My mother was only about twenty-five when she became a single mother of three small little girls. I was about five years old when my biological father left my mother, just shortly before I started Kindergarten. Which puts Lynn at about three and Ann would have been around a year old. At this time in my Mother's life, we were her everything, we were her life.
He as younger than our Mother by five or six years. He was not father material and looking back, was never husband material either. He already had fathered a son, and left the woman to fend for herself. But some how, he managed to sweep our mother off her feet. It is hard for me to remember back that far and pin point exactly when he came into our lives. I know there was a period of "dating" prior to them getting married because I remember not wanting him to be in our home. I was having a hard time with the fact that our Father had left and wanted nothing to do with this new guy in the house. I remember throwing tantrums, full blown screaming fits when he was around. The dress that I wore when he married my mother is a children's size 8, I know this because it hangs in my closet to this day. So, that tells me it was soon after my father left that he started coming around..
Eventually he won us over, and we began to accept him as a possible father figure. I remember my Mother getting some sort of certificate to present to him for Father's Day early on. We did not want to call him Dad or Daddy and some how he came up with "Poppie" and it stuck.
Poppie did provide for our family. I remember ten to twelve dollars a week allowance in the first grade! Another memory that tells me he was in the picture pretty quickly after my father left. For him, money could always buy happiness. He made repairs to our little run down summer shack and made my mother feel like the luckiest woman alive.
I can't tell you that I remember the first time, but I do remember one of the earlier times that he began sexual abusing me. It started with accidental touching, we were on the couch, under the afghan that my grandmother had made...