Right around my 13th birthday, my parents decided to separate. My grandmother came for her summer visit, bringing with her my cousin Marilyn who was the wild child of her generation for my mother's large, extended family. This was the era of free love, drugs, and rock n roll for middle-class, intellectual Montanans, and that is who my parents were.
What a memorable, indelible summer for me, so many firsts: smoked pot, snuck out through my bedroom window, shaved my legs, wore a bra, and got felt up by my dad. That last item in the list is why I am writing this. At 45 I am unmarried, with no children, and no partner. What the hell is the matter with me? It freaks me out and it kind of saddens me. I wonder if my feelings of betrayal from my dad play a part in how I feel about men. If he had been a nice dad before he cupped my breasts, I might not have felt so afraid, but I had always been afraid of him. Now I was afraid he might hit me, but also afraid he might want to touch me again.
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