don't think he knew what he was saying. I don't really remember my Mom's reaction. What I really wanted them to say was, "Where is that bastard? I'll kill him." But I knew that wasn't going to be the response so I had to be okay with that.
Later, my mom mentioned that Daddy didn't understand - or couldn't understand - something like that. But, even after I told them I don't think they really understood - or maybe they didn't want to understand - because it meant they had to look at their own involvement or lack there of - in my life. But for me, just telling them was very significant. It meant that I could handle their rejection - if that's what they gave me, which they didn't. It meant that I was strong enough to hear - "what did you do to bring this on?" - which I didn't. It meant that I was strong enough to stand up against other people who would make me feel inferior for shaking up the apple cart, or those who want to suppress the truth. It showed me that I was finally strong.
I plan on continuing to write tonight, however, would like to post this separately because I'm going to go in a different direction.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
I also shared with you that I could finally tell my parents when I was 36 years old. Why did it take so long? I had anticipated their response. I had to get to a place where I was strong enough to take their response. It pains me to say this in writing because my dad has changed (my mom died in 2004) and is willing to accept his responsibility in this, but often times when we had an issue with someone the first thing my dad would ask was, "What did you do to cause this to happen to you?" Now, to be sure, he DID NOT ask me that when I told them about the sexual abuse. What he did say though was that he was proud of me for being strong and seeing that I had forgiven and "gotten over" the pain and suffering. I don't think he knew what he was saying. I don't really remember my Mom's reaction. What I really wanted them to say was, "Where is that bastard? I'll kill him." But I knew that wasn't going to be the response so I had to be okay with that.
Later, my mom mentioned that Daddy didn't understand - or couldn't understand - something like that. But, even after I told them I don't think they really understood - or maybe they didn't want to understand - because it meant they had to look at their own involvement or lack there of - in my life. But for me, just telling them was very significant. It meant that I could handle their rejection - if that's what they gave me, which they didn't. It meant that I was strong enough to hear - "what did you do to bring this on?" - which I didn't. It meant that I was strong enough to stand up against other people who would make me feel inferior for shaking up the apple cart, or those who want to suppress the truth. It showed me that I was finally strong.
I plan on continuing to write tonight, however, would like to post this separately because I'm going to go in a different direction.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Day Twenty Three - Tired - Short post
Sometime around the summer of 1994 , my oldest brother and two sisters and I met at my parent's house in Mississippi. It was a great time. I don't recall any of our spouses being there except my soon to be sister-in-law. While mother and daddy kept the kids, we drove over to Natchez to visit with my cousin, Willie Ray Huff. At the time he was the sheriff of Natchez, Mississippi. If you were to characterize a Mississippi sheriff, my cousin would be it. His tall and broad stature shadowed the doorway as we entered the sheriff's office.
We had such a great time on the drive over. I remember joking about Mississippi and the stereotypical person who grew up in Mississippi. While driving we took in the beauty of the land and the culture of the state. Although our parents grew up in the south, this was still even foreign land to us.
During the time with our parents a lot of complicated stuff was discussed. We spoke of the difficult transitions each of us made into the States. My older brother shared about his arrival in America with a trunk of possesions and no money. Like me, he was young and vulnerable. We talked of being third culture kids, not being able to call anywhere home. Japan was where we grew up, but the reality was that, although we grew up there it wasn't our home. Even the monkeys starred at us. But niether was America our home. We didn't belong really anywhere.
Yet, we had a strange confidence about us. One American spouse of a fellow MK (missionary kid) identified it as "covert superiority". My brother described it as having the kings privelages with a paupers salary. When we traveled we traveled first class. Not necessarily by plane but traveling on the President Lines (cruise ships across the Pacific with a stop in Hawaii) for two weeks on a cruise, really didn't do us good. Having our own private server, being able to order what we wanted to eat, be treated like kings and enjoying all the privelages of the rich did cause us as children to expect that later in life. What we didn't realize was the privelages we had were way beyond our reality. But somehow it became our reality. Thus the "covert superiority". Others could describe it better than that.
Another reality was this: most of our parents had, not only a college degree, but a post secondary degree. Not just our fathers but our mothers as well. Not many people raised in the 60's and 70's had parents with college degrees much less both parents with post secondary degrees. That affected our attitude.
So, we struggled with being accepted yet we had a "covert superiority" about us. What gives? ( I think that was a phrase penned during the 80's.)
It was during this weekend that I finally had the courage to tell my parents about the abuse. The reason it took so long was because I had anticipated their response. I was ready to accept that they might make me responsible for his actions. Because, you see, men can't help themselves.
One of the lessons we were taught as young girls was that boys/men think about sex every 8-9 seconds. Because men think about sex so often, it is the responsibility of the girls to remain stoic and pure. I don't quite agree with that lesson. It' s not my responsibility to keep a man pure. I do agree that girls do need to be careful with their suggestive clothing etc. however, I don't think it's all on the girls. Men have at least equal responsibility or more. That was not the lesson we were taught.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
We had such a great time on the drive over. I remember joking about Mississippi and the stereotypical person who grew up in Mississippi. While driving we took in the beauty of the land and the culture of the state. Although our parents grew up in the south, this was still even foreign land to us.
During the time with our parents a lot of complicated stuff was discussed. We spoke of the difficult transitions each of us made into the States. My older brother shared about his arrival in America with a trunk of possesions and no money. Like me, he was young and vulnerable. We talked of being third culture kids, not being able to call anywhere home. Japan was where we grew up, but the reality was that, although we grew up there it wasn't our home. Even the monkeys starred at us. But niether was America our home. We didn't belong really anywhere.
Yet, we had a strange confidence about us. One American spouse of a fellow MK (missionary kid) identified it as "covert superiority". My brother described it as having the kings privelages with a paupers salary. When we traveled we traveled first class. Not necessarily by plane but traveling on the President Lines (cruise ships across the Pacific with a stop in Hawaii) for two weeks on a cruise, really didn't do us good. Having our own private server, being able to order what we wanted to eat, be treated like kings and enjoying all the privelages of the rich did cause us as children to expect that later in life. What we didn't realize was the privelages we had were way beyond our reality. But somehow it became our reality. Thus the "covert superiority". Others could describe it better than that.
Another reality was this: most of our parents had, not only a college degree, but a post secondary degree. Not just our fathers but our mothers as well. Not many people raised in the 60's and 70's had parents with college degrees much less both parents with post secondary degrees. That affected our attitude.
So, we struggled with being accepted yet we had a "covert superiority" about us. What gives? ( I think that was a phrase penned during the 80's.)
It was during this weekend that I finally had the courage to tell my parents about the abuse. The reason it took so long was because I had anticipated their response. I was ready to accept that they might make me responsible for his actions. Because, you see, men can't help themselves.
One of the lessons we were taught as young girls was that boys/men think about sex every 8-9 seconds. Because men think about sex so often, it is the responsibility of the girls to remain stoic and pure. I don't quite agree with that lesson. It' s not my responsibility to keep a man pure. I do agree that girls do need to be careful with their suggestive clothing etc. however, I don't think it's all on the girls. Men have at least equal responsibility or more. That was not the lesson we were taught.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Day Twenty-two - Miyake Volcano
Need I mention Roman Polanski? Thirty years ago, at 44, he raped a 13 year old girl . She is now 43. I wonder where she is in her life? Can she comfortably speak with people about this? Every time he received an award it was thrown up in her face. Where are the people coming out of the wood work to protect her like they are attempting to protect him? Unbelievable!! Yes, some would say, but it was 30 years ago. Why would you continue to hold someone accountable for their behavior 30 years ago? Well come to the year 2000 - 30 years before I began my three year prison term being the target and subject of child molestation, sexual abuse, etc. At this point I still didn't realize that there were others..........
In 2000, three years after we moved to Alabama I was checking my email one morning and opened an email from an ASIJ alum requesting help. Anytime I saw anything regarding Japan or ASIJ I naturally was curious about what it said. As I began to read - I don't even remember what was in the subject line - I became agitated. That's probably not a strong enough word. The email, sent to numerous people, requested financial assistance to help Jack Moyer pay a mortgage on his Miyake Farm of $20,000. In June of 2000, the volcano on Miyake erupted and caused everyone on the island to evacuate. I don't know if Jack's farm actually was damaged but I know he was no longer able to maintain the farm.
I really was unsure how to handle the email. My initial response was disbelief. I couldn't believe that the school would endorse or condone this kind of request. But, at this point after previous responses or lack there of, I wasn't surprised. I didn't really know who was behind the request. I didn't know the former student who made the request but was really surprised that it would land in my mailbox. Initially, I wrote her back and requested that she pull the email and discontinue any activity of solicitation from anyone. I explained to her what had happened to me and that I was very surprised by her zealous request. Her first response to me was to confirm my fears. She said basically, "I'm sorry you experienced this but too bad. Not only am I going to help him but I'm not sure I believe you." Now, I'm not quoting exactly what she said, I'm just recalling what I perceived from her email.
Because of her sardonic response, I decided it was time to blow the top off of this. At least to me it felt like that what I was doing. I proceeded to write a letter to the then administrator of the school, I believe he was the Headmaster, sharing my story and challenging the school to stop endorsing the financial request. I mailed the letter with a return receipt attached. Weeks later I received the return receipt showing that he received the letter. I didn't hear from him or anyone from the school. I started to feel those same old shameful feelings. Why are you upsetting the apple cart, Janet? Why are you causing problems for the school? What is wrong with you? Can't you see this is all your fault? But, for whatever reason, strength from God or inner strength (which still comes from God) I persevered and decided to contact the school to see if the administrator received the letter. I wrote an email to him and waited several days for his response.
As you can imagine, everyday I would open my email expecting some kind of reply. It finally came days later. The sterile response said basically, "We received your letter and the board is reviewing it." There were no additional responses and I have no idea what happened after that. If my memory serves me correctly, I believe I heard that Jack was asked to leave the school sometime in the 1990's, however, I believe he still hosted the seventh grade class trip until the volcano hit in 2000. Even after the the school was notified via the reunion committee in 1990, that a student made an accusation against him, they continued to allow their children to work with him and stay in his home. Why would a school continue to harbor a known pedophile? Are you in anyway baffled about this like I am?
After the brief email, I didn't hear anything else from the school. I assumed that they would take care of the situation and that would be the end of anything regarding Jack and the school. Well, again I expected people to do the right thing. People don't always do the right thing. My vulnerable self still believed that people would want to do the right thing. But my skeptical self, who kept the story from anyone for years, knew better.
I don't think I received any more requests for money. I spoke with several people about the ludicrous request and was satisfied that he didn't get any money, at least not that I knew of. I did find out that he had asked this former student of his to send out a request to all the email addresses she had from the Alumni list and request money from ASIJ Alumni. What a yellow bellied coward. I could see his droopy basset hound eyes pleading with this young adherent to "please, please help me. If you don't help me I'll be ruined. I have two homes to support, one on Miyake and the other in the Philippines. I don't know what to do. Will you please help me? I'll be financially devastated. After all the good work I've done. I'll lose everything." He was very good at manipulating any situation to his benefit. Exploitation. Even this young woman was being exploited and she didn't even realize it. After I got over my own anger and disbelief at her response, I was able to see that she too had been duped by this master manipulator.
One thing I did find out during this time was that he married a very young woman (possibly in her late teens or early 20's) from Singapore. Rumor has it that she was in her mid teens when they met. The Philippines are known for exploitation of children, primarily sexually exploited children.
You can find more on the Philippines in this article:
http://www.unescap.org/esid/hds/projects/csec/pubs/philippines.pdf
I'm not sure about the accuracy of the information about his new wife, however; I know she was very young compared to his now old age. I was also told that together they had two young children, one boy and one girl. What to do with this information? Should I do anything about it? How could I do anything about it with them all the way across the world? Besides, he was old. Surely by now he was tired and didn't attempt to molest little girls, right? He also had his own young girl legally in his own home. I also started hearing "rumors" about other people having experienced similar things that I had. Who were they? Would they be willing to talk to me? So, on I went, hopeful that the school was taking care of it on their end, mildly satisfied that I had done all I could.
This was 30 years later............... I was now 41 years old.
(Next post I need to tell you about the time I told my parents. I'll digress about 5 years.)
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
In 2000, three years after we moved to Alabama I was checking my email one morning and opened an email from an ASIJ alum requesting help. Anytime I saw anything regarding Japan or ASIJ I naturally was curious about what it said. As I began to read - I don't even remember what was in the subject line - I became agitated. That's probably not a strong enough word. The email, sent to numerous people, requested financial assistance to help Jack Moyer pay a mortgage on his Miyake Farm of $20,000. In June of 2000, the volcano on Miyake erupted and caused everyone on the island to evacuate. I don't know if Jack's farm actually was damaged but I know he was no longer able to maintain the farm.
I really was unsure how to handle the email. My initial response was disbelief. I couldn't believe that the school would endorse or condone this kind of request. But, at this point after previous responses or lack there of, I wasn't surprised. I didn't really know who was behind the request. I didn't know the former student who made the request but was really surprised that it would land in my mailbox. Initially, I wrote her back and requested that she pull the email and discontinue any activity of solicitation from anyone. I explained to her what had happened to me and that I was very surprised by her zealous request. Her first response to me was to confirm my fears. She said basically, "I'm sorry you experienced this but too bad. Not only am I going to help him but I'm not sure I believe you." Now, I'm not quoting exactly what she said, I'm just recalling what I perceived from her email.
Because of her sardonic response, I decided it was time to blow the top off of this. At least to me it felt like that what I was doing. I proceeded to write a letter to the then administrator of the school, I believe he was the Headmaster, sharing my story and challenging the school to stop endorsing the financial request. I mailed the letter with a return receipt attached. Weeks later I received the return receipt showing that he received the letter. I didn't hear from him or anyone from the school. I started to feel those same old shameful feelings. Why are you upsetting the apple cart, Janet? Why are you causing problems for the school? What is wrong with you? Can't you see this is all your fault? But, for whatever reason, strength from God or inner strength (which still comes from God) I persevered and decided to contact the school to see if the administrator received the letter. I wrote an email to him and waited several days for his response.
As you can imagine, everyday I would open my email expecting some kind of reply. It finally came days later. The sterile response said basically, "We received your letter and the board is reviewing it." There were no additional responses and I have no idea what happened after that. If my memory serves me correctly, I believe I heard that Jack was asked to leave the school sometime in the 1990's, however, I believe he still hosted the seventh grade class trip until the volcano hit in 2000. Even after the the school was notified via the reunion committee in 1990, that a student made an accusation against him, they continued to allow their children to work with him and stay in his home. Why would a school continue to harbor a known pedophile? Are you in anyway baffled about this like I am?
After the brief email, I didn't hear anything else from the school. I assumed that they would take care of the situation and that would be the end of anything regarding Jack and the school. Well, again I expected people to do the right thing. People don't always do the right thing. My vulnerable self still believed that people would want to do the right thing. But my skeptical self, who kept the story from anyone for years, knew better.
I don't think I received any more requests for money. I spoke with several people about the ludicrous request and was satisfied that he didn't get any money, at least not that I knew of. I did find out that he had asked this former student of his to send out a request to all the email addresses she had from the Alumni list and request money from ASIJ Alumni. What a yellow bellied coward. I could see his droopy basset hound eyes pleading with this young adherent to "please, please help me. If you don't help me I'll be ruined. I have two homes to support, one on Miyake and the other in the Philippines. I don't know what to do. Will you please help me? I'll be financially devastated. After all the good work I've done. I'll lose everything." He was very good at manipulating any situation to his benefit. Exploitation. Even this young woman was being exploited and she didn't even realize it. After I got over my own anger and disbelief at her response, I was able to see that she too had been duped by this master manipulator.
One thing I did find out during this time was that he married a very young woman (possibly in her late teens or early 20's) from Singapore. Rumor has it that she was in her mid teens when they met. The Philippines are known for exploitation of children, primarily sexually exploited children.
You can find more on the Philippines in this article:
http://www.unescap.org/esid/hds/projects/csec/pubs/philippines.pdf
I'm not sure about the accuracy of the information about his new wife, however; I know she was very young compared to his now old age. I was also told that together they had two young children, one boy and one girl. What to do with this information? Should I do anything about it? How could I do anything about it with them all the way across the world? Besides, he was old. Surely by now he was tired and didn't attempt to molest little girls, right? He also had his own young girl legally in his own home. I also started hearing "rumors" about other people having experienced similar things that I had. Who were they? Would they be willing to talk to me? So, on I went, hopeful that the school was taking care of it on their end, mildly satisfied that I had done all I could.
This was 30 years later............... I was now 41 years old.
(Next post I need to tell you about the time I told my parents. I'll digress about 5 years.)
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Day Twenty-one - 1997 - 2000
In 1997, we moved to Alabama with my husband's job. I was still a stay-at-home mom with kids in school, out of school, wanting to be in school and wanting to not be in school. Our kids were 15, 13, 4 and 2. Because of the space between our kids, my husband would often introduce the older two as the kids from his first wife. This caused much confusion to any one who we met because I was his first wife. Ha, ha!!
We moved into our new home that my husband purchased without me even seeing it!! Wow, a lot of people thought that was weird. But, he really did a good job in picking a house for our large family.
A lot of stuff happened that year. My father-in-law was very sick. When my husband went on the interview for the new job, my father-in-law anticipated his success. That week, my husband called to tell his dad that he was offered the job and by Saturday, my father-in-law died. It was as if he was waiting to see his son promoted. It was quite moving.
As soon as we knew we were moving, we put our house on the market. We had it listed for maybe a day and we received an offer. We sold our house for $1000 less than our asking price in about a week. It really did seem as though God had planned our move.
Because of the move and the new job, I didn't have time to keep up with email and what was going on in the world beyond us. We moved into our new home. When the movers unloaded the computer, I quickly set it up on the floor in the kitchen so I could reconnect with family, friends and the outside world.
As I started catching up on emails, I started following emails sent to my dad and forwarded on to his kids (us) regarding our house at Nojiri Lake in Nagano, Japan.
For those of you who aren't familiar with Japan, Nojiri Lake is a lake surrounded by mountains, located in Nagano Prefecture north of Tokyo. Many missionaries and few business families owned or leased property and homes on the slopes of the mountain surrounding the lake. Every year we spent our vacation time at Nojiri. It was an incredible experience. We learned how to swim, sail and kiss at Nojiri. Many wonderful memories abound from that time. Our house, 49A, sat on the side of the mountain, overlooking the beautiful lake. At times, when the winds were still and the sun was out I could see a perfect reflection of the mountains and sky in the lake. It was spectacular. During the summer we would celebrate "Obon" or the remembrance of the ancestors. The people in the Japanese village across from us would place boats lit up with candles on the lake and they would float across the water, lighting up the lake in the night for a spectacular display of remembrance. Also, similar to the forth of July in the States, they would set off fire works, for what seemed like, hours and hours. It was a wonderful celebration.
Another thing that is significant about Nojiri is that for a long time there was no water or electricity connected to the homes. We had to hall water down to the house from a local spring and in order to heat up the water we used gas stoves and heaters. During the winter we used a pot bellied stove with wood. We also did not have flush toilets. We had a septic tank in the ground that was emptied once a year by the local "honey bucket truck". We bathed in the ofuro which consisted of a wooden tub capable of holding a 200 pound person without over flowing.
Before electricity, in order to keep food cold, we put it in a snow pit. The snow pit was a pit dug out of the side of the mountain next to the cabin. Every year during the winter, snow was shoveled into the pit with the expectation that the snow would last through-out the summer providing natural refrigeration for homes on the mountain. I remember storing milk and other things in the snow pit. We would have to climb down a ladder into the pit and retrieve milk or other food from the pit. Later, when electricity was introduced and installed into the homes, the snow pit was no longer needed.
Evidently, this particular summer, the summer of 1997, the family that was leasing the house decided to use the old snow pit for a fire pit. They gathered up all the leaves and limbs lost during the winter and threw them into the snow pit. The dad proceeded to light the leaves and limbs on fire and burn them to get rid of the debris. After all the leaves and limbs were burned they closed the door to the snow pit, thinking that the fire was out. According to my memory, the leaves were still smoldering and the combustion from the closed door caused the snow pit to explode, catching the house on fire. Everyone except their little girl and their dog survived. She was sleeping in my bedroom closest to the snow pit. This family lost their little girl in the fire.
As I read the email describing the fire and loss of child, I began to sob. How devastating that was. Not to lose a house, but to lose a life! This loss impacted me without description. I didn't even know the young girl but felt as though I lost a sister. That memory still pierces my soul.
I thought I could get to 2000 and the volcano tonight but sleep has entered my weary eyes. I shall go forth tomorrow. Until then........
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
We moved into our new home that my husband purchased without me even seeing it!! Wow, a lot of people thought that was weird. But, he really did a good job in picking a house for our large family.
A lot of stuff happened that year. My father-in-law was very sick. When my husband went on the interview for the new job, my father-in-law anticipated his success. That week, my husband called to tell his dad that he was offered the job and by Saturday, my father-in-law died. It was as if he was waiting to see his son promoted. It was quite moving.
As soon as we knew we were moving, we put our house on the market. We had it listed for maybe a day and we received an offer. We sold our house for $1000 less than our asking price in about a week. It really did seem as though God had planned our move.
Because of the move and the new job, I didn't have time to keep up with email and what was going on in the world beyond us. We moved into our new home. When the movers unloaded the computer, I quickly set it up on the floor in the kitchen so I could reconnect with family, friends and the outside world.
As I started catching up on emails, I started following emails sent to my dad and forwarded on to his kids (us) regarding our house at Nojiri Lake in Nagano, Japan.
For those of you who aren't familiar with Japan, Nojiri Lake is a lake surrounded by mountains, located in Nagano Prefecture north of Tokyo. Many missionaries and few business families owned or leased property and homes on the slopes of the mountain surrounding the lake. Every year we spent our vacation time at Nojiri. It was an incredible experience. We learned how to swim, sail and kiss at Nojiri. Many wonderful memories abound from that time. Our house, 49A, sat on the side of the mountain, overlooking the beautiful lake. At times, when the winds were still and the sun was out I could see a perfect reflection of the mountains and sky in the lake. It was spectacular. During the summer we would celebrate "Obon" or the remembrance of the ancestors. The people in the Japanese village across from us would place boats lit up with candles on the lake and they would float across the water, lighting up the lake in the night for a spectacular display of remembrance. Also, similar to the forth of July in the States, they would set off fire works, for what seemed like, hours and hours. It was a wonderful celebration.
Another thing that is significant about Nojiri is that for a long time there was no water or electricity connected to the homes. We had to hall water down to the house from a local spring and in order to heat up the water we used gas stoves and heaters. During the winter we used a pot bellied stove with wood. We also did not have flush toilets. We had a septic tank in the ground that was emptied once a year by the local "honey bucket truck". We bathed in the ofuro which consisted of a wooden tub capable of holding a 200 pound person without over flowing.
Before electricity, in order to keep food cold, we put it in a snow pit. The snow pit was a pit dug out of the side of the mountain next to the cabin. Every year during the winter, snow was shoveled into the pit with the expectation that the snow would last through-out the summer providing natural refrigeration for homes on the mountain. I remember storing milk and other things in the snow pit. We would have to climb down a ladder into the pit and retrieve milk or other food from the pit. Later, when electricity was introduced and installed into the homes, the snow pit was no longer needed.
Evidently, this particular summer, the summer of 1997, the family that was leasing the house decided to use the old snow pit for a fire pit. They gathered up all the leaves and limbs lost during the winter and threw them into the snow pit. The dad proceeded to light the leaves and limbs on fire and burn them to get rid of the debris. After all the leaves and limbs were burned they closed the door to the snow pit, thinking that the fire was out. According to my memory, the leaves were still smoldering and the combustion from the closed door caused the snow pit to explode, catching the house on fire. Everyone except their little girl and their dog survived. She was sleeping in my bedroom closest to the snow pit. This family lost their little girl in the fire.
As I read the email describing the fire and loss of child, I began to sob. How devastating that was. Not to lose a house, but to lose a life! This loss impacted me without description. I didn't even know the young girl but felt as though I lost a sister. That memory still pierces my soul.
I thought I could get to 2000 and the volcano tonight but sleep has entered my weary eyes. I shall go forth tomorrow. Until then........
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Day Twenty-one - Don't tell
I continue as my cat jumps up on the desk and into my lap demanding my attention. She sometimes cradles her head in the nook of my arm to hide from any unforeseen danger. She completely trusts me. She knows I will do no harm. She knows she can count on me to protect her. I think it is interesting how animals can sense these kinds of things.
Don't tell....... So for years I didn't tell. I'm thinking now it was because of several things. First, I wanted to be accepted. Telling meant being isolated. Polar opposites. Also, I was afraid. Afraid of what? Alienation. Same thing, isolation, alienation.Afraid of being the person who rocked the boat; tainting a school and it's legacy. Afraid of being labeled a nutcase. Afraid of being looked upon as soiled goods. And most afraid of not being believed, not only from people in general but from friends and especially my own family.
Just last week, my dad, sister and I met in Mississippi to conduct some legal business. While my sister and I visited my dad different stuff came up about our past. I was teasing my dad about criticizing me during high-school about my weight - I was always on a diet!! My dad proceeded to talk about how I dressed in junior high and high school and how inappropriate it was. I think we all dressed pretty similarly, but primarily it was the mini skirts, the mid-drifts and the bare backs. For once, when this subject was brought up I was able to reply with, "Daddy, You have to remember where I was during this time and remember what influenced me." Studies show that children who are sexually abused act out in different ways. Some dress promiscuously, some act promiscuously, some withdraw or act out and others hurt themselves. My dad responded with a nod of understanding and seemed to realize this was something he didn't recognize before but now does. That meant a lot to me. It just takes time to figure it all out.
Thankfully, I have been able to forgive not only Jack but also my parents and others who let me down by not noticing the signs, not wanting to accept the truth and wanting to protect the facade. I am still struggling with those who are not interested in the truth and are afraid of what the truth might do. I'm so sorry if this harms their interests. I'm really not interested in their interests. Especially if it continues to cause us to not tell.....
Later, I will start writing about the Miyake volcano eruption in the summer of 2000 and how that affected me.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Don't tell....... So for years I didn't tell. I'm thinking now it was because of several things. First, I wanted to be accepted. Telling meant being isolated. Polar opposites. Also, I was afraid. Afraid of what? Alienation. Same thing, isolation, alienation.Afraid of being the person who rocked the boat; tainting a school and it's legacy. Afraid of being labeled a nutcase. Afraid of being looked upon as soiled goods. And most afraid of not being believed, not only from people in general but from friends and especially my own family.
Just last week, my dad, sister and I met in Mississippi to conduct some legal business. While my sister and I visited my dad different stuff came up about our past. I was teasing my dad about criticizing me during high-school about my weight - I was always on a diet!! My dad proceeded to talk about how I dressed in junior high and high school and how inappropriate it was. I think we all dressed pretty similarly, but primarily it was the mini skirts, the mid-drifts and the bare backs. For once, when this subject was brought up I was able to reply with, "Daddy, You have to remember where I was during this time and remember what influenced me." Studies show that children who are sexually abused act out in different ways. Some dress promiscuously, some act promiscuously, some withdraw or act out and others hurt themselves. My dad responded with a nod of understanding and seemed to realize this was something he didn't recognize before but now does. That meant a lot to me. It just takes time to figure it all out.
Thankfully, I have been able to forgive not only Jack but also my parents and others who let me down by not noticing the signs, not wanting to accept the truth and wanting to protect the facade. I am still struggling with those who are not interested in the truth and are afraid of what the truth might do. I'm so sorry if this harms their interests. I'm really not interested in their interests. Especially if it continues to cause us to not tell.....
Later, I will start writing about the Miyake volcano eruption in the summer of 2000 and how that affected me.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Day Twenty - Continuing with some interesting insite
My sister corrected my previous post about my brother's award at the Houston International Film Festival. She writes, "The film was called "The Strongest Link", I think...Oddly enough, it was a film about the excellent Houston Emergency Medical System and how well it runs and also the emotional aspect of some of it's workers. So there it is, another "connection" with your ambulance heroes."
Thanks for the correction, CACD.
Today, I was hopelessly trying to finish up some work on the house we are doing because of the hurricane that devastated our community last year. We had a limb of a large oak tree crash into the left side of our house causing about $40,000 worth of damage. Many in our community suffered much worse. We are very grateful that no one was hurt. But, we still have some unfinished business and we have a group of people from the school coming to our house on October 5th for an Open House for the school. I have to get it at least presentable.
It's amazing how moving a paint brush up and down causes some kind of therapy. I'm by myself, contemplating everything going on in my life. I think about my son who is "playing" football but isn't really because he is second in line for his position. I see the pain on his face when the coach neglects to put him in even though the team is up by 100 gazillion points. I contemplate my life and why I am actually painting instead of having someone else come in a do it for me. It's a matter of choice, I suppose.
As I was painting today I asked myself why it has taken so long to share my story. I was thinking about other people who have been abused and the fact that you really don't see a lot of stories shared out there. Why? One thing I was thinking was that the people who have been or are being abused are already vulnerable. That's what makes them a target. Then couple that with a general public who doesn't want to know, that makes it even more difficult. Look at the guys who were sexually abused by the priests!! I can't imagine something more sinister or evil. Using your faith as a draw for young men. But it happened and look how long it took to come out. Being in a predominately Catholic community I occasionally see a car drive by with a bumper sticker that says, "There are good Catholic priests". No doubt, but the message I get from that is, "Don't tell." It would be the same if all of a sudden up popped a bumper sticker that said, "There are good teachers." If it was geared toward me, I would feel the same, "Don't tell." Don't tell the truth because it causes all of us to be accountable. Don't tell the truth because I don't want to believe that the person whom I confess my sins to is molesting a young boy. Don't tell the truth because the activist teacher I love is molesting little girls. Don't tell the truth because it makes me look bad because I didn't do anything about it.
Don't tell. Don't tell.
I shall write more later, however, my body and brain is required to change into another frame as we are attending an Engagement party for a friend.
Don't tell......................................................................................
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Thanks for the correction, CACD.
Today, I was hopelessly trying to finish up some work on the house we are doing because of the hurricane that devastated our community last year. We had a limb of a large oak tree crash into the left side of our house causing about $40,000 worth of damage. Many in our community suffered much worse. We are very grateful that no one was hurt. But, we still have some unfinished business and we have a group of people from the school coming to our house on October 5th for an Open House for the school. I have to get it at least presentable.
It's amazing how moving a paint brush up and down causes some kind of therapy. I'm by myself, contemplating everything going on in my life. I think about my son who is "playing" football but isn't really because he is second in line for his position. I see the pain on his face when the coach neglects to put him in even though the team is up by 100 gazillion points. I contemplate my life and why I am actually painting instead of having someone else come in a do it for me. It's a matter of choice, I suppose.
As I was painting today I asked myself why it has taken so long to share my story. I was thinking about other people who have been abused and the fact that you really don't see a lot of stories shared out there. Why? One thing I was thinking was that the people who have been or are being abused are already vulnerable. That's what makes them a target. Then couple that with a general public who doesn't want to know, that makes it even more difficult. Look at the guys who were sexually abused by the priests!! I can't imagine something more sinister or evil. Using your faith as a draw for young men. But it happened and look how long it took to come out. Being in a predominately Catholic community I occasionally see a car drive by with a bumper sticker that says, "There are good Catholic priests". No doubt, but the message I get from that is, "Don't tell." It would be the same if all of a sudden up popped a bumper sticker that said, "There are good teachers." If it was geared toward me, I would feel the same, "Don't tell." Don't tell the truth because it causes all of us to be accountable. Don't tell the truth because I don't want to believe that the person whom I confess my sins to is molesting a young boy. Don't tell the truth because the activist teacher I love is molesting little girls. Don't tell the truth because it makes me look bad because I didn't do anything about it.
Don't tell. Don't tell.
I shall write more later, however, my body and brain is required to change into another frame as we are attending an Engagement party for a friend.
Don't tell......................................................................................
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Day Twenty - From the height of joy to the depth of despair.
There is a brief respite in sight this coming week. The temperature is supposed to break down into the 80's. Hallelujah for small blessings!
I talked about the difficult delivery of our forth child in April of 1995. I stayed in the hospital for five days. I lost so much blood but the doctor said that because I was in really good shape they didn't have give me any blood which was fortunate. We came home on May 3rd. My parents were in route to North Carolina after a brief stint in Dallas and subsequent drive to Houston to attend the International Film Festival with my older brother and oldest sister. My brother had been nominated for an award for a documentary he produced and directed about the US Coast Guard. (Help me get this straight family.) My brother and his wife, my sister and her daughter and my parents all attended the festivities. As they sat there at a table of PBS producers/directors and others my brother thought that the nomination/award was so small that they chose not to mention it during the awards so he was ready to leave and go back to the room when my sister urged him to stay.
They continued to listen to the different nominations and subsequent awards being announced, people coming to the stage accepting their awards and reciting their acceptance speeches. It got down to the very last award, the Grand Award for Best Film and Video in 1995 for the Houston International Film Festival and I can imagine the drum roll, the anticipation, the sweat running off people's brows when they announced none other than my brother's name. My sister jumped up and began screaming and whooping and hollering. I'm doubtful that my mom and dad did, however; I can see them quietly sitting, smiling and holding their heads high with pride thinking quietly to themselves, "That's OUR son."
Wow, what elation. That was phenomenal. From the height of joy..........
I don't exactly remember the sequence of the film festival and my delivery but it was all around the same time. After I got home from the hospital and settled in for a day or two, the children were all in bed, the baby was next to me in his bassinet and we were all in a deep sleep. You can imagine the fear and anticipation we felt when the phone rang around 2:00 in the morning. It was my oldest sister. She was frantic, trying to find my mom and dad. She said, "I think Jared died. I have to find out where Mother and Daddy are. Do you know?" Jared, my middle sister's oldest child had suffered a heart attack. By the time the paramedics made it to their house he was gone. He was only twelve years old. I called my parents who were staying in a hotel nearby and woke them up. They had just arrived in Nashville to spend time with us since the baby had been born and to help me at the house while I recovered. That morning they arrived at our house at 6:00 a.m. making arrangements to drive back to Dallas that day to be with my middle sister and her family and to help in funeral arrangements.
From the height of joy and life to the depth of despair and death.
How can you explain God in all this? Why is there so much suffering? Why did Jared have to die so young? Why did my son live? How can one family have so much joy and without even a glance so much pain within days if not minutes? There have been many books written on this subject and without reading most of them I can take an educated guess that each writer has his or her own opinion and none of them are the same. The only response I can give without going into a diatribe of my own personal opinion is to quote from John 6:68b. "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life."
God is good. All the time.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
I talked about the difficult delivery of our forth child in April of 1995. I stayed in the hospital for five days. I lost so much blood but the doctor said that because I was in really good shape they didn't have give me any blood which was fortunate. We came home on May 3rd. My parents were in route to North Carolina after a brief stint in Dallas and subsequent drive to Houston to attend the International Film Festival with my older brother and oldest sister. My brother had been nominated for an award for a documentary he produced and directed about the US Coast Guard. (Help me get this straight family.) My brother and his wife, my sister and her daughter and my parents all attended the festivities. As they sat there at a table of PBS producers/directors and others my brother thought that the nomination/award was so small that they chose not to mention it during the awards so he was ready to leave and go back to the room when my sister urged him to stay.
They continued to listen to the different nominations and subsequent awards being announced, people coming to the stage accepting their awards and reciting their acceptance speeches. It got down to the very last award, the Grand Award for Best Film and Video in 1995 for the Houston International Film Festival and I can imagine the drum roll, the anticipation, the sweat running off people's brows when they announced none other than my brother's name. My sister jumped up and began screaming and whooping and hollering. I'm doubtful that my mom and dad did, however; I can see them quietly sitting, smiling and holding their heads high with pride thinking quietly to themselves, "That's OUR son."
Wow, what elation. That was phenomenal. From the height of joy..........
I don't exactly remember the sequence of the film festival and my delivery but it was all around the same time. After I got home from the hospital and settled in for a day or two, the children were all in bed, the baby was next to me in his bassinet and we were all in a deep sleep. You can imagine the fear and anticipation we felt when the phone rang around 2:00 in the morning. It was my oldest sister. She was frantic, trying to find my mom and dad. She said, "I think Jared died. I have to find out where Mother and Daddy are. Do you know?" Jared, my middle sister's oldest child had suffered a heart attack. By the time the paramedics made it to their house he was gone. He was only twelve years old. I called my parents who were staying in a hotel nearby and woke them up. They had just arrived in Nashville to spend time with us since the baby had been born and to help me at the house while I recovered. That morning they arrived at our house at 6:00 a.m. making arrangements to drive back to Dallas that day to be with my middle sister and her family and to help in funeral arrangements.
From the height of joy and life to the depth of despair and death.
How can you explain God in all this? Why is there so much suffering? Why did Jared have to die so young? Why did my son live? How can one family have so much joy and without even a glance so much pain within days if not minutes? There have been many books written on this subject and without reading most of them I can take an educated guess that each writer has his or her own opinion and none of them are the same. The only response I can give without going into a diatribe of my own personal opinion is to quote from John 6:68b. "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life."
God is good. All the time.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Day Nineteen - Still muggy in South Louisiana
It's almost October and our air-conditioner is still going full steam ahead. There is little relief in sight. My hair is frizzy beyond recognition. I look like a person who stuck their finger in an electrical socket. Yikes!! People beware out there.
I shared with you my experience about the Impatient plant on my last post. God continued to show his faithfulness in our marriage and our lives in many different ways. Our third child and second son was born in November of 1992. He was a source of many happy and delightful days. I was working part time by now and by the end of January of 1995, my husband and I agreed that it was time for me to stay home with the kids.
Right out of college I went to work for CocaCola USA in the Southwest District office in Dallas, Texas. I was the Marketing Planner and worked with statistics and primarily market share for our region. I traveled a little bit in the region. I really liked that job. After Dallas we moved to Austin, TX for a few months and then to Tenneesee where my husband began his career job. For a few years after our first two children were born, I worked in the computer industry selling CADD or Computer Aided Drafting and Design systems to local architects and engineering firms. I actually sold the first AutoCAD - PC based system in our area. That was just when PC's were entering into the marketplace. Prior to that most firms had large mainframes and used either Intergraph systems or other engineering based systems. I later went to work for Johnson and Johnson as a Baby Product rep, which was a part time job, only 25 hours per week. This allowed me to be home in the afternoons with my kids. It was a good job. When summer began looming in the future and the thought of paying for three children's childcare, we realized it was better for the kids and for our finances for me to stay at home.
I loved being at home with the kids. It became evident that they really needed me, too. My oldest son was struggling with concentration issues and consequently behavior issues. His first eight years in school were filled with constant problems. It was good for me to be home. Also, it gave me time to spend with our daughter and our other son. In 1995, our forth and last child was born. I had problems with this pregnancy from day one which was rather strange because all my other pregnancies had been fairly uneventful.
Early on in the pregnancy I had some minor issues that could have become bigger but didn't. At some point in the first to second trimester my doctor did a series of standard tests and one came back with a strong indicator that this child might have Downs Syndrome. At the request of our doctor, we did an amniocentesis to either confirm or dispel this possibility. We didn't think about the possibility to abort, however, my doctor said there were things they could do to help along the way if he tested positive. After two grueling but God focused weeks - God was faithful to grant us peace during this time - we got the tests back and it had just been a scare.
When I was five months pregnant I got sick and stayed sick for about a month. After being on several weeks of antibiotics my entire body started hurting. I felt like a knife was stabbing me in the back. It just so happened that this particular day was a Saturday. Have you ever called in to the doctor's office when you are pregnant to tell them your back is killing you? Well, don't. Evidently, I didn't tell the answering service the correct information because I never got a call back. She was probably thinking, "A pregnant woman is calling in because her back is killing her? Give me a break." Finally, later in the morning when I realized no body was going to call me back I called back again and described my pain. The on-call doctor finally called back and told me to go to the emergency room. My husband was gone to an event for his brother so I drove myself to the hospital and went through triage. The triage nurse listened to my lungs and my breathing and said, "There's nothing wrong with you but since you are here we have to let the doctor see you." The doctor comes in and listens to my lungs and breathing and says, "There's nothing wrong with you but just in case, let's do an x-ray."
I had double pneumonia. They checked me into the hospital and I stayed on medication and fluids for several days. I just wish doctor's would listen to the patient sometimes.
My due date was around May 15, 1995. My first three children had been two weeks early so as the end of April came around, we started thinking we were going to have a baby soon. One afternoon, the sun was high in the sky and the day was warm so I decided to lay out and let my big belly get some exposure to the sun. I had done this several times and was developing quite a nice tan. Funny looking, yes, but not as funny looking as a big white belly. As I was laying out in the sun a wasp or hornet started circling above me. I laid very still, hoping it would fly away. Just when it took a nose dive for my belly I jerked to keep it from landing on me. Right after I jerked and a sharp pain permeated my body. About that time the phone rang and a very good friend was calling to check on me. As I was talking to her, I felt what I thought was my water breaking. She encouraged me to call the doctor and my husband and got off the phone. I proceeded to do both but then noticed what appeared to me to be an extraordinary amount of blood. My friend called back to see how I was doing and I described this problem to her. She suggested I call the doctor back and I did. They told me to call 911 and I did.
First to arrive was the fire truck, then the ambulance with the paramedics. My husband and children were behind them. When the paramedics arrived they got me down on the foyer and began attempting to find a vein for an IV. They also had some antiquated machine to get the baby's heartbeat. I kept on asking, "How is the baby? Don't worry about me, how is the baby?" After this I became somewhat euphoric and calm. I was told later that it was because of the tremendous amount of blood I lost. They couldn't find a vein so they got me into the ambulance and began working on me all the way to the hospital. When my husband arrived with the children and saw the fire truck and ambulance he told them to stay in the car. He says he walked into the foyer with paramedics all around and saw all the blood and thought we were having the baby at home. It wasn't until a few minutes later that he realized we were in a critical place.
Those paramedics were unbelievable. They treated me with utmost care. To this day I will be the first person to pull over for an ambulance. They drove me from Brentwood to downtown Nashville's Baptist Hospital in record time and got me into the hospital in time for the doctors to take over and put me under. This was the only c-section I had and it was quite scary. Later we were told that I had an abruption of the placenta. We also found out that our baby had the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Had I delivered naturally there was a good possibility that he would have died during childbirth.
Several things took place during this time that I should make note of. One was that my third child was taking a nap upstairs during this entire fiasco. My neighbors all came over to see what was going on and they proceeded to take care of cleaning up my mess, talking care of my then 2 1/2 year old sleeping upstairs and doing whatever else we needed. They were incredible. My oldest was excited when he saw the fire truck and ambulance and yelled, "Are we going to be on 9-1-1?" As I mentioned, the paramedics were great. And our church. What can I say about being a part of the body of Christ? We had food and other things for one entire month. I think our grocery bill was $50 that month. My friend who talked to me on the phone came over for the first two weeks everyday and took care of me, washed my clothes, cleaned the house and made cookies for my kids. It was amazing to see people come together to help my family during this difficult time. My daughter wrote an essay in her class remembering how the paramedics saved her mom's life. We delivered it to them one day with some goodies and a big thank you. God is good, all the time. Or is he?
Our forth child was born on April 28, 1995. The week after his birth many different things happened to the Calcote nuclear family.
We went from the height of joy to the depth of despair in just one week.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
I shared with you my experience about the Impatient plant on my last post. God continued to show his faithfulness in our marriage and our lives in many different ways. Our third child and second son was born in November of 1992. He was a source of many happy and delightful days. I was working part time by now and by the end of January of 1995, my husband and I agreed that it was time for me to stay home with the kids.
Right out of college I went to work for CocaCola USA in the Southwest District office in Dallas, Texas. I was the Marketing Planner and worked with statistics and primarily market share for our region. I traveled a little bit in the region. I really liked that job. After Dallas we moved to Austin, TX for a few months and then to Tenneesee where my husband began his career job. For a few years after our first two children were born, I worked in the computer industry selling CADD or Computer Aided Drafting and Design systems to local architects and engineering firms. I actually sold the first AutoCAD - PC based system in our area. That was just when PC's were entering into the marketplace. Prior to that most firms had large mainframes and used either Intergraph systems or other engineering based systems. I later went to work for Johnson and Johnson as a Baby Product rep, which was a part time job, only 25 hours per week. This allowed me to be home in the afternoons with my kids. It was a good job. When summer began looming in the future and the thought of paying for three children's childcare, we realized it was better for the kids and for our finances for me to stay at home.
I loved being at home with the kids. It became evident that they really needed me, too. My oldest son was struggling with concentration issues and consequently behavior issues. His first eight years in school were filled with constant problems. It was good for me to be home. Also, it gave me time to spend with our daughter and our other son. In 1995, our forth and last child was born. I had problems with this pregnancy from day one which was rather strange because all my other pregnancies had been fairly uneventful.
Early on in the pregnancy I had some minor issues that could have become bigger but didn't. At some point in the first to second trimester my doctor did a series of standard tests and one came back with a strong indicator that this child might have Downs Syndrome. At the request of our doctor, we did an amniocentesis to either confirm or dispel this possibility. We didn't think about the possibility to abort, however, my doctor said there were things they could do to help along the way if he tested positive. After two grueling but God focused weeks - God was faithful to grant us peace during this time - we got the tests back and it had just been a scare.
When I was five months pregnant I got sick and stayed sick for about a month. After being on several weeks of antibiotics my entire body started hurting. I felt like a knife was stabbing me in the back. It just so happened that this particular day was a Saturday. Have you ever called in to the doctor's office when you are pregnant to tell them your back is killing you? Well, don't. Evidently, I didn't tell the answering service the correct information because I never got a call back. She was probably thinking, "A pregnant woman is calling in because her back is killing her? Give me a break." Finally, later in the morning when I realized no body was going to call me back I called back again and described my pain. The on-call doctor finally called back and told me to go to the emergency room. My husband was gone to an event for his brother so I drove myself to the hospital and went through triage. The triage nurse listened to my lungs and my breathing and said, "There's nothing wrong with you but since you are here we have to let the doctor see you." The doctor comes in and listens to my lungs and breathing and says, "There's nothing wrong with you but just in case, let's do an x-ray."
I had double pneumonia. They checked me into the hospital and I stayed on medication and fluids for several days. I just wish doctor's would listen to the patient sometimes.
My due date was around May 15, 1995. My first three children had been two weeks early so as the end of April came around, we started thinking we were going to have a baby soon. One afternoon, the sun was high in the sky and the day was warm so I decided to lay out and let my big belly get some exposure to the sun. I had done this several times and was developing quite a nice tan. Funny looking, yes, but not as funny looking as a big white belly. As I was laying out in the sun a wasp or hornet started circling above me. I laid very still, hoping it would fly away. Just when it took a nose dive for my belly I jerked to keep it from landing on me. Right after I jerked and a sharp pain permeated my body. About that time the phone rang and a very good friend was calling to check on me. As I was talking to her, I felt what I thought was my water breaking. She encouraged me to call the doctor and my husband and got off the phone. I proceeded to do both but then noticed what appeared to me to be an extraordinary amount of blood. My friend called back to see how I was doing and I described this problem to her. She suggested I call the doctor back and I did. They told me to call 911 and I did.
First to arrive was the fire truck, then the ambulance with the paramedics. My husband and children were behind them. When the paramedics arrived they got me down on the foyer and began attempting to find a vein for an IV. They also had some antiquated machine to get the baby's heartbeat. I kept on asking, "How is the baby? Don't worry about me, how is the baby?" After this I became somewhat euphoric and calm. I was told later that it was because of the tremendous amount of blood I lost. They couldn't find a vein so they got me into the ambulance and began working on me all the way to the hospital. When my husband arrived with the children and saw the fire truck and ambulance he told them to stay in the car. He says he walked into the foyer with paramedics all around and saw all the blood and thought we were having the baby at home. It wasn't until a few minutes later that he realized we were in a critical place.
Those paramedics were unbelievable. They treated me with utmost care. To this day I will be the first person to pull over for an ambulance. They drove me from Brentwood to downtown Nashville's Baptist Hospital in record time and got me into the hospital in time for the doctors to take over and put me under. This was the only c-section I had and it was quite scary. Later we were told that I had an abruption of the placenta. We also found out that our baby had the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Had I delivered naturally there was a good possibility that he would have died during childbirth.
Several things took place during this time that I should make note of. One was that my third child was taking a nap upstairs during this entire fiasco. My neighbors all came over to see what was going on and they proceeded to take care of cleaning up my mess, talking care of my then 2 1/2 year old sleeping upstairs and doing whatever else we needed. They were incredible. My oldest was excited when he saw the fire truck and ambulance and yelled, "Are we going to be on 9-1-1?" As I mentioned, the paramedics were great. And our church. What can I say about being a part of the body of Christ? We had food and other things for one entire month. I think our grocery bill was $50 that month. My friend who talked to me on the phone came over for the first two weeks everyday and took care of me, washed my clothes, cleaned the house and made cookies for my kids. It was amazing to see people come together to help my family during this difficult time. My daughter wrote an essay in her class remembering how the paramedics saved her mom's life. We delivered it to them one day with some goodies and a big thank you. God is good, all the time. Or is he?
Our forth child was born on April 28, 1995. The week after his birth many different things happened to the Calcote nuclear family.
We went from the height of joy to the depth of despair in just one week.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Day Eighteen -
It's been a long day. I worked most of the day and into the evening and then sped off to my 16 year old's football game. Wow, I'm sick of football. It would be different if he got to play more but right now he's sitting in the 2nd string QB position. Unless they are beating the other team by 100 the coach won't put him in. Can't quite figure that out. The only way I can bear to sit through the games is to chant over and over in my head, "All things work for good for those who love the Lord and are called according to his purpose." Sometimes I really question whether or not God really knows what he is doing. It hurts me when I see my son hurting.
It reminds me of some similar painful things I experienced in high school. Being a teenager really stinks. But it is a process of growth and learning. If you learn the most when you are in pain then my son is really learning a lot. God bless him!!
After attending the reunion in Long Beach I returned to my "normal" life as a wife, mother and employee. In 1992, eight years after my daughter was born I became pregnant with our third child. He was born in the fall of '92 in Nashville. Through out our marriage, my husband and I had our ups and downs, as do most marriages and this was somewhat of a down time. We began going to therapy and our counselor suggested we attend this week long seminar at a local Presbyterian church. We both agreed and it pretty much transformed our lives.
We began attending Christ Presbyterian Church in Nashville. One of the things that drew us to that church was their music program and their children's program. Both my husband and I were very interested in music. My husband has a beautiful voice and I enjoy playing the piano. We joined the choir and started becoming involved in the church. We also joined a small group, which, to this day, I know I can go to anyone from that small group and they would welcome me as family.
Our choir director was fun and crazy. He was also very talented. We had choir practice on Wednesday nights from 7:30 to 9:00. Because of the size of the choir (over 100 people) he implemented an "on time" award. If you arrived on time for choir you could submit your name into a common pot and at the end of choir he would draw out of this pot and pick different people who then got different fun prizes. One night I remember very well. It was after my husband and I had gone through a particularly difficult period. We went to choir, both were "on time" and thus we in the "pot" for the on time award. This particular evening our choir director rolled out a table full of 6" plants. If my memory serves me there were about 20 - 30 6" plants. As he started to pull names out of the pot the plants dwindled down. It's funny how we, even as adults, want to conform to the "on time" awards as many people made it into the pot. As he continued pulling names I sat back realizing that he was getting down to the end and neither my husband nor I had been picked.
All the plants were being given away to those drawn out of the "on time" pot. We got down to the last two plants. I began praying - remember, my husband and I had gone through one of the most difficult times in our marriage - "God, please pick us." The choir director drew the next to last name. He began to read it. As he spoke the name of my husband, my heart jumped and I knew this was a sign God was giving me to continue to trust in him. There was one plant left. I knew that plant was for me. This was a sign God was giving me showing me that he was in control of my marriage and my life. I should trust in him. As the choir director drew out the last name, my heart was beating so strong. I knew this plant was mine. I knew he would say, "Janet Simmons." As he began to read the name and I heard another person's name my heart sank. I was devastated. God had betrayed me. He didn't want my marriage to prosper. What was wrong? While I was so quick to judge and so quick to express my anger and frustration, God was still at work trying to get my attention. Our choir director pulled out from underneath the table one more plant. This time, however, it was a huge hanging basket with beautiful flowers. He put his hand into the pot and drew out a name. As he began to recite my name, God said to me, "Janet, your expectations of me are too small. You are impatient. (It was a beautiful New Guinea Impatient.) You desire me to satisfy your marriage with a 6" plant, when I can give you this beautiful, full, flowering, enormous plant." That night, God spoke to me like I never before experienced. I felt his comfort like I had never experienced before.
This was in the fall of 1992 or spring of 1993
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
It reminds me of some similar painful things I experienced in high school. Being a teenager really stinks. But it is a process of growth and learning. If you learn the most when you are in pain then my son is really learning a lot. God bless him!!
After attending the reunion in Long Beach I returned to my "normal" life as a wife, mother and employee. In 1992, eight years after my daughter was born I became pregnant with our third child. He was born in the fall of '92 in Nashville. Through out our marriage, my husband and I had our ups and downs, as do most marriages and this was somewhat of a down time. We began going to therapy and our counselor suggested we attend this week long seminar at a local Presbyterian church. We both agreed and it pretty much transformed our lives.
We began attending Christ Presbyterian Church in Nashville. One of the things that drew us to that church was their music program and their children's program. Both my husband and I were very interested in music. My husband has a beautiful voice and I enjoy playing the piano. We joined the choir and started becoming involved in the church. We also joined a small group, which, to this day, I know I can go to anyone from that small group and they would welcome me as family.
Our choir director was fun and crazy. He was also very talented. We had choir practice on Wednesday nights from 7:30 to 9:00. Because of the size of the choir (over 100 people) he implemented an "on time" award. If you arrived on time for choir you could submit your name into a common pot and at the end of choir he would draw out of this pot and pick different people who then got different fun prizes. One night I remember very well. It was after my husband and I had gone through a particularly difficult period. We went to choir, both were "on time" and thus we in the "pot" for the on time award. This particular evening our choir director rolled out a table full of 6" plants. If my memory serves me there were about 20 - 30 6" plants. As he started to pull names out of the pot the plants dwindled down. It's funny how we, even as adults, want to conform to the "on time" awards as many people made it into the pot. As he continued pulling names I sat back realizing that he was getting down to the end and neither my husband nor I had been picked.
All the plants were being given away to those drawn out of the "on time" pot. We got down to the last two plants. I began praying - remember, my husband and I had gone through one of the most difficult times in our marriage - "God, please pick us." The choir director drew the next to last name. He began to read it. As he spoke the name of my husband, my heart jumped and I knew this was a sign God was giving me to continue to trust in him. There was one plant left. I knew that plant was for me. This was a sign God was giving me showing me that he was in control of my marriage and my life. I should trust in him. As the choir director drew out the last name, my heart was beating so strong. I knew this plant was mine. I knew he would say, "Janet Simmons." As he began to read the name and I heard another person's name my heart sank. I was devastated. God had betrayed me. He didn't want my marriage to prosper. What was wrong? While I was so quick to judge and so quick to express my anger and frustration, God was still at work trying to get my attention. Our choir director pulled out from underneath the table one more plant. This time, however, it was a huge hanging basket with beautiful flowers. He put his hand into the pot and drew out a name. As he began to recite my name, God said to me, "Janet, your expectations of me are too small. You are impatient. (It was a beautiful New Guinea Impatient.) You desire me to satisfy your marriage with a 6" plant, when I can give you this beautiful, full, flowering, enormous plant." That night, God spoke to me like I never before experienced. I felt his comfort like I had never experienced before.
This was in the fall of 1992 or spring of 1993
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Day Eighteen-Long Beach 70's Reunion
My two sisters, their spouses, my nephew and niece, my husband and me departed from Jackson, Mississippi airport and flew to Los Angeles. My parents lived in Mississippi and were kind enough to take care of my two children and my sister's three. My younger two had not yet been born. Our trip to Los Angeles was uneventful at least to my memory. We enjoyed each others company and looked forward to seeing friends we had not seen in a long time.
I really didn't know what to expect. I hoped that friendships would be rekindled, at least I thought so. Upon arrival at the hotel we saw many familiar faces and had the initial, "Hey, how ARE you?!" "Gosh, has it been 14 years?" "You look SO good." "You haven't aged a bit!" You get the picture. Of course, many of us were still quite young and still had the world before us. Since the reunion spanned over a decade there were people who graduated in 1970 all the way to those who graduated in 1979. My three sisters and I all graduated from ASIJ during that era. My older brother graduated in, I believe, 1968 or 1969, and my younger brother graduated in 1980.
At this point in my life I still had not shared my experiences with Mr. J to anyone except my husband. At least I didn't recall that I had. My parents still didn't know, neither did either of my sisters. So, going to this reunion for me was simply a way to reconnect to friends and have a good time.
One afternoon I was sitting at the pool with my older sister when up walked two people I recognized. One was someone I had admired from afar. Very attractive. She had a wonderfully gentle spirit. One of those people you wish you could be like. The second person was someone who I had not counted on seeing. You see, she was the girl who let me put my mattress next to hers. That was when the abuse stopped. I was delighted, excited, overwhelmed, and really words can't express what I felt. We spoke and I asked her if she remembered me. She didn't really seem to. I thanked her for protecting me during a very difficult time. I think I explained to her what she had done, but she didn't seem to remember and that was that. Her name is Michele Connor. She seemed to be in another world.
The reunion went on. Because the reunion committee had pulled the nomination of Jack from the Favorite Teacher award, no mention of him came up, at least not openly. I'm sure there were conversations going around with people saying, "Wow, I thought Mr. Moyer would have won that." Any other conversations I was not privy to. This is also my memory of the event and there may have been other things that happened I just don't remember. Besides, this is only my story and without a doubt there could be a whole lot more shared by others.
I do remember two particular things that happened during our stay in Long Beach. One morning I went down to the lobby to get coffee. It was pretty early and I was hopeful that I wouldn't run into anyone. I proceeded to get my coffee out of the common coffee pot that was in the lobby for hotel guests when a Japanese lady came up and began asking me a question in broken English. So I said something to her in Japanese - can't remember what. He reaction was hysterical. Her face lit up and she first responded with a long, resounding, "OOOOOOOOOO." Emphasis on the "O" as in the japanese "go". She then said, "Gaijin ga, nihongo shabere masu?" - translated - "The foreigner can speak Japanese?" I started laughing and said, "Koko wa America desu. Watashi wa Gaijin janai desu. Anata wa Gaijin desu." - translated - "This is America. I am not the foreigner, you are the foreigner." She just laughed and laughed. I've told this story time and time again to different people and every time all involved get a big kick out of it.
Another memory I have is when my oldest sister and I were running one morning and I began telling her about my story with the reunion committee about Jack being one of the favorite teachers. As I was telling her I could tell her body was confused and we stopped running and she asked me, "Janet, what happened?" It was then I realized, no one else knew about what had happened. I guess I thought that all my family knew. How? I don't know. So, I began telling her my story. I don't know exactly what she did with it at that point but I finally was getting comfortable to talk about it.
This was in 1990 - twenty years later.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
I really didn't know what to expect. I hoped that friendships would be rekindled, at least I thought so. Upon arrival at the hotel we saw many familiar faces and had the initial, "Hey, how ARE you?!" "Gosh, has it been 14 years?" "You look SO good." "You haven't aged a bit!" You get the picture. Of course, many of us were still quite young and still had the world before us. Since the reunion spanned over a decade there were people who graduated in 1970 all the way to those who graduated in 1979. My three sisters and I all graduated from ASIJ during that era. My older brother graduated in, I believe, 1968 or 1969, and my younger brother graduated in 1980.
At this point in my life I still had not shared my experiences with Mr. J to anyone except my husband. At least I didn't recall that I had. My parents still didn't know, neither did either of my sisters. So, going to this reunion for me was simply a way to reconnect to friends and have a good time.
One afternoon I was sitting at the pool with my older sister when up walked two people I recognized. One was someone I had admired from afar. Very attractive. She had a wonderfully gentle spirit. One of those people you wish you could be like. The second person was someone who I had not counted on seeing. You see, she was the girl who let me put my mattress next to hers. That was when the abuse stopped. I was delighted, excited, overwhelmed, and really words can't express what I felt. We spoke and I asked her if she remembered me. She didn't really seem to. I thanked her for protecting me during a very difficult time. I think I explained to her what she had done, but she didn't seem to remember and that was that. Her name is Michele Connor. She seemed to be in another world.
The reunion went on. Because the reunion committee had pulled the nomination of Jack from the Favorite Teacher award, no mention of him came up, at least not openly. I'm sure there were conversations going around with people saying, "Wow, I thought Mr. Moyer would have won that." Any other conversations I was not privy to. This is also my memory of the event and there may have been other things that happened I just don't remember. Besides, this is only my story and without a doubt there could be a whole lot more shared by others.
I do remember two particular things that happened during our stay in Long Beach. One morning I went down to the lobby to get coffee. It was pretty early and I was hopeful that I wouldn't run into anyone. I proceeded to get my coffee out of the common coffee pot that was in the lobby for hotel guests when a Japanese lady came up and began asking me a question in broken English. So I said something to her in Japanese - can't remember what. He reaction was hysterical. Her face lit up and she first responded with a long, resounding, "OOOOOOOOOO." Emphasis on the "O" as in the japanese "go". She then said, "Gaijin ga, nihongo shabere masu?" - translated - "The foreigner can speak Japanese?" I started laughing and said, "Koko wa America desu. Watashi wa Gaijin janai desu. Anata wa Gaijin desu." - translated - "This is America. I am not the foreigner, you are the foreigner." She just laughed and laughed. I've told this story time and time again to different people and every time all involved get a big kick out of it.
Another memory I have is when my oldest sister and I were running one morning and I began telling her about my story with the reunion committee about Jack being one of the favorite teachers. As I was telling her I could tell her body was confused and we stopped running and she asked me, "Janet, what happened?" It was then I realized, no one else knew about what had happened. I guess I thought that all my family knew. How? I don't know. So, I began telling her my story. I don't know exactly what she did with it at that point but I finally was getting comfortable to talk about it.
This was in 1990 - twenty years later.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Day Seventeen - Insecure
As I continue to write about all that I experienced, for me, it becomes so present. But for others, I'm sure it becomes mundane. As a result, when I feel alone in this process it becomes difficult to continue. But, now that I have started the process, I know I must continue. I will once again post a notice to those who are reading. If you have any edits to my story, please use the comment box in the blog so that all can read it. Many people are commenting on Facebook but it doesn't necessarily make it to the blog. If you would like your comments to be attached to this blog, please do so on the blog page.
One comment I received on my Facebook page really took me by surprise. It was from a someone younger than me who experienced life in Japan and at ASIJ as well.
"Hi, I have been following your blog and appreciate very much what you are doing. I haven't posted a comment yet - I suppose because it feels like "mid-story" and I'm waiting to hear how it all happens. I also don't know what to say. My heart just aches for you - now, and for who you were at that age.
I wanted you to know that when I first heard about your bringing the story out a few years ago and becoming public - I had absolutely no hesitation in believing you. Since I live pretty removed from ASIJ now I couldn't follow all the activity too precisely - but I was sure you were telling the truth. Part of this is because I had odd experiences with Mr. Moyer myself - kind of on the opposite end from you. I was a pretty good kid, worked hard in school, did pretty well, was well-liked by other teachers - and almost shunned by him. I was not one of the chosen ones - I did not get a special invitation to Miyake on one of the non-school trips. Although, I did go for the 7th grade class trip, and again as a senior to be a counselor for the 7th graders - I never received any attention whatsoever from Mr. Moyer. As I said, he almost wouldn't acknowledge me. This was very painful at the time. Several of my close friends did receive special attention - he gave them nicknames, extra attention, etc - but not me. Now I know that I was lucky for this. And even though this was very difficult at times - I remember crying once about it, and being very confused -- I also just knew there was something very wrong about how he played serious favorites, and how close he was to a few chosen girls.
I knew, without a doubt, that the horrible story you were sharing was true. I wished with all my heart that it wasn't. Thank you sharing your courageous journey, so more girls will not travel the same road. I now have children of my own which makes me all the more thankful."
This message to me was so encouraging. I know there are many others out there who either experienced what the writer described or experienced what I did. There are those out there also who experienced Jack as a loving and devoted teacher, encouraging educational development and advancement without any of the shunning or any of the abuse. I believe these are the skeptics. They wonder why I am doing this. Why would I talk about someone who in their memory was so wonderful and encouraging to them? Why would I burst their memory of such a wonderful experience at Miyake?
You know it really is interesting. I wonder about all the people who are reading this post, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. People who I thought might be supportive or encouraging but haven't heard from at all, but I know are reading. It's amazing how we want to protect our image of an institute but not those who mean the most to us. It's amazing how we want to preserve our memories as long as someone else s memories don't poison our recollection of what was. I'm sorry to burst some bubbles. I'm sorry to make good memories false, but if someone doesn't break that cycle, it won't ever be broken. We have to be willing to see things as they are, not as we wish them to be.
Don't you know that with all my heart I wish my life and my memories of my childhood could be wonderful and unrealistic. The reality though is this, no one has a perfect life. No one has a perfect childhood. Some of us suffer from sexual abuse, some from physical or emotional abuse, some from neglect of one parent or another, some from not being able to live up to our parent's expectations. We all suffer from some sort of pain or another from our childhood. So, why not admit those things and then be able to be vulnerable and start getting better and growing up so we can protect others who are being subjected to these same horrors? If we don't talk openly about these things then the possibility of the cycle being repeated is so much greater.
The other reality is this. I know who I can depend upon. I know my supporters. I know where my strength comes from. I know who will see me through the end. Thank you for holding my hand!
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
One comment I received on my Facebook page really took me by surprise. It was from a someone younger than me who experienced life in Japan and at ASIJ as well.
"Hi, I have been following your blog and appreciate very much what you are doing. I haven't posted a comment yet - I suppose because it feels like "mid-story" and I'm waiting to hear how it all happens. I also don't know what to say. My heart just aches for you - now, and for who you were at that age.
I wanted you to know that when I first heard about your bringing the story out a few years ago and becoming public - I had absolutely no hesitation in believing you. Since I live pretty removed from ASIJ now I couldn't follow all the activity too precisely - but I was sure you were telling the truth. Part of this is because I had odd experiences with Mr. Moyer myself - kind of on the opposite end from you. I was a pretty good kid, worked hard in school, did pretty well, was well-liked by other teachers - and almost shunned by him. I was not one of the chosen ones - I did not get a special invitation to Miyake on one of the non-school trips. Although, I did go for the 7th grade class trip, and again as a senior to be a counselor for the 7th graders - I never received any attention whatsoever from Mr. Moyer. As I said, he almost wouldn't acknowledge me. This was very painful at the time. Several of my close friends did receive special attention - he gave them nicknames, extra attention, etc - but not me. Now I know that I was lucky for this. And even though this was very difficult at times - I remember crying once about it, and being very confused -- I also just knew there was something very wrong about how he played serious favorites, and how close he was to a few chosen girls.
I knew, without a doubt, that the horrible story you were sharing was true. I wished with all my heart that it wasn't. Thank you sharing your courageous journey, so more girls will not travel the same road. I now have children of my own which makes me all the more thankful."
This message to me was so encouraging. I know there are many others out there who either experienced what the writer described or experienced what I did. There are those out there also who experienced Jack as a loving and devoted teacher, encouraging educational development and advancement without any of the shunning or any of the abuse. I believe these are the skeptics. They wonder why I am doing this. Why would I talk about someone who in their memory was so wonderful and encouraging to them? Why would I burst their memory of such a wonderful experience at Miyake?
You know it really is interesting. I wonder about all the people who are reading this post, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. People who I thought might be supportive or encouraging but haven't heard from at all, but I know are reading. It's amazing how we want to protect our image of an institute but not those who mean the most to us. It's amazing how we want to preserve our memories as long as someone else s memories don't poison our recollection of what was. I'm sorry to burst some bubbles. I'm sorry to make good memories false, but if someone doesn't break that cycle, it won't ever be broken. We have to be willing to see things as they are, not as we wish them to be.
Don't you know that with all my heart I wish my life and my memories of my childhood could be wonderful and unrealistic. The reality though is this, no one has a perfect life. No one has a perfect childhood. Some of us suffer from sexual abuse, some from physical or emotional abuse, some from neglect of one parent or another, some from not being able to live up to our parent's expectations. We all suffer from some sort of pain or another from our childhood. So, why not admit those things and then be able to be vulnerable and start getting better and growing up so we can protect others who are being subjected to these same horrors? If we don't talk openly about these things then the possibility of the cycle being repeated is so much greater.
The other reality is this. I know who I can depend upon. I know my supporters. I know where my strength comes from. I know who will see me through the end. Thank you for holding my hand!
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Day Sixteen - On a roll
I can tell you a lot about my life but I'm choosing to share mostly the parts that I believe were impacted by the relationship I had with Jack. Although, I am who I am today, good or bad, because of this experience.
In the summer of 1976, I graduated from high school having just turned 17 the previous February. There was only one person in my class younger than me. My last two years of school came with a great deal of fun and full of really great memories. I was a cheerleader, a member of the gymnastic team, had a lot of friends and seemed to get a long without many issues. Some of my classmates might remember a little differently.
Upon graduation, as did most students, I prepared to leave to go to college in the States. My parents weren't coming with me because back then they were only able to leave the mission field once every five years. We had just returned to Japan in 1974.
I left the Tokyo (Haneda) airport leaving my mom, my dad and my little brother heading towards bigger and better things or so they said. I gave them each a hug and noticed that my dad began tearing up a little, my mom, however, remained stoic. I cried all the way down the walkway to the plane. I arrived, by myself, at Los Angeles International Airport (LAX). I had to go from the international wing of the airport to the domestic wing by myself. This task to me seemed incredibly enormous, especially for a 17 year old who really didn't have a home in this land and was alone for the first time in her travels.
I flew to Washington, D.C. to visit my brother, my sister-in-law and neice for a short time. I then flew to North Carolina to visit my friends from my sophomore year with hopes to rekindle a relationship that had ended due to distance. From North Carolina I flew to Mississippi and joined my sister who was attending Mississippi College.
My first year at Mississippi College was miserable. I dormed with a stranger who was from Shaw, Mississippi. I didn't even know there was a Shaw, Mississippi. I struggled immensely with many different things. I couldn't call my parents because in 1976 the international phone rates were extremely unreasonable. A five minute call could cost up to $20.00. We didn't have $20.00 for a phone call.
That fall my dad experienced some difficulties with his heart. His doctor in Japan didn't think it was prudent for him to stay in Japan and urged him to immediately return to the States and receive medical treatment there. Fortunately for me, they came back to the States and stayed in Mississippi at my grandmother's house only one hour away from me. I don't know what would have happened to me that year had they not come home. They stayed until January of 1977 when they returned to Japan with my little brother.
During college I struggled with several different things. I worked at a local pizza place where all the law students met and studied. They became my friends and I started hanging out with them. One of the law students started to pursue me. He was 30 years old and I was 18. He bought me presents, took me out to dinner but I wasn't really interested in him. He would not leave me alone. One night at a party, he stopped me in the corridor and told me he would give me $2,000 if I would date him. He proceeded to put 20 $100 bills in my hand. I looked at him and said, "What, do I look like a prostitute?" Eventually, however, he was able to wear me down and I ended up dating him. As you can imagine, that relationship was a very unhealthy. We dated for a little less than a year. He expected me to conform to his 30 year old status while I was still experiencing youth. I wanted to go to a movie, he wanted to go to an antique auction. I wanted to go out and dance, he wanted to go eat at Shoney's. You get the picture. While in this relationship I developed severe anorexia. I went from a size eight to a size three and that was even baggy! I would run five miles everyday and eat virtually nothing. I still thought I was fat. It didn't help that my boyfriend would say things to me that caused me to think I was still fat. He did things that humiliated me. He alienated me from my friends and family. I was isolated and alone. He wouldn't let me communicate with anyone who cared about me.
That first summer after my freshman year I returned to Japan for my one trip provided by the Southern Baptist Foreign Mission Board. I continued to struggle with anorexia and managed it by swimming, walking, and running, eating very little and using laxatives. My poor mother struggled with her weight and I obviously was very judgmental because she saw it necessary to hide her cookies when I entered the room. While in Japan, my 30 year old boyfriend wrote letters to me and I to him. This was before all the modern technology of skype or cell phones or even email. I returned to the states in August for my second year at Mississippi College.
After living in the dorm the first two semesters, I petitioned the school to allow me to live off campus. In the 70's school policies were designed to discriminate against women. If the school closed over the holiday's, one of the men's dorms remained open for those men who were exchange students but there were no women's dorms left open. That meant if you didn't have any place to go you were stuck. So there were several holidays that I slept in my bosses car, office (on a sofa) or on a bench at the pizza parlor. Often, when people found out where I was staying, they would offer for me to stay in their home. Because I didn't have transportation, I couldn't drive to my aunts house one hour south of me, nor did I feel that the relationships I had were appropriate for me to ask if I could stay with anyone during the holidays. So, in the fall of my sophomore year, I moved into a small one bedroom duplex next to the laundry mat and pizza parlor.
That first summer after my freshman year I returned to Japan for my one trip provided by the Southern Baptist Foreign Mission Board. I continued to struggle with anorexia and managed it by swimming, walking, and running, eating very little and using laxatives. My poor mother struggled with her weight and I obviously was very judgmental because she saw it necessary to hide her cookies when I entered the room. While in Japan, my 30 year old boyfriend wrote letters to me and I to him. This was before all the modern technology of skype or cell phones or even email. I returned to the states in August for my second year at Mississippi College.
After living in the dorm the first two semesters, I petitioned the school to allow me to live off campus. In the 70's school policies were designed to discriminate against women. If the school closed over the holiday's, one of the men's dorms remained open for those men who were exchange students but there were no women's dorms left open. That meant if you didn't have any place to go you were stuck. So there were several holidays that I slept in my bosses car, office (on a sofa) or on a bench at the pizza parlor. Often, when people found out where I was staying, they would offer for me to stay in their home. Because I didn't have transportation, I couldn't drive to my aunts house one hour south of me, nor did I feel that the relationships I had were appropriate for me to ask if I could stay with anyone during the holidays. So, in the fall of my sophomore year, I moved into a small one bedroom duplex next to the laundry mat and pizza parlor.
Upon my return to Mississippi that fall, I finally convinced him to take me to a movie. We were sitting in the movie and I remember him saying something to me that made me mad. I must have said something to him, don't remember what, when he jabbed me in the ribs with his elbow. That was it!! He drove me home and I broke it off. He couldn't understand why I would break it off. For at least a month he harassed me, sending me flowers, and even proposed with a diamond ring!
To get away from him, over the Thanksgiving holiday I went to visit my older brother who then lived in Cleveland, Ohio. That was the weekend of the Jim Jones massacre in Jonestown. It happened on November 18, 1978. I remember watching the news fascinated and scared because I really couldn't grasp what was happening. Here was this master manipulator walking his followers to their death. Unbelievable! How could anyone be so vulnerable to someone like that? I didn't realize that only 7 years before, I was being manipulated and subject to something similar, only thank God not that!!
I came back to school after the holidays only to find out that this guy I had broken up with went into my apartment and took the letters we had exchanged the previous summer out of the trash and placed them all over the apartment. What I didn't know was my duplex mates had asked him to stay in their side of the duplex during the holidays while they returned to Florida. It was then I decided that in order for me to continue to function I had to leave. After the first semester of my sophomore year I moved to Gainesville, Florida to live with my two sisters.
To get away from him, over the Thanksgiving holiday I went to visit my older brother who then lived in Cleveland, Ohio. That was the weekend of the Jim Jones massacre in Jonestown. It happened on November 18, 1978. I remember watching the news fascinated and scared because I really couldn't grasp what was happening. Here was this master manipulator walking his followers to their death. Unbelievable! How could anyone be so vulnerable to someone like that? I didn't realize that only 7 years before, I was being manipulated and subject to something similar, only thank God not that!!
I came back to school after the holidays only to find out that this guy I had broken up with went into my apartment and took the letters we had exchanged the previous summer out of the trash and placed them all over the apartment. What I didn't know was my duplex mates had asked him to stay in their side of the duplex during the holidays while they returned to Florida. It was then I decided that in order for me to continue to function I had to leave. After the first semester of my sophomore year I moved to Gainesville, Florida to live with my two sisters.
While I lived in Gainesville, I gained back all of the weight I lost. I worked at a local restaurant waiting on tables and allowed my body, mind and soul to heal. I couldn't have done it without my two sisters. I considered transferring to Baylor the next semester but at the end decided to return to Mississippi College. As soon as I began thinking about returning to Mississippi I started loosing weight again. When I arrive back at Mississippi College I was once again a size 3. Slowly, during that year I gained back some of the weight and began living a little more of a stable life.
Upon my return to MC, I felt stronger and able to make it on my own. I found a little apartment for $75.00 a month. It was perfect for me and provided my own little place to finish out my schooling. I knew that I wanted to get a degree and by this time had switched majors from music to business. I excelled in the business school and finally graduated in 1981.
My old boyfriend? When I got back to Mississippi he was married to a woman who had five children. Go figure.
My old boyfriend? When I got back to Mississippi he was married to a woman who had five children. Go figure.
In 1980, I fell in love with my soon to be husband. We married in September of 1981 in Dallas, Texas. We will celebrate our 28th anniversary on Saturday, September 26, 2009. [Now 34 years] We lived in Dallas, Texas for a while where our first son was born. We then moved several times, first to Austin, Texas then to Tennessee where my husband began his career job. We had three more children all born in Tennessee.
During our time in Tennessee, my husband was a member of the Rotary club that met once a week. Once or more a year they would invite the spouses of the members to lunch. This particular day they had a woman speak to the club about child abuse. She was explaining how rampant child abuse was and began stating statistics. She asked, "Did you know that 25 % of all Americans have been sexually abused?" I was listening to her and started thinking, that's one out of four people. That means at our table of eight, two people here have been sexually abused. That's when it hit me. I was one of the statistics. I had been sexually abused. Wow, what a revelation! Although, I guess I knew it before, I really had not defined it in those terms. But, even with that revelation, there really wasn't anything I could do about it now. I went on trying to live my life, attempting to be a good wife, mother and friend.
This was in 1983 or 1984. I was 24 or 25.
This was in 1983 or 1984. I was 24 or 25.
In 1990, while still living in Tennessee, my husband and I flew to Los Angeles to attend the first "70's" reunion held in Long Beach, California. We attended with both of my sisters. I was so excited to reconnect with old friends. During the planning stages of the reunion we received information about different plans for the reunion. We received the schedule and another request in the mail. This request was to vote for your favorite teacher. I don't remember exactly what I did, whether I voted or not. I do recall, however, realizing that there would be a very good possibility that Jack Moyer would be nominated and possibly win the nomination. I didn't think I would be able to stomach that.
So all of my excitement to reconnect with friends was now replaced with fear of his nomination for favorite teacher. I decided to covertly contact the reunion committee and tell them a little of my story. I did let them know that if he was nominated that I would have to say something at the reunion about it and expose him for who he really was. I didn't know at the time that he had won the nomination and they had already told him.
His secret perpetuated even into 1990. Unbelievable!! The reunion committee some how explained to him that they had to withdraw his nomination. I don't know exactly what happened, what they said, or how he took it but somehow they did it. I do believe that the school finally knew, without being officially told, that they had a pedophile working for them.
You see, anytime I had any contact with the school, be it at a reunion, receiving literature in the mail, or getting on the website to look at the content, I was reminded about the three years of abuse. His name and successes were constantly at the forefront. Even after the school was notified via the reunion committee he continued to work for them. It is amazing to me how people can turn a blind eye to sexual abuse only to preserve the benefits they are receiving by doing so. He was a famous teacher, worked with Jane Goodall, published several important science books, saved the islands from destruction. Exposing him would expose them.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Day Fifteen - Diving back in
So, I've digressed for several days now. I think it just might be that way when you are trying to communicate such inner secrets.
I went back to Miyake several more times. I don't remember the exact number of times but I can remember different people who were there. One time I went with two more girl friends. I don't remember a lot about the visit, however; I do have some incredible pictures reminding me of how beautiful the island was. Several of the pictures depict a secluded beach surrounded by severly tall cliffs. In order to get there we had to drive to another part of the island and park quite a distance from the beach. We then trekked through the forest into an assembly of huge rocks which we then carefully climbed or crawled depending upon the severity of the rise of the rock. As we decended toward the ocean, displayed before us was a beautiful, quiet sheltered jet black beach wrapped by these tall jagged cliffs. It was incredible. I don't remember how long we stayed on that beach that day, but it was just the three of us and Jack. [Later, I was to find out that both of these women had been sexually abused by Jack as well.]
I finally mustered up the courage to go the the shrine. This particular night there was a full moon. It wasn't as dark as usual and I was determined to master this feat and overcome my fear. Jack told the story of the old women who haunted the woods around the shrine. If anyone can remember the story, I would welcome it, either in email or as a comment to my post.
Because we listened the Aretha Franklin and Sly and the Family Stone (amounst others) all the time, I could pretty much sing the lyrics of all their songs. Sly and the Family Stone's song, "You Can Make it if You Try", was my song of choice that night. I walked all the way through the forest up to the shrine, found the wooden spoon and brought it back. I now remember that one of the girls who spent a lot of time on the island actually slept on the steps of the shrine one night. Yikes!! I don't think I could do that.
During other trips I remember there might be one but rarely two guys that went with us. Generally, the guys were the boyfriends of the young marine biologist who frequented the island to do research.
Jack and several other students would go scuba diving and spear fishing during the day. Because I didn't have my scuba license I wasn't able to officially dive, but I was able to use my prescription mask Jack purchased for me to experience the beauty of the marine life surrounding the island. I believe I just remembered why he purchased the mask in the first place. We went snorkling one day and he gave me the spear to spear an eel. He kept on showing me where it was on the bottom of the ocean floor, not realizing that I couldn't see it. Because my vision has been extremely bad even and a young child, I couldn't see a thing with out my glasses or contacts, thus the need for a prescription mask.
Another memory I have is in the kitchen. I recall we all worked together to cook. I don't remember much about the food. I think whenever we went to Miyake we had to give Jack some money but don't really remember what it was. I do remember that we would have the cassette player blaring out music as we prepared the meals each day. I also remember that on the back on the house was a small tatami floored office with all the information from the marine biology study housed in it.
My last memory of visiting Miyake is the night when I placed my mat on the floor in the girls room. I don't know how it happened, I don't remember anything else from that particular trip except that as we were getting ready to go to bed, Either I asked one of the older girls who was there if I could sleep next to her that night or she knew what was happening and asked me if I would like to sleep next to her that night. She welcomed me with open arms and carefully secured a place on the floor next to her mat. She then protected me from the visitor in the night. That was the last of any physical contact I had. To her I can only say, "Thank you for holding my hand."
Jack was furious. When he saw I placed my mat in the other room and I was safe and secure, I guess he realized that I was finished. This was in my freshman year in high school. I was now thirteen or fourteen.
From that point on, I don't recall going to Miyake again. Possibly because that following summer we went back to the States on furlough. In the summer of 1973, we moved to Wake Forest, North Carolina for a year so my dad could attend seminary and get his Doctor of Ministry Degree. We stayed in North Carolina until the following spring. Upon our return to Japan, the first thing I wanted to do was to find Jack and let him know I was back in town.
I called the school to find out when he would be returning from Miyake and return to the school. They told me, so I went out to Tokyo Bay where the boats docked and met him on the pier heading out to the boat. He began walking toward me and I noticed he didn't seem to see me. I called out his name, "Mr. Moyer, Mr. Moyer." He saw me and as he walked past said, "Oh, hi Janet," and continued on his way. I had not seen him for a year. I now understand but was then quite confused and deeply hurt. I thought we had a special relationship. I didn't know what happened. His dismissal of me hurt me so deeply.
After that, I went on my merry way, only to see him occasionally in the halls, interacting with other students and continuing his JLAP course with the seventh grade class. I don't recall having any other significant contact with him. At this point in my life I didn't know that I should have told someone what had happened to me. In fact, no one knew but me and after being rejected by him at the pier I didn't want anyone to know.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
I went back to Miyake several more times. I don't remember the exact number of times but I can remember different people who were there. One time I went with two more girl friends. I don't remember a lot about the visit, however; I do have some incredible pictures reminding me of how beautiful the island was. Several of the pictures depict a secluded beach surrounded by severly tall cliffs. In order to get there we had to drive to another part of the island and park quite a distance from the beach. We then trekked through the forest into an assembly of huge rocks which we then carefully climbed or crawled depending upon the severity of the rise of the rock. As we decended toward the ocean, displayed before us was a beautiful, quiet sheltered jet black beach wrapped by these tall jagged cliffs. It was incredible. I don't remember how long we stayed on that beach that day, but it was just the three of us and Jack. [Later, I was to find out that both of these women had been sexually abused by Jack as well.]
I finally mustered up the courage to go the the shrine. This particular night there was a full moon. It wasn't as dark as usual and I was determined to master this feat and overcome my fear. Jack told the story of the old women who haunted the woods around the shrine. If anyone can remember the story, I would welcome it, either in email or as a comment to my post.
Because we listened the Aretha Franklin and Sly and the Family Stone (amounst others) all the time, I could pretty much sing the lyrics of all their songs. Sly and the Family Stone's song, "You Can Make it if You Try", was my song of choice that night. I walked all the way through the forest up to the shrine, found the wooden spoon and brought it back. I now remember that one of the girls who spent a lot of time on the island actually slept on the steps of the shrine one night. Yikes!! I don't think I could do that.
During other trips I remember there might be one but rarely two guys that went with us. Generally, the guys were the boyfriends of the young marine biologist who frequented the island to do research.
Jack and several other students would go scuba diving and spear fishing during the day. Because I didn't have my scuba license I wasn't able to officially dive, but I was able to use my prescription mask Jack purchased for me to experience the beauty of the marine life surrounding the island. I believe I just remembered why he purchased the mask in the first place. We went snorkling one day and he gave me the spear to spear an eel. He kept on showing me where it was on the bottom of the ocean floor, not realizing that I couldn't see it. Because my vision has been extremely bad even and a young child, I couldn't see a thing with out my glasses or contacts, thus the need for a prescription mask.
Another memory I have is in the kitchen. I recall we all worked together to cook. I don't remember much about the food. I think whenever we went to Miyake we had to give Jack some money but don't really remember what it was. I do remember that we would have the cassette player blaring out music as we prepared the meals each day. I also remember that on the back on the house was a small tatami floored office with all the information from the marine biology study housed in it.
My last memory of visiting Miyake is the night when I placed my mat on the floor in the girls room. I don't know how it happened, I don't remember anything else from that particular trip except that as we were getting ready to go to bed, Either I asked one of the older girls who was there if I could sleep next to her that night or she knew what was happening and asked me if I would like to sleep next to her that night. She welcomed me with open arms and carefully secured a place on the floor next to her mat. She then protected me from the visitor in the night. That was the last of any physical contact I had. To her I can only say, "Thank you for holding my hand."
Jack was furious. When he saw I placed my mat in the other room and I was safe and secure, I guess he realized that I was finished. This was in my freshman year in high school. I was now thirteen or fourteen.
From that point on, I don't recall going to Miyake again. Possibly because that following summer we went back to the States on furlough. In the summer of 1973, we moved to Wake Forest, North Carolina for a year so my dad could attend seminary and get his Doctor of Ministry Degree. We stayed in North Carolina until the following spring. Upon our return to Japan, the first thing I wanted to do was to find Jack and let him know I was back in town.
I called the school to find out when he would be returning from Miyake and return to the school. They told me, so I went out to Tokyo Bay where the boats docked and met him on the pier heading out to the boat. He began walking toward me and I noticed he didn't seem to see me. I called out his name, "Mr. Moyer, Mr. Moyer." He saw me and as he walked past said, "Oh, hi Janet," and continued on his way. I had not seen him for a year. I now understand but was then quite confused and deeply hurt. I thought we had a special relationship. I didn't know what happened. His dismissal of me hurt me so deeply.
After that, I went on my merry way, only to see him occasionally in the halls, interacting with other students and continuing his JLAP course with the seventh grade class. I don't recall having any other significant contact with him. At this point in my life I didn't know that I should have told someone what had happened to me. In fact, no one knew but me and after being rejected by him at the pier I didn't want anyone to know.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Day Fourteen - True Nature of Man
Okay, so I like red wine. Especially, the smokey oak flavor of a good Cabernet. So, take this for what it is worth. Maybe so, maybe not.
Tonight, I experienced the true nature of man. My oldest sister arrived in Baton Rouge this afternoon. We will travel to Mississippi to see my Dad this weekend.
My children, LOVE their aunt. Their love of their aunt is displayed in competition between them to show her who is good, better and best. So, tonight I experienced a reality that I have never fully defined.
My oldest, played the guitar with my youngest, who played the piano and sang. Then my middle son, sauntered into the living room and began displaying his expertise with the guitar. They each shared their own talents with an intense desire to be enveloped with total admiration. Isn't that what we all seek?
I believe the true nature of man is to be God. We want to be God. We want to be the center of attention. We want to be loved. We want to be the bestest, greatest, prettiest, skinnyest, youngest, strongest, successfullist, sexiest, smartest, spiritualist, famoustist and confidentist people in the universe. Often times, this shows up in the most interesting ways because we don't want to admit that about ourselves. It shows up in intense competition. Whatever our passions may be, usually they are self focused.
So, why are we so afraid to say it like it is? Why are we afraid to be vulnerable? Why am I dancing around this subject without actually selling it straight? I can tell you why. Because when we display our dirty laundry we become targets. I know because it has happened to me. The ability to display your dirty laundry comes with personal inner strength, which comes with extensive self-examination and/or mental institutionalization which maybe I need.
I've said some pretty crazy things in this post. Especially the use of words that won't show up in the dictionary. As you continue to read, you'll find out that I often make up words. They make sense to me, so I hope they will to you too! On that note, I shall retire.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Tonight, I experienced the true nature of man. My oldest sister arrived in Baton Rouge this afternoon. We will travel to Mississippi to see my Dad this weekend.
My children, LOVE their aunt. Their love of their aunt is displayed in competition between them to show her who is good, better and best. So, tonight I experienced a reality that I have never fully defined.
My oldest, played the guitar with my youngest, who played the piano and sang. Then my middle son, sauntered into the living room and began displaying his expertise with the guitar. They each shared their own talents with an intense desire to be enveloped with total admiration. Isn't that what we all seek?
I believe the true nature of man is to be God. We want to be God. We want to be the center of attention. We want to be loved. We want to be the bestest, greatest, prettiest, skinnyest, youngest, strongest, successfullist, sexiest, smartest, spiritualist, famoustist and confidentist people in the universe. Often times, this shows up in the most interesting ways because we don't want to admit that about ourselves. It shows up in intense competition. Whatever our passions may be, usually they are self focused.
So, why are we so afraid to say it like it is? Why are we afraid to be vulnerable? Why am I dancing around this subject without actually selling it straight? I can tell you why. Because when we display our dirty laundry we become targets. I know because it has happened to me. The ability to display your dirty laundry comes with personal inner strength, which comes with extensive self-examination and/or mental institutionalization which maybe I need.
I've said some pretty crazy things in this post. Especially the use of words that won't show up in the dictionary. As you continue to read, you'll find out that I often make up words. They make sense to me, so I hope they will to you too! On that note, I shall retire.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Day Thirteen - Life and circumstances
This morning met me with more detours. My youngest son suffers from anxiety and a mild tic disorder. He has chosen to manage it without medication and has done well for about four years. I think part of his anxiety last night and this morning is due to lack of sleep. He is going to a college-prep school, plays football, has a girlfriend, is in constant motion, and I think it has all caught up. Anyway, thus the delays in writing and keeping my thoughts in check.
I share with you two email posts I read this morning. Both are very profound and real to me. As I continue to share with you my journey through life, certain things are bound to strike me and so I will go on a little detour myself. The first post is from a local pastor here in Baton Rouge. The second is from my dad, who flew to Seattle last week and returned to Mississippi on Tuesday. Both reveal the true nature and understanding of the most merciful, incredible, powerful, indescribable God.
Greetings:
Everything in my life and yours will be out of order until we address the matter of our love relationship with God. Just typing that sentence caused me to take a long pause before I could begin to type again. Of all of the messages I have been blessed to share with you, this one goes right to the top of my list in terms of importance. Everything in my life rests upon the reality of God pursuing a continuing love relationship with me. And the same holds true for you. I am 53 years old [now 56] and have tried to love, serve, worship and obey God for some time now. Yet, the force of these words is beyond description. Until I address the matter of the love relationship between God and me, EVERYTHING will be out of order! Do you realize that I am now forced to examine ALL of the stuff in my life in the context of my love relationship with God? Whew! That’s some heavy lifting. First of all I must truly wrap my brain around the fact that God loves me. It’s not as simple as it once was to make this statement. I cannot simply say these words when God is acting in my life exactly the way I want. I must process the things going on in the context of God’s love even in the midst of some of the many difficult moments that present themselves. Even the stuff that hurts, angers, frustrates, and challenges me must be seen in the context of God’s unquestioned love for ME. Whew! And then while I am attempting to wrap my feeble brain around this very challenging truth, I must come to grips with His expectation that I would love Him with everything that is me. Loving God with everything that is me goes way beyond the words I say or the prayers I pray. This means that my love relationship with Him is THE priority in my life. It impacts EVERYTHING I think, say and do. EVERYTHING! Excuse me a moment… I had to take another pause before I could begin to type again. God created us so that He could love us and we would love Him back. Since it’s my purpose, I’m going to get busy doing it. I want to encourage you to join me in this journey of love. Let’s start unwrapping the truth of His perfect and eternal love for us. Then, let’s try to give ourselves fully to loving Him back with everything that is us. I am going to give it my best shot. Everything in my life and relationship with Him depends upon it. Are you in? Stay loved.
From my dad:
Report on trip to and from Seattle to undisclosed list of friends and family:As one who ponders about what he sees, I had some deep thoughts while on the trip. Flying over Houston, TX, Phoenix, AZ, Seattle, WA, and then Chicago, IL. I was impressed with the many, many houses that I saw. I am persuaded that in this world there must be at least a MILLION !! HOUSES. That means that there must be a HUNDRED MILLION PEOPLE!!! Wow!! And even with so many people everywhere, I remembered that God knows every one of them by name. He even knew my name as I was flying in the air and looking down on all those houses. He surely is a great God to look after all the people in the world. I said a special prayer to tell Him "Thank You" for taking care of all those people and especially for all the family members and friends who are so precious to me.
My dad ended his email with: "I love you, you know!!"
I'll write more tonight if time and circumstances allow. To all my friends and family and those I have yet to meet: I love you, you know!!
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Day Twelve - Too Late
Too many conflicts with life. Youngest son's anxiety. Hopefully post tomorrow.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
Day Twelve - Early Morning
Growing up in a different country from your country of origin brings many blessings but also causes certain conflicts and confusion. I was born in Kyushu on Ashia Air force Base. We lived in a city called Fukuoka, Kyushu. In our community we were the only Americans. We had other missionary friends who lived near by in other communities and we saw them on a regular basis, however, daily lives encompassed mostly Japanese people. I attended Japanese kindergarten and my best friends were Japanese.I remember some young Japanese men (probably teenagers) walking near our house one day shout, "Yankee go home!!" You will need to place the proper emphasis on the words to get the full effect. It probably sounded more like "Yanke (soft a) go homu!!" As a four/five year old, I recall being completely incensed by this statement. It was such a false accusation! Wearing my then blond hair I shouted back in my loudest and firmest voice, "Watashi wa 'YANKE' ja naidesu. Watashi wa Nihon-jin desu!" Translated, "I'm not a Yankee, I am Japanese!" Besides, I wasn't even from the North. Why did they think I was Yankee? Ha!I guess our presence was a little bit intimidating. Here we were perched on the hill, representing the saviors from America, bringing the good news. Living in what represented a castle to their tiny, dirt floored homes. My memories are vague but, hopefully, relay the message I'm trying to share.We came to the states every five years. My first visit was in 1962 when I was three years old. I thought we traveled by ship but my dad's book states that we flew. This was my first time in an airplane. We arrived in San Francisco and visited my Aunt and her family in Sunnyvale, California. We then proceeded to drive across America with my family of seven and one of my first cousins', making eight. I can only imagine what kind of trip that was.My dad, describes some of the feelings they had after they arrived in the States in his book, Windows in the Wall. He writes,"From Sunnyvale, California to Brookhaven, Mississippi was a long journey for us with six children, but we had the wonderful opportunity of seeing the land that we loved. It was hot and arid, but it was beautiful. The people spoke English and didn't stare at us. We traveled along the roads, through the cities and countryside, and hardly anyone noticed that we had been there. No crowds gathered around our car."This pretty much sums up how life was for a missionary kid. In Japan, we were constantly stared at because we were so different. Even the monkeys at the zoo would gather around and mock us as if we were the ones in the cage. But coming to the states was another adventure. In the early 60's and even up to the mid 70's being a missionary kid was kind of like being a celebrity, both in Japan and in the states. My dad's book also makes reference to us kids being "little missionaries."If you know anything about me or my siblings, we were anything but "little missionaries". I guess our lives pretty much typified the infamous preacher's kid. This isn't something that I'm rather proud about, it's just a fact. Now, I can only really speak for myself, however, my siblings weren't complete saints either.But, I do think that everyone thought that we were supposed to be "missionaries." Well, I don't know who signed me up to join that cause but it certainly wasn't me. So, when I received the call as a Freshman in college at 8:00 in the MORNING on a SATURDAY in the dorm hall and someone else had to wake up to answer it, I was just a little miffed. The lady on the other end of the phone identified herself as someone from one of the thousand Baptist churches surrounding Mississippi College. She was from the Baptist women's group and wanted to know if I could come speak to their group about missions and what it was like to be a missionary. Well, I was very quick to remind her that, "I AM NOT A MISSIONARY." Very incensed by this bold and rather rude reaction she responded, "Well, Janet, where do you go to church?" At the time, I wasn't involved in any church and frankly, didn't know if I would ever be so I said, "I DON'T GOOOO TO CHURCH." You can probably imagine this very refined southern lady's reaction to my response. She said, "Well! What would your parents think about that?!" I replied, "They know!!" And that was how the conversation or rather admonishments, both ways, went.
Time to get my kids to school. I'll continue this line of thought this evening.
© Copyright 2009 Janet Calcote Simmons All rights reserved.
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