My parents weren't trained to "see" abuse they didn't create. Even if they did notice something different, that doesn't mean they would have checked it out; back then, children were objects of ownership. Children in the 50's/ 60's were merely a result of "stud" ability. We weren't actually humans, not yet, not until we grew a backbone big enough to leave home. And then, we were the "problem children", to all who enquired about our safety, progress, or employment. To the circles my parents existed within, I was the problem child, I was stuborn, I was testy, etc.
I became all of those things to survive. I didn't want to go with the bad man, I threw a fit - my mom asked me why I didn't want to go. I froze. I couldn't give her the truth, I gave her something easy, like, "I just don't want to go!" Still, if my 9 year old daughter would have cried and begged not to be put in the back of a near strangers station wagon and taken 65 miles away to his house (a house they had never been to), well.... hhmmm... well, my daughter wouldn't have been in that situation to begin with. No contest.
So what do you think my parents were thinking, sending me with "him"?
My father and my mother were victims of their own upbringing.
I'm not excusing them, I'm trying to understand them. My mother was raised with wealth, my father, dirt poor.
Growing up, we didn't have money, but I liked my childhood. Small community, lots of friends, easy school. It was all a facade. Maybe not for many, but for me. I learned from my mother to shut up and put up. I learned hard work from both my parents. My mother never liked me, still doesn't. I don't know why not. I think that is why she never noticed me...
Part II to come.