It isn’t likely that one lives six decades on planet Earth without being violated in some fashion. Murder is the worst, though it seems to me rape only misses the top spot by the narrowest of margins. Then again, having personally never experienced either, it may not be mine to judge.
There are minor degrees of violation beneath those two, some of which have come my way. My gym locker was relieved of bus money home at a city-sponsored swim class in decade one. At that young age it became apparent why Yale Lock Company is a profitable business. That day Yale gained a new and wiser customer. This newfound wisdom had its limitations, though, because it couldn’t explain the “Why?” question. It is doubtful the other youngster who took my money needed it.
In decade two, a group of people chased me as a way of livening up the party they were having on their front porch. They eventually gave up. The “Why?” question didn’t occur to me. I was just glad to get back home safely.
At the outset of decade three, an associate and I (who was just this side of her seventh decade) were held up in the convenience store in which we worked. My car was stolen later in that same 10-year span. Monetary profit was obviously the reason for both; not that understanding the motive lessened the sense of violation.
In decade four, in another community, a rock crashed through a bathroom window of our home in the middle of the night. You just can’t please some readers! Actually, speculation centered on a disgruntled former employee.
In decade five, someone thought to relieve the cars in our neighborhood of their contents while their owners slept. What he hadn’t counted on was the neighborhood dogs and me being awake at three in the morning. Both species investigated, the second being alerted by the incessant barking of the first. Upon being confronted he exited through the driver’s side window he had just broken out and disappeared into the night at a speed one imagines possible only by lightning — after it has been greased.