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Pedophilia Jokes Are Not Funny: An Open Letter to James Gunn



Dear Mr. Gunn

You are missing something, sir. In your apology, you stated you were sorry for tweets that “some may have found offensive.” This is where you missed it, to say people “may have found” your tweets “offensive.” So I am going to show you a perspective you may never wish to see again, the perspective of a little girl who went through a nightmare.

It Seemed Innocent Enough

Things would happen that I did not think were quite right, but I was sure they were not intentional. A touch here, a kiss there. Not the kind of kisses anyone would know were wrong. Just pecks, no big deal, right?

It was like grooming, but I did not know that. No one would ever think for a second that their father was preparing them to accept his further attention. So it seems as if I wandered into it or something. All of a sudden I am in a dark place. Things are happening to me that confuses me greatly.

Then he asked if I liked it. I was ten years old, in the eighties. Of course, the touches felt good. I understood nothing that was happening to me, and only knew I had been taught not to lie. However, that good feeling was accompanied by a deep sense of wrongness. I should not be there. I should not let him touch me there.

Fear of Disobedience

He is my dad! What if it is disobedient to stop him? I wanted to be a good daughter. He was not hurting me, right? The gifts were starting. I did not know it was not ok. I liked the attention, but I was ten. What the hell did I know? After a while, I could not take any more.

I had a war going on inside. Here is my dad, whom I trusted. A man who would never hurt me. An honorable man who only cared about what is best for me and that was not sarcasm. I know he did love me, did not wish to harm me, but this sickness takes control. It sinks its talons in and does not let go.

I could not rectify what my heart knew, and what my body told me. It hurt me badly; what was happening was not right. I was not supposed to be in this situation. I was a child. I should have been outside playing with my siblings in a childish dream idyl, picking apricots from our tree and jumping through the sprinkler. I should not have had any heavier thought on my mind than whether or not I had something good enough to trade the girl down the street for a few of her beads.

I Had To Tell Someone

I told my teacher.  Naturally, the teacher called the police. He got probation and moved back in after a time. He did the same things over again. Despite moving a state away, and the hope of a new start, the shame was back. That is what kept me silent. That and the gifts. I was a little girl. It was as if those gifts made up for the mental and heart anguish I suffered.

I found myself lying there worried he would come in, dreading his touch and smell. I was hurting so much; I didn’t know what to do. I began to run away, but when they found me, I could not tell them what was wrong due to the lump of utter shame clogging my throat.

Before You Ask

I am telling you MY story. I want you to know all the ugly feelings that were warring inside me. I want you to know how gross I began to feel as I got older. I want you to know how I jumped straight into the fire from the pan and married a man who got drunk a lot and loved to torment me.

I want you to know how humiliated I was. I want you to understand how destroyed I was. I want you to see the lonely girl sitting in the corner, trying to ignore the other kids, who were busy making fun of me.

Catch a glimpse, if you can, of a girl who thought everyone closest to her hated her for damaging their family several times. The girl who was so tired of it she reached for a pistol. Only I did not know if I was going to shoot myself or him, I just know I needed it to stop.

I’m Not Telling You Everything, Mr. Gunn

I am only giving you one small glimpse into something that is, most assuredly, not a joke. Why? Because reading your tweets and the tweets of others brought that nightmare roaring right back. I do not know how you found that so funny. I have never thought “Hmm…. I want to tweet a joke. Think I will tell everyone how I f***ed the s*** out of the little boy sitting next to me.”

Actually, your apology was not really an apology, was it? It was more like one long excuse ending with “I’m different now, OK?” I think it would be a good idea if I, and others like me, gave you a small glimpse into the great injury and anguish that pedophilia is.

How we hit the self-destruct button. How we think every slight and dishonor that was done to us we deserved because we let this happen to us. How a man who was raped as a boy goes on a mission to prove he is a man, usually to the hurt of a woman who loves him very much. How ashamed he felt as if it was all his fault. How a woman who was touched and defiled as a child goes on to put herself in the worst situations that she could ever put herself into all to have even the lowest quality male love her. I am so glad you realized it wasn’t funny.

But do you realize why?

Mary Magaline / Copy Editor

I thrive on political dialogue. Communicating truth has a way of cutting through the noise in this world. When there is chaos all around, you will find me grounded in my Christian faith and networking with like-minded friends online. I love President Trump and I want my country back!
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  1. Kudos on this outstanding "letter"! Caused me to cry while reading it.

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  2. Mary, you are so very brave. Love ya girl!

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  3. How brave you are to confront your demons.For me, I got severe beatings instead of gifts. Bless you for being so honest.

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    Replies
    1. Here's to healing and victory for you! I am rooting for you.

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  4. Pedophilia is NEVER a joke or to be defended.
    Read and truly LISTEN to the words of a victim.

    Heart breaking. Thank you for your bravery, strength, and for speaking out!

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