The Ride
Nov 4 · 5 min read
I was the victim of a child molester.

I was six when he put his hand on my leg. I was sitting in the front passenger seat.
We had been at one of the huge family gatherings in Philadelphia. Everybody was Aunt this or Uncle that, cousin this or cousin that, and even though my mother does have five brothers and four sisters, I couldn’t keep track. A large group was playing cards, drinking beer. Others were watching the game.

