I live in a small town where neighbours call each other by name, greet repeatedly until you have no choice but to greet back. Where animals roam the streets freely as though they are part of the traffic. Majestic mountain ranges, fynbos and rivers flow freely. A little piece of heaven.

Underneath all this beauty is a family torn, chained by a secret they’ve tried to keep hidden amongst the wild flowers, fresh air breezes and the laughter of neighbourhood children playing under the street lights, for way
too long.

Until now.

I’m a 33 year old woman, on a roller coaster ride fuelled by hurt, disappointment, confusion and anger. I’ve tried never to allow it to consume me. Never spoken about this out loud but hoping that in sharing, a few things might become clearer to me. Perhaps I’ll get a deeper understanding? This is my family and my story, not quite sure where to start but I’ll allow my emotions to guide me. I invite you along on this roller coaster whilst we try to make sense of it all.

My dad was my idol, a man I loved dearly and a man I used to look up to all my life. If you’d ever met him, you’d understand why. He was handsome, friendly, thoughtful and caring – all characteristics I’d sworn I’d look for in a husband one day. My fondest memory of him as a child and teenager would be how he’d always wash and polish our shoes before packing them away. So much thought went into every detail of how he’d do stuff.

Without asking him, he’d always know what to say or do. Kind gestures, his smile, the sweets he always carried around in his pockets, were all the things that drew people to him. People of all ages loved and respected him and I called him “Pappa” with so much love and adoration. We used to be a close-knit family, extended family included. Unfortunately, all that has changed.

My sweet memories of my amazing dad had been forever tainted by the ugly truth. A truth we as a family tried our best to hide. You see, my father was a criminal, one of a dangerous kind. He was a molester and a pervert. A gentlemen, a monster, a real life Mr Jekyll and Hyde. I loved him still and don’t know why. I wanted to hate him, but didn’t know how.

Even as a young adult still living with my parents, I only had good memories of us as a happy family. Can’t quite remember where it all went so horribly wrong. We first had to confront this issue when my sister-in-law told us that our father had crept into their room whist sleeping and touched her inappropriately. We were stunned.
We had no reason to doubt what she was saying but could not believe this to be true.

This happened on more than one occasion and we dealt with it as best we knew how. My brother of course took this the hardest as this was his wife. And how could our father do this? We confronted him and my father admitted to doing this and promised to never do anything like this again. In his own words: “I don’t know what came over me.”

We believed him, we had no reason not to. And even after he confessed to being molested as a child, we felt sorry for him but we never knew to what extent this story would unfold.

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Tell us what you think: How would you feel if this was your father? How would you treat him?