I was born to a Dutch immigrant family whose foundation was built upon the act of a rape. My mother was seventeen years old at the time of this life altering sex crime. Being raised a Roman Catholic and one of thirteen children in a impoverished family, upon the realization that she had become pregnant, she confronted her assailant whom she recognized as living in the same North Amsterdam neighborhood. My twenty six year old father offered to marry her and she reluctantly accepted in a time where women’s alternatives were nonexistent. My eldest brother a premature birth weighing in at three pounds became our family’s firstborn son. My parents then made a decision to immigrate to Canada, arriving by steamship in Montreal in 1953 and later moving to Toronto. I was born two years later and my younger brother Brian was born a two and a half years after that. For some reason I was a very emotional child, often crying for very little reason, through past life regression exercises, my therapist believes that I was a woman in a recent past life. I’m skeptical about reincarnation all I know is that I never became a fully developed man in this one. At age eight I was sexually abused by a family acquaintance during a camping trip he made me give him a hand job and as a result I developed an obsession with masturbation. By the time I was ten our family started to show the first signs of disharmony when my mother took off her wedding ring and left for a week. I found out much later that she had left because of my father’s infidelity. When I was eleven years old she left again, this time for a few weeks. My dad found out that she was living with a man that she had met at her workplace. He tracked him down and beat the shit out of her German boyfriend right in his own driveway. The police were called but at my mother’s insistence no charges were laid. Out of fear she returned home but my dad’s jealousy was out of control. Not surprisingly in hind sight they had had sexual issues for sometime and my mother simply wanted to have a relationship with someone loving who “does it the right way” not his M.O.doggy style. I read this in a very explicit sex manual called “1001 Arabian Delights” that they kept in the bedroom and wrote in as a means of communicating. It was too much information for a young boy to be exposed to. I was also told that he raped her once again. He later tried to choke her to death when she again tried to leave. As an eleven year old I came to her rescue by repeatedly punching him with my little fists as hard as I could from behind and screaming to the top of my lungs “no Dad no!” He finally released his stranglehold from around her neck but this incident proved to be the final straw. Mom told him that he had always given her “the creeps” she left for good and never returned. Assault charges were laid against my father but for fear of her life she later had them dropped. As a child I was always told that I was exactly like my dad in both looks and personality. What a curse! After my mom left forever, I remember crying in front of the bathroom mirror and in my young contorted face I saw my father’s image staring back at me. This made me cry even harder. You see I reasoned that if he creeped her out then I must be creepy as well. After all she had left me and why couldn’t I be with her? My child self became adversely affected in many ways. The blame was also laid on us kids, we were scolded because we didn’t cry hard enough in order to make her stay. Dad sold everything we owned and moved us back to Amsterdam, where I lived for a year before returning back to Toronto. My Dad had become an alcoholic and was at times mentally and physically abusive. I recall one Sunday he took us swimming at Boyd Conservation Area. He killed a bottle of whiskey on the beach and on the way home sped and swerved the car from side to side shouting “I’m gonna kill us all!” We were all crying and from the front seat I frantically screamed over and over “ no dad no!” During this period of family upheaval, because my dad considered my older brother “too stupid ” and my younger brother too young, I assumed the matriarch position within our fragmented family. I cooked and cleaned and I also took the brunt of his need for a confidant, a role that would poison me and stunt my growth into a balanced adult. I would pretend to be sleeping when he came home after drinking all night, but it made no difference. He would just yank me out of my bed saying I need to talk and the bitter banter would begin. He often derogated my mother and always referred to what was now her new husband as “the German Prick.” Even to this day with Mom long dead, my dad can still demonstrate bitterness for what he perceived as having had his wife stolen away. In reality she left because she realized that her greatest responsibility was to herself and her own survival. She got a divorce, remarried and gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. For the first year my sister was thought to be a colic baby but they then discovered that she was born with a congenital disease called Cystic Fibrosis. Back at home my dad expressed an interest in getting high by smoking marijuana and gave me some money to buy an ounce from a guy at school. The two of us smoked a large pipe at the dining room table. As he stood up and walked towards the kitchen, he blacked out, first hitting the wall and then the floor. Scared shitless I shook him until he came to, he crawled on all fours to his bedroom and passed out for the night. First bruised experiences aside my father liked getting high and set me up to become a drug dealer at school, so we could smoke drugs for free. As a result I spent my high school years in a parentally endorsed drug induced chronic haze. I soon met a girl at school and we became lovers. My father sent her to his Doctor and had her put on the pill because he didn’t want any young pregnant girls knocking on the door. He also eventually made sexual advances towards her. Frustrated with these circumstances I quit and got a job. My girlfriend and I moved into our own apartment and were later married. This lasted a year to the day, after which time we decided that we weren’t really ready for marriage, after all we were only eighteen. I had aspirations to pursue a career as a Rock Drummer and so I asked my Mother if I could move in with them. She was somewhat reserved but agreed and I moved into their finished basement where I could practice my drumming. Soon afterwards Mom told me that she would be leaving for three weeks to visit her family back in Amsterdam. Mom also informed me that her husband Erich’s fourteen year-old named Irene would be staying over in her absence. She also cautioned me about this young girl’s mature appearance. When his daughter showed up, she let me know that she was sexually active and we had sex that same night. We continued this affair right under her father’s nose, once in a tent trailer with him only a few feet away, pretending to be asleep. My motivations were largely based on revenge. I remember thinking, “Steal my Mother away, well how do you like this you fucking German prick.” After two weeks he had had more than enough, the illicit affair came to an abrupt end when her visitation was cut short and his heartbroken daughter was returned home. Mom never spoke to me about this, at least not in the same room. Unfortunately his daughter soon became distant and eventually lost all contact with her now estranged father. Prior to my mother’s death, with a gush of tears she spoke to me about having been repeatedly raped. She rationalized her decision to marry my rapist father saying, “ I was a twit and didn’t know what else to do. Tormented over a lifetime of guilt over having abandoned my two brothers and I in 1967, she begged for my forgiveness. Having found out the truth about the circumstances of how my parents first met at the same time as I was wrongfully fired over a job related handicap by my employer of 18 years ( Mary Kay Cosmetics ) I became very angry because I again felt betrayed and abandoned. My father’s abusive influences tainted my perceptions of my family’s breakup and this led to an inappropriate statutory rape leading to another break up and more heartache and guilt. I turned my wrath towards Mary Kay and acted out against them over a period of six years. I’ve held public protests, launched a web sight and even barricaded myself on their premises. They will not react because they know I have dug up scandalous information about their supposedly women enriching male executives ( F-ing C derogation and plagiarism of an ousted female CEO’s quote in a best selling book. I’ve started writing a book about my experiences arising out from my anti-social sexually addictive behaviors called Surviving Pink or Purging Pink. I’ve spent fifty thousand dollars in trying to leverage a settlement and have also lost my wife over this nightmare. I’m in so much emotional pain that I moan like a ghost dragging chains. The irony is that Mary Kay Inc. encourages everyone to Break the Silence regarding abuse against women and right now I’m trying to find the courage to Break the Silence against abuse of boys who have difficulty growing into mature men because of what was done to them. I’ve informed this Corp Cult about why I acted out in the ways I did but they hate me so much they have no room for forgiveness. What should happen here? Can anyone offer anything in the way of advice? I want to tell my story which is very interesting but fear a level of martyrdom will be bestowed upon me. Is society ready for a Pink Fink like me?