My story is four stories, and you may split them if you wish, or you may tell them together. So we will begin: The story of my mother. I will insert names where I can, you may delete as needed, but I want to give the truth to the point of traceable people should you be questioned.
My grandfather was _______. His Father was _______ (LDS MISSION RECORDS AVAILABLE, 1904-1906, NOTE THAT HE WAS CALLED NOT AT HIS REQUEST, BUT AT THE REQUEST OF HIS FATHER. HE WAS SINGLE AND AGE 25). My mother is _________, and that knowledge is the beginning of this story. My mother was born in southern UT in 1935. She was born to her father, and her mother ________. She was abused. Raised with the religious “spare the rod” philosophy. Her father was beaten growing up. Belts and boards, and thusly, so was she. Her father was also known by another name when he went to BYU. That is because he made his living while their as a professional boxer RED BALLE. So my mother, she was already being abused by Men deemed in good standing, before a bishop changed her life making it even worse.
My mother had endured a lot. she was about 7 when the family moved. She did not understand why they moved. Her father had been the principal of the school. Her mom was a teacher. She had a little sister, and another sister on the way. They lived in a schoolboard house in Bicknell Utah. She was somewhat happy. She could walk to the little library, and she loved to read. But her family moved. to a farm. A farm away from town, because her grandparents were coming to live with them.
The call had come to the school the day before. It was a sheriff. He and her uncle had her grandfather at the jail. Her grandfather had raped and molested her cousins. Their father took him to the jail. My grand father was told that since his brother did not want anyone to know what had happened to his daughters that they wanted to release his father, but he had to have somewhere to go. My grandfather went to the bishop for advice. the bishop told him that not to take his father in was to violate the commandments. He must take them in, honor thy father and thy mother.
He took my great grandfather Christian (Chris) Balle home. BUT the sheriff told him also, that his father could not be near other children. It was fine for him to risk his own girls, but no one elses, so he had to move, away from the schoolboard house, away from the library, away from the school, away from any neighbors that could hear a little girl cry for help and scream in agony.
My mother was raped and molested for years. He would rape her for hours, and when he could not get hard again and again, he would molest her until he could get hard and rape her again. He raped her in the shed, in the grainery, in the barn, in the dairy, in the cellar, and he did so over and over and over, and her mother, her father, her grandmother, they all KNEW. But the bishop had told them, honor thy father and thy mother. Not protect your little girl.
During this, and after the years of abuse that took place before my great-grandfather was for some reason sent elsewhere, my mother was taught that women and girls are subserviant. She was taught that they were to be wives, mothers, and servants, and their only value is to do so. So she began looking. Like a huntress for the kill she needed a spouse to have any value. She needed children. She found my father. He was from the same area, and he knew nothing of the things that had happened. He knew nothing of this abused little girl that a bishop sicced a paedophile upon. He could not of known of the broken damaged little girl inside this woman. My parents were married in the SLC temple on September 4, 1953.
My mother and father moved to Washington. My father was in the airforce. Cadets. He loved it and wanted to stay, but my mother did not. It was watched. Children were monitored. They were all friends. The wives were friends. My mother was NOT a friend of such people. My father was manipulated, and persuaded to quit the airforce. They left for Utah a little over a year after the wedding with my oldest brother in tow, and my sister in my mothers belly. The purpose was to have children. Many children. But my mother had depression and anxiety, and knew only one way to raise children. The oldest was lucky, he was a boy, the next was a girl, and the beatings, degradation, and neglect began early.
My father worked road crew construction. he would leave for the site on Sunday afternoon and live in a tiny trailer from Sunday night until Saturday morning when he would return to the larger trailer that my mother and the children lived. In a little under four years, four babies were born. They were kept in a travel trailer one on each bunk. Often, they were not allowed OFF the bunks. Except my oldest sister. She was taught to clean, she was taught to cook, she was taught to care for her siblings. She was a girl, and her only purpose was to serve. In addition, they moved every three months with the construction crews. These children were beaten, taught boys had value and girls did not, left home alone and naked while my mother left for hours, they were left naked, because if she took their clothes and shoes they could not leave.
My oldest brother began molesting my sisters when he was about 10. I will not defend this, but it was likely inevitable. They were locked naked in the trailer for days at a time. The only time they knew love and normality was when my father was home on weekends and holidays. When the girls told my mother what had happened, they were told that was what boys/men do, and they were girls, their purpose was to serve, and it would happen forever, and they should expect it. They were also told, to stop provoking their brother, They were doing something that made him do this. After all, she was not worth protecting from her grandfather. Little girls are of no value.
My mother also was in a time of severe depression. She was miscarrying baby after baby, then my older brother was born. He was ill. The other children were again locked away, and at the same time beaten, and locked in servitude. For four years longer this was the case, and then he began to improve, and that was the year I joined the family. The youngest of six, and the end. My oldest sister was turned into a nanny. For two years she missed a lot of school, and her education was marred, but she was just a girl. During this, my oldest brother was still raping my sisters, and they thought it was normal, because my mother thought it was normal. That brother then told my mother he was starting high school, and he could not move every three months and complete the work. My mother pushed my dad that it was time for a house. And my family moved into a small brick home in Orem.
My oldest brother completed high school, and within a few weeks married his high school sweetheart. He left home. I was four. The next year my oldest sister graduated, and when she arrived home, everything she owned was on the porch. She was 18. My mother told her she either needed to get married, or learn to take care of herself. She was working at a local preschool. They ran overnight care for grave shift workers. She moved in to be the overnight teacher.
This is my sisters story. She was raised abused. She was taught that she was NOTHING. She was groomed. She had no home to run to. She was raped by a worker at the preschool. She had been beaten, abused, groomed, andd taught that it was normal for this to happen. BUT my mother was furious. Not at the preschool, not at the rapist, but at my sister. What had she done to provoke a man to rape her? My mother dragged her to the bishop. My sister was locked in with the bishop who asked for every detail of an 18 year old girls rape. He then told her how she had likely sexually tempted her attacker. He told her she was not to take the sacrament for six months, and she could have no priesthood blessings. She was to think of what she had done, and repent. To help her she was to come in every week. Every week he demanded she repeat what had happened and was asked if she had figured out how she had caused the rape.
My sister became anorexic. She had multiple suicide attempts. She spent the next several years in and out of mental facilities. TO THIS DAY IT HAS CHANGED HER!
My mother was broken by a bishop who sacrificed her to her grandfather, My sister was broken by her mother and another bishop. And I was a girl who was still facing her own story.
My neighbors had a son who molested little girls. All the little girls in our neighborhood. His dad, instead of seeking counseling, or protecting his own daughters and the rest of us took him to the bishop. the bishop told him to punish him, severely. So he beat him over and over with a belt. And his son loved watching little boys touch little girls. Soon, all the boys were touching girls, the girls were having sticks, and tinker toys, and flashlights, shoved into them, and he would watch, and help, and teach, and get beaten with a belt.
He eventually moved, but my brother had picked up the hobby. He also was a sadist, anything that caused me pain was good. I was raped, molested, beaten up, locked in closets, etc. My mother had gotten a job, and so I was a latchkey kid, I was to come home, clean house, and make dinner, because I was a girl. But then also, I was being molested by my brother, and all his friends that had learned it from a boy who was beaten instead of given counseling.
I was realizing something was wrong. The boys who were doing things were passing the sacrament, and eventually blessing it. Obviously it was ok for them to do this? Right? I asked my mom. I was dragged to the bishop. I said what happened. He asked a lot of questions. But he never said anything about what I was telling him. Instead he told my mother her daughter had been dirty. She beat me more than usual, and my brother, knowing what I had likely said, tried to kill me. His actions got me beaten, and caused a scar across my throat. I had stitches across my hands from holding back the broken mirror my brother had meant to kill me.
I said nothing more. I did not go to the bishop when I was eight, either that, or I have blocked it, I don’t know. I remember being baptized though. my hair was to my waist, and it came to the surface six times. My father finally wrapped around his hand. The bishop put his hands on my head with my father, and I wanted to run. I never showed up to my yearly interviews in YW. I was kicked out at 16. My mother was free of the children she had been required to have to be of worth.
I lived in my car the last two years of high school, I lived in my car at college. I competed on a debate team, and I was raped at nationals in Concord California. A guy from Moore Park stole my purse. He took it to his hotel room. He called and told me he had to go out, but would leave the purse on the bed and the door unlocked. I went to the room, and pushed the door open. I saw my purse on the far bed, walked in to get it, and the door closed behind me. It was a violent rape. It was harsh.
I was told by one of my coaches to see a bishop. I went to a singles ward with team mates, and eventually saw the bishop. He told me I needed to think of how I caused the rape. What did I do to make this guy think it was okay to rape me. He gave me a copy of the miracle of forgiveness and told me I needed home teachers. He assigned some.
I told him when I found out I was pregnant. He told my home teachers. So when I began to miscarry on the ward campout, one of those home teachers yelled out that he needed to get through, I was pregnant and could die. I had not told him I was pregnant. I had just told him I was having girl issues and needed a ride back to my car/home. Thanks to the bishop telling my home teachers, I lost friends from my team, and I was humiliated as an entire singles ward knew I was pregnant. In addition, I was still justifying anyway I could, the actions of my rapist. Was my dress too thin?
I was raised that men should hurt women. My sister was raised that men should hurt women. My mother was raised that men should hurt women. And BISHOPS were parts of it all.
I finally met an amazing man. I was in love. He was in love. We had sex. Our bishop called us in because we seemed “to close for safety”. He interrogated us. we said yes we were having sex. He told us our only choice was to get married. If we did not he would no longer give my husband the ecclesiastical endorsement to finish school. YUP, that is even how I married my husband.
The legacy continued another step. We would not let the bishop interview our daughter alone. When she was eight, we went with her. When asked why we said we were not comfortable with her being asked questions alone, and did not want her asked about sex. We stated clearly we did not want her exposed to any such questions or discussions. We were ignored. She was sent in during YW at age 12. She said she was not supposed to and he took her shoulder and pulled her in. That was IT. We told the bishop that if he did that ever again we would sue him. He told us she would not be allowed to go to the temple. we said fine.
We have left religion. ALL religion. The legacy now is still broken. My mother was admitted to a behavioral hospital this week. She is 83. She still finds herself a little girl, trapped in the grainery, with her grandfather that a bishop sacrificed her to. My sister still has many mental health issues. I fear being in public. and my little girl…she is a brilliant, UNABUSED, talented, bisexual. Her parents love and support her in any and every way possible.
The rest of the generations, they deserve a new legacy. Let them have it. Sex is a normal, biological thing. Masturbation is not a sin. Paedophiles need treatment, and removal from the presence of children. Beating children does nothing. Bishops have no training in counseling. They should NOT be asking children sexual questions. They should not be making decisions that should be made by courts and professionals. Three generations of nightmares. That is the legacy.