Julia Cameron asks at the end of last chapter, “Did you do your artist date this week?  Did you use it to take any risks? What did you do?  How did it feel?”

So, I thought what do I fear the most…what do I feel is a risk?

And what came was looking into the File of My father’s at the Houghton County Courthouse.

I had pictured this file filled with evidence, victim’s stories, horrific re-counting of their interactions with my father.  A box filled with the demons of his life, an ugly box heaped with things I truly didn’t want to know, his secret life was tucked inside…all the dirt the detective had dug up.  How he traveled from Texas to here, the he said, she said type stuff. 

I thought I would come face to face with secrets finally brought to the open by my little friends…I would read about, my sisters and their friends, and the truth would be laid bare for me.

I had to take the risk that I was strong enough.

This morning when I read that sentence, I decided after work, I would go…stepping through my fear and open that file/box and sort through and face the demons of my childhood.

I called ahead, so it would be waiting for me.   A file for one. 

As I parked in front and walked up the steps, I held the railing I knew my father held as he walked down a free man …one of the last things he touched in his hometown before he left for Texas in May of 2005.

I shook my head to keep me in the present…and kept following my moving feet, bringing me closer to what I had feared these last six years…all the stories of the little girls who suffered because of this one man, my father.

I entered a room with two smiling normal looking ladies… and asked to see my father’s file. 

There on the table sat this bright yellow file folder, thin, wimpy, absent of all horrific stories, folder.  It held legal documents and signatures, formalities that had odd titles.

The paper my brother signed when he paid his bail, the check for most of it being refunded back…he didn't lose too much.

I asked is this it? 

And they asked, “what are you looking for?”

I told them, six years ago when he was being tried, our stories, the victim’s stories were being passed around. The defense attorney had them, the prosecutor had them, and my brother had them, my mother had them…and now I wanted to see them. 

I explained, at the time, I was too weak to take them in, but now I am feeling braver and want to see what they all read and knew about us victims. Where is the evidence, the story about why he was in court,  and that these papers didn't say too much? It was the glossy version.

The kind ladies tried to show me the pertinent documents, what he was convicted on, what the plea bargain was, etc. 

 I said this file doesn’t hold the evidence… just the papers for the court.

As I was leaving, feeling like I had gotten to just read the footnotes of his story, I bumped into the secretary of the prosecutor…a girl I know. 

She said that perhaps the next time she is in the attic, she would look and see if there is more to his story in their files…but it was a long time ago.  Not that long I said, only six years.  To me it could have been yesterday.  She too was kind and seemed like she wanted to help…but didn't have what I was looking for. 

She also suggested I go next door to the sheriff’s office and see the detective, perhaps he can find the file with the victims stories…the evidence. 

So, I made the short walk and asked to see the detective.   He was out on the road, so I could leave my name and number and the reason I needed to see him.

I told the sheriff, I wanted to see my father’s file, the evidence of his pedophile ways, to read about what they found in order to bring him to trial.  He too asked, why?

I said I wanted to read the stories that were passed around like a newspapers back then, but I had been too afraid to read, that I was braver today.

He smiled.  What none of them know, is that in the 'evidence' is a story of my rape, recounted by my childhood friend.  A memory, that I failed to record…that I was feeling brave enough to read about. 

It was my victim story I wanted to see…Now that I am brave enough, made the trip, walked up the steps, opened the door…maybe I will not ever get to see that story, but what I did was face my ultimate fear. 

We chatted, about how the system is so backwards, how families are able to sentence the pedophiles, and how their charges are reduced due to parents not wanting their children on the stand facing the man who hurt them….  We both agreed that it is so backwards that a child has to be the strong one, to stand against not only the one who hurt them, but the folks who all are connected to him.

I stood on one side of the counter and him on the other, both of us on the same side of this issue, neither one of us able to make a difference. 

I said I would like to talk to the detective, to give him names that I have heard, of other guys like my father, but that I didn’t have much more than that, just names that keep coming up, folks keep talking about them, but nothing seems to happen. 

I said I wanted to give him them names so I didn’t have to carry them.

I said to leave lots of time, for I am long winded when it comes to talks of this nature.

He seemed kind and listened and took my name.  I will see if the detective will be willing to talk to one of the girls whose letter is in the illusive evidence file…

I feel I could work with them and shed light from this side of the counter, the family side…the little girl side, the victim side.

I faced my fears, I took a risk and I feel that I am stronger because of it.

It wasn’t a usual Artist Date, but one that brought me confidence and empowerment.

It opened the doorway to a full circle moment.  I can be the ‘stranger’ that reported ‘something’ isn’t right in that family….  I can be the one who spoke up, who brought it to the attention of the authorities…to allow some one like me who is waiting for someone to notice, someone to care enough, to be brave and step out and take a risk, point a finger at the source of so many rumors. 

I can’t know if my speaking will begin to shake the family tree, but I can know that my silence will keep their secrets secret.

What I don’t want to have happen is for me to be one of the folks who knew and did nothing. 

I have had these names of the guys, but I thought I needed the names of a child who is appearing to act like they have suffered abuse. But now I know, you can report the names of guys/girls who you have heard part take in abusive behavior, you don’t need a child to start the ball rolling, a child is waiting for you to push it down the hill…

I also believe a child will intuitively feel that real help has arrived, that they are safe to share their story.

But, we…the adults in the world have to brave enough to speak their names out loud and to the authorities.

If you have names, but are not brave enough, share them with me, I will take the names from you so you too no longer have to carry them.

Carrying their names is carrying their secret.

And while carrying their secret a child suffers alone waiting. 

Waiting for some one to notice.

Someone to see the monster they have experienced. 

All it takes is one…one person to say his name.