When I was 11 or 12 years old there was a black belt instructor at the school I went to in Reno, Nevada, his name was Carl Fernand (might not be the right spelling) and he molested me. It happened over one school year and summer; there were 5 to 10 or so events (I honestly cannot remember, a gift of emotional trauma), which ended when I started taking special care to avoid him and his offers of transport, food, money, or “special help” with my lessons. 

I was the perfect target for a pedophile, as I had a troubled home life; my father was working to support 7 children, my mother lived out of town, and my step-mother was not a friendly or helpful person. I would go to school without lunch money and in the summer I was locked out of the house from early morning until the time when my step-mother would go into her bedroom for the night. Essentially, I was completely unsupervised. The martial arts school I went to had a key attached to a string in the front door’s mail slot, so I could go there when I couldn’t go home. 

I was often unwashed and dirty, hungry a lot, the only money I had I earned doing yard work, and my family, due to my step-mother’s personality, didn’t have any friends I could turn to for help. I loved the school and my martial arts lessons and the people there were more like family than my family.  I wanted to attend classes, the school’s events, the second location my instructor started, and I needed a place to be, when the only other place to hang out was the library. 

Carl started by paying attention to me. He was complimentary. He frequently gave me money for food and he offered me rides to events, tournaments, and places I might like to go. And one day, he stripped me down and molested me. 

I was ashamed and embarrassed. I felt I had caused it, brought it upon myself. But Carl was thorough in his approach and he kept help coming when and where I needed it —and 1 event turned into multiple events. 

Now, 40 years later, I’m completely clear about what happened and how it happens, but for years I carried some weighty shame. My most damaging memory of that time was not from this twisted adult, but the memory of walking with my father, now deceased, and how I felt that holding his hand made me wonder if people thought he might be something other than my father. That hurt —and I still tear up thinking of it. What shame and confusion for a child to bear. 

I’m talking about all of this as I want to remind others that molestation is a terrible crime —one that cannot be tolerated or ignored or kept a secret. This coming month I’ll be interviewing a friend who works for Child Protection Services —and I will outline, for the martial arts industry, the specifics of what must be done when a child is molested by a trusted adult. 

It is not OK. It is not OK to keep pedophilia a secret, not when other children are then put at risk when people aren’t warned.