The day I was kidnapped…

It started out like any other day…

My mother was taking me a bath in the upstairs bathroom of our apartment. Laughing and enjoying my bath time as most small kids do, I was playing with my bathtub toys and bubbles when we heard someone running up the stairs.

Mom turns as the bathroom door is yanked open, and my father rushes in. Pushing my mother aside, he jerked me out of the bathtub and started down the stairs with me in tow. My mother was screaming, “what are you doing, stop”.

She reaches for me and grabs one of my arms. In the middle of the staircase of our apartment, my mother and father literally pulled me from each direction, each trying to gain possession of my five-year-old body.

I am naked, crying, and I do not understand what is happening.


My parents had separated when I was about four-years-old. My mother was keeping me away from my father and his side of my family. They were not ready to give me up. They had decided to kidnap me, and take me away from my mother. My father put his family’s plan into action.


On the stairs of my home, my father and mother play their own game of tug of war with my little body.

With tears running down my eyes, I tell my mother that it hurts, so she lets go. My father scoops me up and runs out of the apartment. He puts me in his green van, runs around the car and speeds off. In his haste, he almost runs over a neighborhood child.

I am terrified and cannot comprehend what is happening. Dad says everything will be okay. He gave me one of his extra-large white t-shirts to put on so that I was no longer naked. He takes me to a small, cheap motel one town away from where I live. I am happy to see some of my family there but afraid.


This is an on-going story of my life and some of the childhood adversities that I faced.  If you would like to start at the beginning of my tale, please read Four-year-old and Mother Survive Bludgeoning by River Rock, or go to the Childhood category and start at the bottom.


I don’t remember a lot about my time at the motel.  What I do remember, vividly, is the cop car that I went home in.  An officer carries me out of the motel room, he puts me in the back of his cop car.  I am sitting on a cold vinyl seat in an extra-large white t-shirt belonging to my father in the back of a police car.  I can still feel the cold material of those seats.  Crying and terrified as the police officer gets in the car and starts to drive away, I see my father being handcuffed through the window.  I was not told anything, and I still did not know what was happening.  The officer drives in silence…

I often wonder why in the world the cop placed me in the back of that car. Was it procedure? Was it just callousness on his part? Could he not let this five-year-old little blonde girl ride up front, or offer any comfort? I’ll never understand why he did this…or why it bothers me so much. Below is a picture of me at that apartment and at that age.

#abuse #kidnapped #trauma #tears #tugofwar


Please read the next part of my story: Tumbling with Rattlesnakes,  Like, share, and follow me to get updates on new stories.

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