I confronted him again, this time
he admitted his behavior, saying, “I’ve got them all, even the baby,
and from the time they were babies.” This was at 8:20 in the a.m. on
January 1, 1975, a fact I will probably never forget.
by Molly Price
My five boys still have a hard time having it known. They are all amazingly successful men today.
After telling me their truth thirty-five years ago, they said: “Don’t talk about it, Mommy. We just want to forget.”
They are forty-one, forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight, and thirty-six years old today–or thereabouts. I was thirty when I found out what had happened to them at their father’s hand.
I was a very young, but clueless, worldly, angry, lustful, undisciplined, and recently-saved Christian at age 23; and came from an atheist, secular humanist, generational Freemason background.
My parents were not Masonic, but all four grandparents were into the occult or Freemasonry to one degree or another. My father considered himself a Taoist and believed in phrenology after his Andover and Yale education.
When I was only seven years old, he told me that there wasn’t any God and I would have to make it on my own.
All the lights in the world went out for me then, because Jesus is the light of the world, and I chose to follow my daddy, my hero, into the darkness of his atheistic, secular humanist world. Although I had attended some Sunday school and vacation Bible school as a child, my father was my best friend, protector and idol in life.
The occult oppression in our home was so pervasive that my mother had a nervous breakdown and tried to end her life on many occasions–thirteen if anyone was counting.
My only sister, though a possessor of a master’s degree, has been in mental hospitals most of her life. We were considered one of the elite families in our area. Little do others know the hell and unhappiness that went on behind closed doors. Money doth not constitute a happy home! Nor does the occult.
We were each and all sitting ducks for the dark side. Money and even good health and good fortune are no substitute for a Christian life! They all fall very short of it!
In 1968, I met a guy, a student in psychology at the local university, and said to myself, “All this and heaven, too.” He was, of course, the handsomest thing.
Satan knew just how to package this stunning disaster. Little did I know! [Young women should not be sent clueless into this ugly, evil, world, but my father thought it best to let our minds remain vacant of any doctrine, wanting us “free to choose our own beliefs” when we became adults.
As an atheist, I had been taught to believe that everyone was good and had good motives. Little did I know!] Suffice it to say, I was quite messed up myself! And extremely unaware of many things.
This man who became my husband nineteen days after our meeting–I was looking for a wrap for my sin–and being married entitled one to sex.
He was actually honest to a point. He did say he had a record for child-molesting. In my ignorance, and knowing the lustful condition of my own heart, I reasoned that he must have just met up with a hot teenager. Little did I know!
The marriage lasted six and a third years before our separation, during which time I gave birth to four sons and was pregnant with my fifth. While pregnant with the fifth, my oldest two children, in their father’s absence from our home, began to tell me that he had molested them.
The second-oldest had tried to tell me this perhaps six months earlier, and I had confronted their father with his accusation, but he managed to dissuade me that it was true. I confronted him again, this time, and he admitted his behavior, saying, “I’ve got them all, even the baby, and from the time they were babies.” This was at 8:20 in the a.m. on January 1, 1975, a fact I will probably never forget.
In the desperate months that followed, the boys continued to tell me what their father, his mother, his friends and others had done to them.
If I had heard one more thing, I would have lost my mind. My lawyer told me to write down everything they said. I did. The children told of being sexually tortured, of being sold in the “dirty bookstores of Kansas City”–[“Daddy got money for letting men hurt us in the little rooms at the back of the store.”]; they told of being forced to watch while other children were murdered–[“They held our heads and made us watch.”]; and they gave clues that matched newspaper articles about a missing and later found decapitated twelve-year-old local girl. [I mourned that child for eighteen years, not realizing that she had been dancing on the streets of heaven ever since the moment of her death.]
There were other details. These stand out, thirty-five years later. For years I could not look at or read what I had written down. It was too ghastly, too traumatic.
Suffice it to say, the authorities were not on my side. I tried to get help for my boys, knowing they needed help, but the local mental health godfather pointed to his PHd on the wall and assured me that he was much smarter than I, and that no father would do such things to his own children.
I explained that he had already confessed and had a record…but my lawyer told me to get out of town by that Friday or I would be put in a mental ward on drugs [I was five months pregnant with my fifth son] and my children would be taken away from me. So, we were forced to go back to the house where most of the abuse had taken place, in a Kansas City suburb.
My oldest child was not allowed to testify to the abuse in court because one had to be six and he was only five and a half at that time. I had never caught him in the act, so we were not allowed to bring charges.
I actually had a man who identified himself as a judge phone me and tell me I was not to speak a word of any of this to anyone. My response was to tell, him, “Sure, OK, anything you say,” and then to tell everyone I ever knew anywhere what had happened. They left me alone after that!
My third son had never spoken up to this point. He was two and a half years old. His first words were “Daddy frew da wittle girl in da wake.” Daddy threw the little girl into the lake. I guess this was to attempt to dispose of a body.
Fast forward. We relocated several hours away. A social worker told me just to give the boys a “good reality,” that children are very resilient. So, that was the goal. I remained a zombie for almost six years–had great guilt for my sin and rebellion having brought this on my beautiful babies–and then made the conscious decision that I would like to live again.
The children went to public school; we actually all received more love there than in the Christian school I had so wanted them to attend in Kansas City. We eventually moved to North Carolina–an answer to prayer as I had prayed that if it ever became public about their father, I wanted my boys far removed from having to grow up under that stigma–they were totally innocent victims.
Six months after we moved, my ex-husband was discovered having been entered into the Big Brother Program–he was actually PROMOTED into it by a sponsor on the Board–where he was found to have molested a thirteen-year-old boy.
He was given a 22-year sentence and may have served six years of that sentence. In the meantime, I found out from a police detective in Topeka that he and his second wife had become adoptive parents of three more children through a state foster parent program.
Their lives were quite sad, too. One tried to burn down his school. Another was put in foster care and attempted to molest children there….I forget at this time the story of the third. I believe their names were Eddie, Teddie, and Tracey.
As teenagers, the boys had access to the beach and to the mountains and to work opportunities after school here in North Carolina. It was a welcome move for us all.
One is a doctor; one is a dedicated pastor, one has his own business and just landed a lucrative contract with the state, one is a nurse and the last one is kind of freewheeling it in Hawaii these days.
Jesus heals and He answers prayer. One of the reasons He came was “to destroy the works of the devil.” We are living proof. I could not be prouder of my children. All are good fathers and men who love their truly beautiful wives. I have twelve wonderful, healthy, smart, fun, beautiful grandchildren. We consider ourselves Christian people.