Survivor

I experienced childhood molestation, as well as physical and mental abuse at the hands of a female LAUSD teacher at Hazeltine Elementary School in Van Nuys, CA. I have been in therapy at San Fernando Valley Community Mental Health Centers, Inc., the Homebound program, since July 1998. I have been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I suffer from panic attacks and depression, as well. I have been unable to work due to the severity of my symptoms and am being treated by a psychiatrist, who prescribes medications to help manage my symptoms. I also see a mental health therapist on a weekly basis to deal with the emotional conflict that persists.

The molestation took place over a period of approximately nine months in the early to mid-seventies. I was in kindergarten or first grade. My family had legally emigrated from Cuba. My mother spoke no English, was naturally trusting and did not question the quality of the education I was receiving. I was about six years old when the molestation occurred. When I would arrive home with bruises and underwear missing, she would question me. Threatened with “jail and deportation of my family” by my perpetrator, I believed until recently that I had kept silent out of fear. While attempting to retain legal services, a conference call was made to my mother at the suggestion of an attorney. It was then that I learned, to my surprise, that I had told me mother that the teacher would take down my pants and touch me “on the front and on the back”. I also learned during that call that my mother had gone to the school to report this to the principal and administrative staff. My mother reports that they ignored her. As the scratches, bruises and missing articles of clothing continued, she finally called the police. As soon as my mother left me at school, I would be forced to go into the closet, where I would remain until recess, without food or water. At recess, when the other children were dismissed to the yard, she would close the blinds and bring me out of the closet. She would force me to perform oral sex upon her. I was penetrated anally with pencils, pens and her fingers. I was hit, leaving bruises. I was verbally humiliated with racially degrading comments, such as “You people are not coming her to ruin my country!” and “You are not allowed to speak ‘that’ language!”. Sometimes she would shout these racial epithets in front on the other children to the point that they would yell, “Leave him alone!”. At one point, a Hispanic girl was also brought into the abuse. I would be forced to perform sexual acts with her. I don’t know what happened, but she stopped attending class after just a brief time. Out of fear, I would often urinate in my clothes. The teacher would change me in front of the whole class. As I would regularly become nauseous, she would force me to throw up in front of the class. She would not allow me to go to the restroom or to eat all day. As I would often run away, I was considered a “problem child”. My mother would drop me off in front of the school. I would go to the back of the school and jump the fence. I would hide in the bushes until 3:00 p.m. and then return home. The school would call to inform my mother that I had not attended class. Eventually, my mother would drop me off at the principal’s office and Mr. Boothby would personally escort me to class. In his presence, the teacher would pretend to be happy to see me, “Oh, Fernando, I hope you’re feeling better!”.

One day, while I was in class, my mother appeared with four policemen. I remember my mother attempting to attack the teacher and being restrained by the police. Outside, the police demanded to know what the teacher had done. Crying hysterically, I repeated “Nothing!”, out of fear that something would happen to my family. Until very recently, I believed that I had remained silent for fear of the teacher’s threats to have me put in jail and my family deported to Cuba. While attempting to retain legal services, however, a conference call was made to my mother at the suggestion of an attorney. It was then that I discovered, to my surprise, that I actually had told my mother that the teacher would take down my pants and touch me “on the front and on the back”. I also learned during that call that my mother had gone to the school to tell the principal and administrative staff. My mother reports that they ignored her. As the scratches, bruises and missing articles of clothing continued, she finally called the police. I don’t know exactly what happened after that, but I never saw the teacher again. I was temporarily bussed to special education classes at a different school. I didn’t understand what was happening. I was taken to a doctor for an examination. Naturally, the doctor needed to touch me, but I was so afraid that I would start vomiting and beg my mother not to take me. As my mother recalls, I was taken to some type of L.A. County child welfare program. I remember being spoken to by several staff, possibly child psychologists or social workers. I was afraid to trust and to speak with them. I would become physically ill. After an undetermined period of time in the special school, I was returned to Hazeltine Elementary. I continued to be a run-away and eventually a truant officer was assigned. She would pick me up and take me to school. In the fifth grade, I had a teacher named Mrs. Whitney, who I found to be kind and understanding. I trusted her and felt comfortable in her class. That year, I attended class regularly and did not run away. I attended only one day of sixth grade before I again began running away. The school would call my mother. Eventually, it seems everyone gave up and stopped calling. I never went back to school. After long years of silence and being sheltered by my family, who feared upsetting me by talking about it (I was very explosive), I have been able to assure my family that I need this information in order to heal.. For decades, they believed they were helping by protecting me from details. The opposite is true, although their intentions were good. They did not understand my illness and how the silence and avoidance actually perpetuated my symptoms and self destructive behavior. In seeking more information from my mother, sister and brother, I recently learned that I was so frightened at home that my brother had to accompany me to the bathroom during the night. I had what my mother describes as a “nervous breakdown”. I was a bed-wetter until age thirteen. I experienced night terrors. I remained confined to my home for five years, from age thirteen to eighteen. At eighteen, I began to experiment with drugs and alcohol, as a means to “forget”. Eventually realizing that I could not continue living a premeditated self destructive life (I knew that eventually I was going to kill myself), with my brother’s help, I sought therapy. I carry guilt for the fact that my family has made and continues to make constant accommodations to my illness, putting their own lives on hold. My brother never married and continues to devote his life to supporting me, emotionally and financially. As a result of consistently running away from my perpetrator, I have less than a fifth grade education. For fear of another traumatic experience, I lost crucial years of learning and am left with a severe learning disability. My innocence was taken from me. I have spent years punishing myself with self destructive behavior, such as self-cutting, alcohol, drugs and sexual promiscuity. I have spent my life harboring anger at myself and the world. I continue to be tormented by violent and suicidal fantasies. Several times, I attempted to join the military, so that at least I could die a hero. I continue to learn in therapy (and struggle to believe) that my shame, self blame and self hatred is a normal response of molested children. A part of me has continued to blame the six year old child that was me for not speaking up. Having recently learned that I had the courage to speak up, despite the threats of my perpetrator, makes my need for justice more urgent. It is crucial to my healing that the little boy in the closet finally be heard. Learning that the principal and others knew that I was being abused and still took me back to class has left me shocked, angry and very disappointed. Those entrusted with my care betrayed me and I continue to live in the wreckage of their lack of action.

In an attempt to reclaim my life, I am now attending Los Angeles Valley College through the Disabled Student’s Department. I require tutoring and adaptive equipment in order to complete my courses. As difficult as it is for me to talk about what happened, it is important to me that justice be done, in order to channel my anger productively and to prevent this from happening to others. I suspect there may be other victims of this teacher, as it is unlikely one would become a pedophile for a single child. It is painful for me to be told of the statute of limitations, as there is no statute of limitations on the suffering that persists and the years I have lost.

I appreciate your investigation into this matter. I await any information you discover.

Sincerely,