By K.T. Leone
In my belief system, there is no sin that God cannot forgive you for as long as you ask with an earnest heart. I know that some people might have a problem with believing that a murderer or a pedophile might receive a pardon for their sin, but I am not here to argue the basis of my beliefs. That being said, just because you may be forgiven of a sin, doesn't mean that you will be free and clear of the consequences of it. If you commit murder, your sin will be forgiven but you may still wind up facing a long stay in prison or execution. This is a true story of a seven year old who committed a sin that though he may have been forgiven for, it had ramifications that effected his whole life. There will be no dresses or makeup or dolls or anything remotely transsexual in this story, so you may want to turn back now. Here, in front of all who care to see, is my confession. This is my sin, this is why my life is so utterly miserable, and this is why I deserve everything that has come my way.
Those who know me, even remotely so, know a bit of my background, but it bears repeating for those who are unaware or may have simply forgotten. I was born on January 22nd 1975 at Elmhurst hospital in the borough of Queens, New York City. The people that produced me were Vivian Leonard (at least at that time that was her name) and Keith Leonard. I was born a boy and named after the sperm donor. The fact that I was born a boy is not my sin, though it has caused enough problems of its own.
I lived in the care, if you can call leaving a baby alone in a house while you go out and drink and smoke pot care, of these two individuals for a few short months until the senior Keith decided he had enough of Vivian and tucked his tail between his legs and made a run for it. Vivian, deciding that I, the younger Keith, was not the answer to fixing a failed marriage, looked for a way to remove me from the scene. The fact that Vivian's and Keith's marriage didn't work out was also not my sin and may have been a blessing in disguise.
The womb provider wanted to put me up for adoption, wanted me completely out of her life so that she could live unencumbered. My Aunt Rosalie wanted to raise me as her own. That was not acceptable from my mother's standpoint, probably not wanting a constant reminder of her failed union, and there was actually a court battle over whether or not I would be an orphan. As fate would have it, my Uncle Salvatore (we are good Sicilian stock) was already a foster parent and was able to take me into his home while the court proceedings raged. Can you imagine that? Not only did the bitch that bore me not want to raise me, but, when someone else was willing to provide love and security, she didn't want that as well. As you could imagine, the court proceedings caused a rift in the family, and for a while various family members didn't talk to one another. The fact that my family had its little feud is also not my sin, if it weren't me they would find something else to fight over like who ate the last meatball or who slighted who at the last family gathering by not saying hello enthusiastically enough.
You needed this background information in order to get a grasp of the events that were about to happen or you would be so utterly lost because the whole situation sounds like some badly conceived story that if I saw in on the internet I would quickly log off and utter, out loud, the word “bullshit.” Unfortunately this bullshit happens to be real and it also happens to be my life.
I was seven years old, still living in New York City, still living with my Aunt Roe from the time I was three, and generally a happy kid. My aunt provided for me, almost to the point of being spoiled and I was as well behaved as a hyperactive little kid could be. Life, though it may be confusing for some, made sense to me and I didn't question things. I just did what kids did; I went to school, I did my homework, I played, and I watched The Dukes of Hazard and The Muppet show religiously. I didn't question the situation I was in, nor did I ever feel the reason to. But that would change, and life around me would change as well.
Like I said. I was seven years old. It was early spring, maybe March or April, and the weather outside was mild. I don't know the exact day, other than the fact that it was on a weekend when the event happened. A day like that deserves to be remembered, only so one could hope to forever blot it out of their memory.
I was in my room. That is where everything started. No, let me change that. That is where I discovered where everything started. My, for lack of a better word and with much disdain, mother was over my house. Isn't that odd for a seven year old to say “my mother was at my house.” Not saying something like “me and mom were at our house”. Saying my mom was at my house makes me sound like I'm a middle aged house wife and not like a seven year old little boy.
Anyway. My mom was at my house. Really apartment, but no one ever uses apartment to describe where they live. It wasn't that odd for my mother to come over. I don't know when the visits actually started. I know she didn't visit me when I was three and my aunt and I lived on Harmon Street. I know she didn't come around when my grandfather lived with me and my aunt (he wound up moving to Florida), so I guess the little visits happened a little after when I was four and a half. Usually, I found out later, the visits started when my mom found need for me. Most of the time there would be a man involved in that need. Kind of weird just to type that, but the world back then isn't the same as the world is now. I was I guess a little caveat in my mom's man trapping schemes. Not only do you get me, but you get a son. Doesn't matter. The fact that my mom was around wasn't all that odd, I knew who she was, I knew she gave birth to me, I knew I didn't live with her and I didn't really care. Life was how life was. Normally when my mom came over we would wind up doing stuff like going to the park or the movies or to her boy friend's place. Guess I was an attractive accessory.
So I was in my room which was all the way at one end of the railroad apartment, the one with the window that faced the street. I don't know exactly what I was doing, but, for the sake of the story I will insert what I would normally be doing. I was sitting on my huge wooden toy chest, legs Indian style. I had a little box fan that was on one edge of the toy box, facing away from me as I sat behind it. It was my propeller and the toy chest was my plane and I was pretending to be a pilot. I don't know why I never made the fan face me so I could feel the wind in my face, I guess in my seven year old mind propellers didn't work that way. So there I was, pretending to be a pilot with my aunt and my mother (listed in order of importance) were in the kitchen. Little did I know that life was about to change.
I don't know what started the argument. I probably didn't even hear the beginning of it being three or four rooms away. I'm sure the conversation started low and almost civil, not loud enough for a seven year old boy who was playing behind a fan to hear. But, as arguments go, it grew louder and louder. It got so loud that it interrupted my playing and I turned the fan off to hear it better.
I didn't know what the argument was about, but I am most certain it was about me. Being a seven year old and knowing that a fight was going on a few rooms away, I did what most kids would do, I walked in on it. My goal was to be peace keeper, hoping that my presence would make the adults in the house talk at a more relaxed tone and hash things out as adults. I didn't have an inkling that I would become a part of the argument. I'm not saying that I started yelling and screaming at the adults, that I made points and counter claims. I was part of the argument in a different way, I became a weapon, an object to be used to inflict pain in any way that I could. It would've been better if my mom just lifted me by the ankles and bludgeoned my aunt with me, but that would have caused less pain.
My aunt and my mother were yelling at each other in the kitchen. They were both sitting at the table, my mother sitting closest to the door, that would be important. I was standing at the other side of the table from my aunt, closest to the partition that separated the kitchen from the living room and actually closest to the door leading out of the apartment than either of them.
The argument, by the time I had made my presence known, had reached its crescendo. In a blur, my mother stood up, put on her blue wind breaker (the fact that she wore the wind breaker and that it is so prevalent in my mind offers me the only clue that this happened in spring), and said something nasty to my aunt.
“Keith,” my mother said to a confused seven year old. “Let's go.”
I was in shock, I suppose, because I certainly wasn't processing any information at the moment, and felt my mom grab my wrist as she led me out the door. It was like a whirlwind. I never left the apartment so fast. It seemed like an instant that my mom and I were out the door. Her face was stern, firm and unflinching. I don't think I ever seen her so determined and didn't think it was my place, or even safe, to question what she was doing. We were down the three steps of the stoop and walking up Himrod Street towards Underdunk avenue. We must have been walking at a breakneck speed because we were half way up the block before my Aunt came out of the apartment.
“Keith,” she called out to me. “Keith.”
My eyes still feel with tears as I can still hear her calling me across the years.
“Keith!”
I turned my head ever so slightly so I could see her.
My mother had my wrist still and held it tight. She gave it a little tug. “Don't look back,” she commanded
And I obeyed. I don't know whether out of confusion or out of fear, but I didn't look back, I didn't stop, I just stupidly walked away from the person who raised me and who loved me. It was then, at that very precise moment, that I had sinned.
I didn't realize that I was being kidnapped. I didn't know what the hell was going on. I do know that I was taken to a strange place. I was introduced to a person to 'Aunt Helen,' who was somehow related to the man that my mom would shortly marry.
The place was odd and foreign and I felt very uncomfortable being there.
“Keith, Keith,” my aunt called through time and space. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have been able to find my way back home.
It was there that the brainwashing began. My aunt stole me from my mother, I was told. That my mom loved me and always wanted to take care of me. And then the kicker, that she and Richie were about to get married and that we would be a normal family with a real mom and a real dad. Up until then I didn't know that I wasn't normal, but what seven year old can argue with “don't you want to be like all your friends and have a real family.”
If this was some sort of fantasy I could go on and on about how we lived incognito, how in order not to be recognized that I was put in a wig and a dress. But, I wasn't even afforded that luxury and whoever has read this far has been denied the joy of hearing of finery.
The next day I was returned. But because of my one sin, another was about to occur. That is the way sin works, it kind of steamrolls on you. If you catch it early enough or don't commit it in the first place you might have a chance to contain its effect. I was not strong enough as a seven year old to realize this.
I was home for maybe a week. My aunt was sitting at the kitchen table. I don't know what she was doing, but I know what I did was about to wreck both of our lives.
“Aunt Roe,” I said softly. Sin had planted this idea in my head and I was going to see it through.
“Yes Keith,” she answered as she looked up at me.
“I want to live with my mom and with Richie so we could be a real family.”
God, I should've just grabbed a knife and stabbed her in the heart. It would have been less cruel.
“Are you sure that's what you want?”
I nodded my head yes and with that I sealed my fate. One sin begets another and though there may be atonement, there is sometimes punishment that goes along with it. I have been feeling the effects of that punishment for almost thirty years and I will continue to do so until my last breath is expelled. I had sinned and the agony I have endured is much deserved.
WHATEVER.
Comments
hon, you commited no sin
And I hope one day you'll be able to forgive yourself for something that really wasnt your fault at all.
Big but gentle hugs.
fault
Of course it was my fault. I fucked up twice. It is the cross I bear.
Katie Leone (Katie-Leone.com)
Writing is what you do when you put pen to paper, being an author is what you do when you bring words to life
Everything you've ever said...
...tells me that if you could have asked your Aunt Roe, she would have said exactly what everyone else has either said or will say. You were a child who was put in a no-win situation. You said so yourself; you were made into a weapon used to get back at your Aunt. I don't know you but I am as sure as I can be that if she were alive, the woman who loved you and treasured you as her own would do the same today. I am sorry for you and I weep for your hurt; you deserved innocence and love.
Love, Andrea Lena
Reply to Andrea
That's the real kicker about the who situation; years after the abuse was discovered and everything was out in the open. One day my aunt and I were talking and she said "But you decided that you wanted to move there. Don't you remember asking me to move there?" I don't know if she said this because of the betrayal she had felt over me asking to leave her or if maybe it insulated some of the guilt she felt that I had suffered at the hands of my mother and step father. There were signs that I was being abused, what 8 year old doesn't feel when it's time to go to the bath room and poops himself?
But her accusation still is out there. "You made the decision." And, I suppose, that is correct in the truest definition of the word. But, in reality, it is that one instance that hurts me, the one moment in time that I am stuck in, when my mother has my wrist and my aunt is calling from the top step "Keith, Keith," that is what haunts me, that is what I wish I could've undone. Perhaps if I would've stopped my mom would've thrown me down and stomped me to death. Part of me thinks that would have been in the picture. But maybe if I was stomped to death, it would've been better. It was the look in my mother's face. Those dead set eyes that said this is what we are doing and I will crush anyone who stands in my way. My mother knew my aunt would call the cops on her. My aunt always had guardianship of me. Nothing could be done about me without her approval. Luckily, when it came down to the question of Ritchie adopting me, that didn't happen, thank God.
Katie Leone (Katie-Leone.com)
Writing is what you do when you put pen to paper, being an author is what you do when you bring words to life
I am sorry...
very sorry.
Love, Andrea Lena
WRONG
You are not wrong and you have not committed a sin. A 7 year old is not old enough to reason as an adult would and thus you are blameless. Stop beating up on yourself.
So Sad
That is so sad Katie but like you say your reality is stranger than fiction. You much forgive yourself after all these year and start to heal your heart and mind
LOVE HUGS & KISSES -- RICHIE2
No Sin
From what I read, you are no sinner in this drama. You where just an innocent kid that got used as a weapon by the womb provider. She is the main culprit in my opinion.
I wish you luck on finding peace and putting all of that behind you.
Peace, Love, Freedom, Happiness
tmf
Not a sin.
No not a sin!
But even innocent acts have ramifications,
Ramifications yes, punishment no, consequences yes, but no guilt or blame.
How could a seven year old understand such things.
You must forgive yourself for what God does not even blame you for. No not so much forgive but instead realize, "There is no fault of your own because you could not possibly have understood nor foreseen what it would bring "
Katie's Sin?
Katie, there was no 'sin'. that you committed. It was your womb provider's sin for forcing you to go with her and scaring you so badly as a child that you did as she said. Her second sin was brainwashing you. Be that as it may, can you forgive yourself?
May Your Light Forever Shine
Written from the heart.
A most sad and convincing account, but I think the whole idea of 'sin' is repressive, especially with respect to children. Most people will have some regrets from their childhood about what they've said or failed to say, but the consequences will not have been as bad for them as they appear to have been in your case. I hope that one day you can come to terms with your childhood and realise that you were not to blame. Also perhaps try and forgive those who have damaged you.
Louise
You were manipulated by your womb donor
Why IT wanted you back is a mystery.
Was she deluded and honestly believed that line at the time or was there a finacial incentive, IE increased welfare or other benifts IF they had more kids under their care?
But as a little kid we are eager/predisposed to please.
It was NOT your fault, it was the thing that bore you.
With hindsight staying with your aunt would have been better but was it even possible?
Life can suck.
But what you make if it, how you move ahead is all that counts in the end.
Make your late aunt proud. Dont let that *thing* dictate your life.
John in Wauwatosa
John in Wauwatosa
Reply to John W
Yes, why did it want me back?
It couldn't have been financial, because my aunt never did give up legal guardianship over me. Technically I was never hers in the eyes of the law. I know my aunt continued to provide for me by sending my mother money, but there was no help from the government (Not like to 2 grand a month she would wind up getting from ssi for her own kids later on in life).
I think she wanted me back because it made her look better. Richie was one of those bar flies that my mom knew for a while and he would've been well aware of my existence. Considering the abuse I suffered, perhaps that is even how my mom landed him. I would like to believe that my mom was blind to what was going on in her own home, but I don't think I could afford that luxury. I know Richie had just left a marriage and a son shortly before and maybe I was offered as a substitute.
Staying with my aunt was more than possible. Perhaps I should've begged for us to move down to Florida to be away from the witch once and for all. It is a difficult thing to be unwanted by the one who is suppose to want you unconditionally. The only good, if you can call it that, is that I come up with some real nasty character's in fiction. If you read God Bless the Child, Sheila was purposefully designed after my mother and so was Diane in the following book. I have a horrible imagination, really I do. All I have the ability to do is regurgitate reality, but people think that my characters are so far out there that I have such a vivid imagination. The unfortunate truth is that I know these people.
But it seems that I am stuck in time. It is difficult for people to pinpoint precisely when things went bad. They might know the year or the month, but I have it down to the very second. I could walk you to the very spot and say here, right here, this is where I fucked it all up. That moment, walking up Himrod street toward Underdonk avenue, just before you reach the garages, three steps away from the stoop of the house that had the low fence that was easy for a seven your old to jump over, having my wrist held by my mother with my Aunt just out the door of our apartment building, forever crying "Keith, Keith," in that tone that wasn't demanding or scolding or pleading. In a voice that was almost certain that I, the one she loved unconditionally, would return to her. That was where life went wrong. That is the moment I go back to that always brings pain and tears. I have suffered no greater low, not being beaten by Richie, not being molested by my cousin Michael, not being falsely accused of things I didn't do, not being held up by gun point, nothing. Perhaps because that was the first calamity, or because I blame it for all the bad that had been done to me following it. There were repercussions that I would've gladly have been crushed to death in that moment than to allow happen. My aunt was never the same. It was the ultimate betrayal. She why in psychiatric care from then on out and even attempted suicide a few years later. I could understand why. When you invest all your love into a child, give that child your all, and all you can see is the back of that child walking out of your life as you call and the little boy doesn't even look back to see your face, what hope in life do you have left?
How would've life been different if I had stopped? I don't know. It's like asking how the world would be different if the sun never shined. But I live with the stain of my inaction and once red wine is spilled on a white carpet, there is no undoing it.
Katie Leone (Katie-Leone.com)
Writing is what you do when you put pen to paper, being an author is what you do when you bring words to life
forgiveins of thy self
To forgive thy self and you will open the door to those that forgiving you.
Demuneye
I 'm sorry, that's not sin, it's hindsight and regret.
Yeah, I know it hurts. Lord, do I know! It hurts forever, because you can look back from an adult perspective and you can see where your life went wrong. Heck you can almost pinpoint it, and you know if God would let you go back and just change one thing, a sentence, or maybe even just one little word, or a tiny action.
But no, now you have to live in the world you created with whatever it is you did.
Really, though, it could only be a true sin if you went back in time, knowing what you know now, and did the same thing again.
The reality of the situation is, the sin you worry about, you are commiting it now. You worry about what you did at 7. Well, I can tell you it's crap. It's done, let it go. She has.
If she could see you now, would ahe be happy? In our faith, it's entirely possible that she is doing exactly that. Is she proud of you? Is she happy you are living a good honest life? Are you honoring her memory, or living in shame for a mistake you made years ago?
Katie, I hate to put it like this, but come on! Get over it! Live the life she would want, the one that honors her memory, the one that, if she IS watching over you, she would be happiest with. Otherwise, you are still commiting the same sin, and you are still ripping out her heart.
I can tell, she loved you. Well my friend, she still does. She always will.
It hurts me to read about you, punishing yourself. How do you think she feels? How do you think God feels?
Don't let them down, Hon. What ever you do, know that in my way, I love you, too.
Wren
reply to Wren
I don't know if I am living in shame, most likely living in regret. Probably explains why I write all those age regression stories. In hindsight, my aunt and I should've moved to Florida with my grandpa when I was 4.
I don't know if she would be happy, hell, I'm not. I'm not completely miserable, but it does pain me that I don't make a direct impact on other people's lives (unless you consider on time paper delivery significant). All throughout my life I have had the notion that I was suppose to be more. For a long time, I was more. I was the person others looked to, the one parents told their children to be like. Now, I just exist, and my psyche doesn't work that way. Its not that I suffer delusions of grandeur, but my life is suppose to be more than just getting by. I keep waiting, keep trying. But it seems lately that the more I try the more I go behind. Even in writing. I always suppose that my writing is good and has meaning, but when I compare to others, the numbers don't match. I tried to read others and it seems things that I feel are inferior to what I produce is well loved. Maybe I'm like the artist that won't have her works appreciated until after she is gone. I also make it a habit of helping people and thinking the best of them. That has gotten me in more trouble as of late. It wasn't always that way. I use to help people, and even if they didn't express gratitude, I was still proud of myself.
I am not, ruminating on this issue... it just pops its head every now and then. This actually came up as an assignment for therapy. It seems this instance bothers me even more than the molestation I suffered. I don't know completely about that. Perhaps I just can't deal with the molestation so I go to something easier. Or maybe its kind of a full circle thing. By asking my aunt to move in with my mother I feel I betrayed her and when my cousin penetrated and sodomized me, I feel he portrayed me. The you reap what you sow passages come to mind. But, in the end, something will give. I still think I have the chance to be a something, maybe through my writing. I just wish I could make a living at it now. Also... I think the job has gotten to me and the lack of days off really sucks and is wearing me down more than the past.
Katie Leone (Katie-Leone.com)
Writing is what you do when you put pen to paper, being an author is what you do when you bring words to life
Hugs
We could trade stories in who's childhood was crazier and point fingers at all sorts of people and even blame ourselves but the answers lies in forgiveness forgiving all those around us and letting go Forgiving and loving ourselves. We live but a brief few moment in time, the past is gone we only have now to be who we truly are.
The greatest illusion is separation
The true mind can weather all the storms / illusions of the world with out being lost
The true mind hides in the void, until divine space lets it shine like a morning star
The true mind is a portal of
The true heart /unconditional divine love / together thats your true state of being
You are what your deep, driving desire is. As your desire is so is your will.
As your will is, so is your destiny"
Change your mind Change your life.
Its all with in you
Love and hugs Hanna
Love And Hugs Hanna
((((((((♥)))))))((((((((♥)))))))((((((((♥)))))))((((((((♥)))))))((((((((♥)))))))
Blessed Be
a mistake is not a sin and a sin is not a mistake...
You and I have very similar unfortunate happenstances. I was 13 when my mom and dad finally pulled the seams out of their marriage. When it came time to decide who goes where... guess who it fell on to make that choice both for me and my little brother? I guess in the US the threshhold age for that choice is 13 but noone has any buisness making that choice at that age. I love both my parents and I mostly minded my own buisness not delving into assigning blame. I guess I WAS mature enough to know in most breakups there is enough blame to go around. So when I made the choice it wasn't because of blame. I simply felt my mom had us for so much of our lives while my dad had been away (he was in the military and did three tours vietnam(x2) and korea). I figured to be fair to dad we would go with him and give him some time. It took a week for dad to start drilling us military style. I'm not stupid, I know when I'm not wanted. In a way my dad gave me a reprieve from my bad choice. So we went back with my mom. I've tried often to explain this to my mom and I just hope that I didn't hurt her to bad with my choice.
The person who sinned is your mom only if she did not deliver on the promise she made to you. If your aunt is still alive show her my post and explain to her the promise... I almost gurantee you she will understand.
I guess you were right.
After finishing this the word "bullshit" did leap to my mind. (It took me a while to find this little tale, but now I understand why you keep beating yourself all the time. For a while, after you convinced me you were not suicidal, I had convinced myself that it was just a very strange marketing ploy. I see I was wrong, and I'm really sorry.)
The part that makes me think of bullshit is not the part where you committed a sin. Because you didn't - it is thinking you did that is the bullshit. Initially I thought that of all the real people in your life at that time, your mom and dad are the only serious candidates for "sinner".
***
But ... after reflecting on things for a while I am less inclined to point my finger-of-blame at them. And at first glance, that leaves only God.
But ... God exists as a concept. So the real (physical) culprit, the real sinner, is Church. And that kind of gets me to my comfort zone (at least for now - thoughts have a tendency to evolve). God is Good (because She is a concept), church is Evil (because it exists physically, and historically has perpetrated a gigantic number of actual, physical, Evil events).
***
I hope you have found some peace in your life Katie, and I hope you are able to find more. Especially at this time of the year since you are a believer. I have come to love you, and I love your stories. The world would be a dimmer place without you.
T