I felt like a black sheep. No matter where I went, I felt as if I didn’t belong. Part of it was the sexual abuse, but part of it was just the way it was, and I think the sexual abuse just emphasized something that was already there. At school I had great grades and I never had a problem with English but the second I said I was Mexican-American, people would smile condescendingly and say, “Oh, Spanish is your first language.” On the other hand when I went home to Mexico I’d speak Spanish with my cousins but they’d always poke fun at my accent, saying I was a gringa. At home, I was a part of this big artistic family but I thought I had a terrible voice and I knew I didn’t want to sing. It was as if I was living someone else’s life. I didn’t fit in so I isolated myself even more: I put up these huge walls and made sure I didn’t love anyone too much so as not to get hurt. The only person to whom I freely gave my heart was my sister. No matter what happened, no matter how badly I behaved during those terrible teen years—and the years to come—my sister always stood by my side. She never judged me, she never made me feel bad, never ever scolded me. By her side, I always felt accepted, even those times when my parents—whose job it was to discipline and correct me when I was in the wrong—had no idea what to do with me.
• • •
It was around the time I turned fifteen that my family started to grow in fame. Lupe was turning into a local celebrity with underground hits like “20 Mujeres” and “El Moreño” and before long the “Rivera Family” became a household name. This brought a sense of prestige and power to our family and while we were all a part of my father and my brother’s success, to me it continued to feel as though I was living in the wrong family. They were all so talented and good-looking, so funny and smart. How could I, an overweight, insecure teenager, even be related to them?
Chay had started to record her own music and in addition to his production company, my father was finding success as a recording artist. I was still in high school, yet all of a sudden the world started offering me everything that is supposed to make you happy: money, credit cards, a car, clothes, makeup, you name it. I was spoiled rotten. Feeling ugly? I could go and buy new clothes, get a makeover. Overweight? No problem, I could have surgery to fix it. Yet none of that changed anything I was feeling inside. There was no amount of surgery, clothes, or money that could make me feel better about who I was. I felt only more empty inside.
Dad tried to get me to enter the music world, but I knew it wasn’t something I was cut out for like my brothers and sister. I’ve never wanted to be in the spotlight; I’ve always felt I had nothing to offer musically. So instead of joining the family business, I started to work in a department store, convinced that if I was able to earn my own money, I’d feel much better about myself, but once again I was wrong.
• • •
Everyone knows that in the Mexican-American community turning fifteen is a huge rite of passage. Fifteen is considered to be the year in which girls become women and the affair is marked by a big celebration, similar to a Sweet Sixteen. Girls fret over what dress they’re going to wear, who they’ll invite, who their damas will be, what music will be played. It’s a joyous family occasion and everyone north and south of the Río Grande has either had one or been to one.
By the time I turned fifteen, our family was doing well and my father made sure he went all out to make my Quinceañera the best.
He rented out the Long Sherman Hall in Wilmington. Wilmington was where my parents lived before I was born, so in a way it was a return to our roots. The Long Sherman was a huge event hall that held about one thousand people and it was a place people used to throw big parties and charge an entry at the door.
“Are you crazy?” I said to my dad when he told me about the location. “How are we going to fill such a big hall? I have no friends!”
I was so antisocial at the time that I really had practically no friends. There was Gladyz and Claudia and maybe two other girls I was close to, but that was it. I didn’t even have enough friends to make the traditional set of seven damas, so we had to call in a bunch of cousins I’d barely even talked to, some of whom I didn’t even know their names. I didn’t know a single boy at the time so someone got me a dude to come out with me and I remember how my brothers were acting all jealous because he happened to be very handsome and he was getting all the attention.
“Don’t worry,” he said with a big grin on his face. “We’ll fill it up.” And he sure did. On the day of my Quinceañera, my father got on the radio and announced that anyone who wanted to come to the party was welcome. Anyone. Hundreds and hundreds of people showed up, some with presents, some without, and they were all invited to partake in the festivities. It ended up being a huge mess because some members of my extended family weren’t even able to make it in because it was so packed!
And my dad didn’t stop there. He already had his recording company so he brought every single band and group he could get. He got Los Canelos, who were really big at the time in L.A., and El Lobito de Sinaloa, who, my father insisted, I loved. (Dad never knew I was in love with Rogelio Martínez.) He also brought Los Razos and Leonel y Amilkar.
I remember begging my father: “Dad, please don’t let my brothers get up onstage and sing! I’ll be so embarrassed!”
“Ay, Hija, don’t worry, of course I won’t let them sing.”
But sure enough, the party started and before too long, my four brothers were up onstage singing. And it was great. The only one who didn’t sing that day was Chay, but instead she went up onstage to give a heartfelt speech.
“I want to talk to my sister,” she said, and then proceeded to pull out a seven-page letter telling me how much she loved me. Until that day, I had no idea she felt that strongly. It was a beautiful, emotional moment that I will never forget.
My mother’s family had prepared the food and when it was time for dinner, my father said to us, “We’re going to serve the guests.” So I, in my big white dress, along with my sister, in her fancy dress, my brothers and my parents went around the hall with huge trays of food serving every single person. That was my father’s way of saying, no matter how rich or famous you become, you always have to stay humble.
By the time the waltz came around, all I wanted was to be with my whole family, so instead of dancing only with my father or the handsome dude I didn’t even know, I wanted everyone to get on the dance floor with their spouse or significant other.
But of course, nothing went as planned. The night before, my sister called me and told me she had gotten into a fight with her husband, Juan.
“Juan is an idiot, so f*** him, he’s not coming to your Quinceañera, Sister.”
“What are we going to do, Sister?” I asked.
“Oh, I have another friend, don’t worry.”
And sure enough, the next day she showed up with some random guy I’d never even seen before.
“Who’s this dude?” I asked her.
“Oh, I’ll tell you later, Sister,” she whispered.
And that’s how it went! We all got out on the dance floor and eventually the whole choreography fell apart and nobody cared. I danced with my father and my brothers and then ended up dancing with Chay (at some point she’d ditched the guy because he couldn’t keep up) and all that mattered was that we were all together, surrounded by so much love. By the end of the evening, my face hurt from smiling so much.
It was a beautiful day—a small break from the pain and self-hatred I was going through during those years.
Many years later, my father told me my Quinceañera had been one of the happiest days of his life. When I asked him why, he responded: “Because that was the only time I saw you smile for a whole day.”
five
the terrifying truth
Three huge events happened when I was sixteen that led me to make a life-changing decision. The first took place at the church our family attended.
One of the members of our
congregation was a dearly beloved man, one of those outstanding spiritual people who really knows how to inspire and nurture those around him. He and his wife were admired and respected, not only among the members of the congregation, but also among the community as a whole.
Then some unexpected news hit like a bombshell. A fifteen-year-old in the church confessed that she had been having an affair with the man. The girl felt that she loved him, but at the same time she felt guilty and uncomfortable every time she went to church. The man had started to make her look and feel bad when they were among the congregation and she was confused and didn’t understand why he made her feel that way, so she confessed first to her sister in private. The girl was a longtime family friend and we genuinely cared for her, but the prominent member of the congregation was also very important to us, especially because he was a spiritual guide to my brother, Pete.
I felt sick upon hearing this, but there was one thing I desperately needed to find out—when a person like this girl confesses, what would the reaction be? Would people believe her, or would they believe the man? The scandal was far removed from my reality, but in my mind I was contemplating the possible repercussions of revealing something I had never even considered revealing up until then: what if I told the truth about Trino? Would anyone believe me? Or would they believe him?
So as the controversy unfolded, I waited.
The women in our family were shocked and disgusted.
“She’s underage!” they’d yell. “This is statutory rape and sexual abuse! Something needs to be done!” I was pleased to hear this, but I still needed to know what the men were thinking—especially my brother Pete, who was the associate pastor of the church.
Pete was upset and very angry at what had taken place. Not only was he shocked like everyone else, but also he was disappointed and felt personally betrayed by his spiritual mentor. With tears in his eyes, he blurted out, “I wish I could break his back!”
He would have never even dreamed of hurting the man, let alone actually physically harming him. But what truly mattered was his reaction, and a wave of relief washed over me when I saw my brother’s reaction. He immediately took the young girl’s side and insisted that something needed to be done.
Eventually, the man left the church and the girl was vindicated. From that moment forward, a window was open. Maybe, just maybe, I could tell someone what had happened. Trino was no longer a part of the family so the threat of him killing my sister was no longer imminent. Keeping Chay alive had been my priority for so long that I had completely lost sight of what I needed and how I could begin to heal. When it came to telling someone about the abuse, my biggest fear had always been that no one would believe me. What happened with that girl in church showed me that things could be different. I saw my family’s reaction and their solidarity and compassion made me see something I had never even allowed myself to imagine: maybe my family would be on my side. Maybe they’d help me. Maybe I could be normal again. Maybe my secret wouldn’t completely scare them away and maybe, just maybe, they’d still love me.
I lived with those thoughts for a couple of months and it gave me a spark of hope.
• • •
The second major event that took place in my life that year also happened at church. I think about it now and I realize how ironic it is that during my teenage years my mother had to literally drag me to church and it was there that I ultimately found my answers.
A guest speaker was visiting our church one Sunday morning and he was particularly interesting because he had what is called “the gift of prophecy”—meaning God reveals certain things to him that He wants people to receive. Not everyone has the gift of prophecy, but the people who have it can guide others into what is going on in their lives, in the present or in the future, based on the Word.
This man didn’t know anything about my family, the music industry, and he definitely knew nothing about me. How could he? At that point, I lived in the shadows and as far as I was concerned I was invisible to the rest of the world. So as usual, I was seated in the very back row of the sanctuary, paying casual attention, but not wanting to be involved in the service.
I perked up, however, when he walked over to my brother Lupe and his wife, María. In front of the entire congregation, the man said, “Be careful with your marriage. It’s under attack. Church, just pray for this man and woman.”
At the time I knew Lupe and María were having troubles in their marriage; everything he was saying to them was true. I was amazed yet terrified. Did he also know the truth about what was going on with me? Had God told him my deepest darkest secret?
Before I knew it, my entire body was shaking. Please God, don’t do this, I begged. I’m not ready to talk about what happened. I’m not ready to face this, God! Please, please, give me some more time and let me do it on my own terms, I pleaded. Please! Don’t let the minister tell the whole church. What if they turn against me? What if no one believes me?
I was trying my best to fade into the background, but my mother, who had signaled me to sit next to her, kept encouraging me to go down to the front where the visiting preacher was praying with people after his message. It was a very powerful moment and part of me wanted to participate in something so beautiful, but I kept telling myself, I can’t go down there, I just can’t!
Next the preacher asked for those who had dabbled with horoscopes to come forward. I fit that bill, and Mom knew it. But I didn’t want to be involved with whatever that man was saying. I was too terrified of what he might know, too scared to hear what he might have to say.
I stayed in the back but the preacher continued.
“There is a young woman here who is hurting terribly. God is calling you. Please come forward. You can feel it inside, and you may be afraid, but God is not going to cause you harm.”
Oh, man, I thought. That sounds like me. But I refused to budge.
The preacher then called me out. “You, young lady, with the white top and the blue bell bottom pants,” he said next. “Please come forward.”
I panicked. My first reaction was to turn around and run away as fast as I could but something inside told me I had to stay. My family was there and I could feel their puzzled gazes. It’s now or never, I thought, and I walked slowly to the front.
Laying his hands on my shoulders, the preacher said, “A spirit of abuse has surrounded your life since you were a little girl. It has saddened and tormented you.”
I couldn’t believe what he was saying. My entire world had cracked open for everyone to see, and I was too terrified to process what was happening. All I remember was silently pleading with God not to give away Trino’s name. Please, God. Please don’t tell them who it is. Please don’t say it was Trino.
I began sobbing uncontrollably. I thought, This man knows the innermost secrets of my heart, and he is about to reveal the details to everyone.
Thankfully, God is very gracious and merciful. He knew the exact words to give his prophet. He simply said, “This young woman does not know her value and she has no idea how much she is loved. I beg you, church, show her your love. Hug her and please pray for her life. That’s what she needs.”
When my family saw me break down in tears, they must have known his words carried some truth, even if they didn’t understand what it all meant. At home, I had become so closed off that it was almost impossible for them not to think something serious was going on with me. But they had grown so accustomed to living with my silence and my distance that even after the service, no one tried to get me to open up.
That day, the preacher’s words confirmed what I had doubted for so long: I wasn’t invisible to God; He hadn’t forgotten me or cast me aside. God knew exactly what had happened to me. I didn’t know if that made me feel better or worse, but I couldn’t help but ask myself, Does God love me, or is He going to leave me?
• • •
Then the third
shoe dropped.
About a month after that Sunday in church, I overheard Chay telling my mother: “I just got into a big argument with Trino and he is threatening to take the children away from me for good. He says I’m on the road too much and he wants to take me to court so he can get full custody.”
At the time, Chay was already married to Juan López, and Trino was probably acting up because he was jealous. He couldn’t stand to know she had moved on so he did everything he could to make her life miserable. But this was the first time he had threatened to take away the kids.
I knew that if there was one thing Chay was never going to allow was for anyone to mess with her kids. She was a mama before she was anything else and there was no way in hell that she was going to let Trino take her children away from her. But even so, I was terrified. I knew what Trino was capable of and although I assumed that by then he was no longer abusing Chiquis, I couldn’t help but worry. What if he had taken it up again? And what about Jacqie—was he abusing her?
It was just too much for me to bear. As scared as I was of telling my sister the truth about what had happened, I was even more afraid of the damage he could continue to do. There was no way I was going to let him take my sister’s children away from her and if that meant I had to confront my deepest, darkest demons, then so be it. The crowd reaction to the girl at church as well as the preacher who had been able to read my heart gave me hope that everything would be okay. And even so, I told myself: “I am ready to assume the consequences, even if my family leaves me and the church rejects me. I cannot let Trino take these children.”
• • •
The final bell rang at Lakewood High and I was walking home. Along the way, on Market Street, were the headquarters of my father’s entertainment and music production company, and across the street was my brother Lupe’s office, where he had his manufacturing center for CDs. Every single member of our family worked in one of those two buildings—everyone except me.
My Broken Pieces : Mending the Wounds from Sexual Abuse Through Faith, Family and Love (9781101990087) Page 6