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Countering "going to do it anyway."

I recently completed a graduate course in character education in which we were required to carry out an "action project." For my project I chose to use character-based sex education to try to instill in my younger sister and her friend the self-respect, self-control, and courage needed to lead moral, fulfilling, and healthy lives.
I wanted to inform my 14-year-old sister Kathy about something that I unfortunately just began to take seriously: abstinence. Sure, I have always known what the word meant, but I had never considered it an option for me, until recently. I felt that it was my responsibility to pass the philosophy of abstinence on to my sister because I know that she will not get it in the "going to do it anyway" program that is used at her high school. Also, she is a virgin (her friend is, too), so I wanted to show her how important it is to hold onto that purity.
I started these discussions when I accidentally overheard my sister Kathy, and her friend, Michelle, talking about a "slut" that one of their friends was dating. I asked them why they considered her a slut, and Michelle responded: "She has slept with at least eight guys already, and she is easy." I asked them to think about why this girl is so promiscuous. Kathy said, "She's trying to keep a boyfriend." They assumed that having sex was a way of holding onto a boyfriend and showing love for one another. They also assumed that condoms would protect them from disease and pregnancy and that having sex had no implications for their future adult lives. My goal was to dispel all these myths.
We first tackled the issue of sex as "showing love" or "keeping a boyfriend." I used the girl they were talking about as an example of how boyfriends come and go whether girls have intercourse with them or not. We also talked about girls' feelings when they are rejected after giving part of themselves to another person. I then told them about my having pre-marital sex, and how I wished these relationships had never occurred and that the only true way to find out if a guy loves you is to make him wait until marriage.

We talked about the self-respect and courage involved in leading sexually abstinent lives until marriage. These two young girls developed a new awareness of how truly loving relationships and commitments develop and are sustained. Their awareness was evident in their response to my disclosing that I recently told my boyfriend that I wanted to abstain from sex from now on and he said he could not do this. I asked Kathy and Michelle if they thought the relationship was worth continuing, and they both said, "No, he does not love you if he won't wait for you." I was proud of their answer.
I gave real-life examples of teens who became pregnant or who contracted STDs even with the use of condoms; one of those persons was a close friend of mine.
I also wanted to make these girls aware of the physical dangers of pre-marital sex. I gave real-life examples of teens who became pregnant or who contracted STDs even with the use of condoms; one of those persons was a close friend of mine. They were shocked to find out that this friend contracted herpes from sexual intercourse while using a condom. We considered the possible implications of such diseases: the inability to conceive a baby, passing on a sexual disease to your spouse, and transmitting a disease to your baby in the womb or during delivery.
Besides being more confident in their virginity, Kathy and Michelle have now set the personal goal of saving sex for marriage. They also no longer pick apart boys or girls who are sexually active by calling them "sluts" or "pimps" but instead focus on the deeper consequences of such behaviors and on what promiscuous girls and boys must be lacking in their lives.
My sister and Michelle have recently asked two of their friends to join us in our discussions. I've also shared my project with the parents of these girls. These parents are beginning to realize that abstinence-based sex education is more beneficial than the model now used at their daughters' high school.
A pdf version of this article is available here .
Jessica Burberry. "Teaching my younger sister about sex and love." excellence & ethics (Summer, 1998).
Reprinted with permission. Excellence & Ethics , published by the Center for the 4th and 5th Rs , is the education letter of the Smart & Good Schools Project. It features essays, research, and K-12 best practices that help school leaders, teachers, students, parents, and community members do their best work (performance character) and do the right thing (moral character).
excellence & ethics is published twice a year and may be subscribed to, without cost, here .
Jessica Burberry (a pseudonym) is a first-year elementary school teacher and a graduate student in education at SUNY Cortland.
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With over 50 films under his belt, Jack Thompson has solidified his place within the Australian film industry.

However, a little-known fact about the star is that he used to be in a polyamorous relationship with two sisters.

Bunkie and Leona King were just 15 and 20 years old respectively when they started to get involved in a relationship with Jack in the 1960s and '70s.

Leona had moved in with Jack whilst he continued to see Bunkie secretly.

In a memoir written by Bunkie called Somebody That I Used to Know , she details her thoughts and feelings about the relationship in an article in the Sydney Morning Herald .

Self-described as a “flat-chested, scrawny teenager” who had “never made out or even kissed” anyone, 15-year-old Bunkie was elated when Jack stopped by to invite her to her first “adult” party.

Her mother didn’t let her go, but that didn’t stop the pair from meeting weekly to hang out.

Bunkie explained her infatuation with now 78-year-old Jack, despite knowing he was her sister’s boyfriend and even though the pair had been caught kissing.

“One night, he and I are kissing and cuddling in their bedroom when Le bursts in the door and starts yelling, 'What the hell are you doing?'

“He's obviously Le's boyfriend and I feel bad for her, but I don't know how to give him up and just walk away.”

However, Bunkie said that the trio tried to make it work after they found themselves in this predicament.

“Jack suggests the possibility of a relationship that encompasses the three of us. He says we can make it work, because others have; it's about having love and understanding, being honest and open with each other and giving it a go. 

Bunkie admits in her memoir that Jack proclaimed: "We've found ourselves in this predicament, and the fact is I love you both."

According to an interview with New Idea in 1979, Jack is quoted as saying:

“I had someone the other day ask me if I was still living with the two sisters. And I wondered how an 11-year relationship could still be news … It only continues to be a relationship for the same reason as any relationship. There presumably must be a lot of trust, a lot of discussion and a lot of love."

In an interview with A Current Affair , Bunkie said that she was “captivated” by Jack's attention.

"In some societies a man has a wife and a mistress, or maybe a couple of mistresses. But it is unusual in Western society ... I was captivated by his attention," she admitted.

However, as the relationship evolved, Bunkie felt no trust and as her relationship with her sister began to disintegrate due to Bunkie’s feelings of “guilt about being there”, things began to turn bleak. 

Bunkie soon left the relationship in 1985 after a fight in Madrid airport. 

She decided to write about her experience after she realised that, as a divorced 60-year-old mother of two, her son was still unhappy with the fact that “my mother had sex with her sister”.

Whilst that never actually happened, Bunkie decided to write the memoir to set the record straight once and for all. 

Her sister Leona is still with Jack after all these years, however, the two sisters are estranged.
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Even though I was convinced Tamsin had been telling the truth, still a tiny part of me had hoped it was all a mistake


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In seconds my world came tumbling down
Emma Charles thought that she and her family were living a normal life. But then she discovered that her husband had been sexually abusing their daughter Tamsin since the age of ten. Twelve years on, Emma recalls that devastating day and the traumatic events that followed
In many ways, we were an ordinary family – mum, dad, two kids, a Volvo in the drive. And in some ways we weren’t so ordinary. As a ship’s engineer, my husband Daniel worked away from home for up to four months at a time. But I never for a moment dreamt that we were extraordinary – until that day.
It started out fine, that Tuesday in December 1996. Our younger daughter, Claire, 13, was at school, and I was looking forward to spending some time with Tamsin, who had just broken up for the holidays. At 15, she was a weekly boarder at a specialist school for high-ability dyslexics.
We chatted about what she was going to do. That was when the first hint of discord arose. Tamsin and I squabbled, like all mothers and daughters. But that day she was impervious to reasoned argument. She began making hurtful personal attacks on her father and me, something she had never done. At bedtimewe kissed goodnight, but for the first time we parted with a coolness between us.
The following evening, I was in the living room when she burst in, flung a piece of paper at me and stormed out. ‘I have to leave or he has to,’ she had written. ‘And you seem to need him. And f*** you, you probably won’t believe me anyway.’ She was talking about her father – telling me that he had been sexually abusing her for the past five years. In the seconds it took me to absorb her words, my world came tumbling down.
I found her down the road with her dog. ‘Come home and tell me about it,’ I begged. She looked into my eyes and must have been reassured by what she saw. ‘He won’t leave me alone,’ she cried. ‘He’s always feeling me up. He brushes against my breasts so I know it’s not accidental, but he could persuade someone else it was.’
Hope blossomed in my mind. Maybe it was just a misunderstanding, an over-tactile father who would have to learn to respect his daughter’s personal space. ‘Has he ever touched you between your legs?’ I asked. ‘Last time he was home on leave,’ she sobbed.
Tears were falling from my eyes as I looked up the number for social services and picked up the phone. I just knew I had to do the right thing. 
Daniel and I had been married for 18 years. I was 27 when we met, working as a medical photographer; he was a year older and at college, studying for his Second Engineer’s certificate. He was tall and slim with auburn hair and blue-grey eyes and a full beard and moustache. And he was gentle, laid-back – all the things I wasn’t. Within a week, I had decided he was the man with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life. We married the following year.
I hadn’t wanted children. It was Daniel who felt that we wouldn’t be a ‘proper family’ without them. Tamsin was conceived two years after our wedding, and Claire came along two and a half years after that. As it turned out, I loved being a mother and Daniel was good with the girls as babies. But as they grew up, he changed. His own parents had been authoritarian, and not reluctant to use a belt to hit their children. He, too, resorted to smacking and violence.
One incident in particular stands out. When the girls were seven and four, I noticed ‘fingertip’ bruising on Claire’s arm. I really went for Daniel, threatening to kick him out if he couldn’t control his temper. He was angry with me for taking him to task; but when he realised I was serious, he backed down and apologised. Over and over again, we talked about what was reasonable behaviour and over and over he agreed with me. But his efforts to improve never lasted long.
Why did I stay with him if things were so bad? Well, they weren’t bad all the time. Mostly, we had a good family life. I knew the harm that divorce causes to children. I still loved Daniel and I thought we could make it work. Until that day.
Tamsin, aged four, and her 18-month-old sister, Claire
Daniel was in the Far East when Tamsin wrote her devastating note. Social services set up an appointment for the following Monday. Meanwhile, I had to address another horrible thought. Gently, I asked Claire if her dad had ever touched her. ‘He used to come and give me back rubs,’ she replied. ‘But I liked that…’ ‘Nothing else?’ I asked. ‘He asked me to take off my T-shirt, but I just said no. And once he tried to give me a tummy rub, but I wouldn’t let him.’
It was becoming clearer now. Claire has always been an upfront child. Whenever anything was worrying her, she would come and tell me. If only Tamsin had been the same.
I’m not going to describe Tamsin’s statement to social services. Listening to her engraved pictures on my mind which I still have trouble banishing today. The police also took statements and arranged a medical examination. Several weeks later, Daniel was arrested as he stepped off a flight from Jakarta. DC Barbara White from the sexual offences unit called later to tell me: ‘He’s admitted everything. It’s a very credible confession. He wants me to tell you that he’s never raped Tamsin, and he’s never been unfaithful to you with anyone else.’
I cried my eyes out. Even though I was convinced Tamsin had been telling the truth, still a tiny part of me had hoped it was all a mistake.
Daniel was bailed, with strict conditions not to approach either Tamsin or me. I had imagined that he would be feeling crushed and placatory. I was soon to discover how little I knew him. Within a few days, a letter from him arrived informing me that his mother was bitter that I had not kept our troubles ‘within the family’. So that was it. I was to be blamed for reporting the abuse. This was my first experience of the denial which abusers use to protect themselves from acknowledging the harm they have caused. Who is protected by dealing with such matters within the family? Only the abuser.
For the sexual assault on his daughter, Daniel was sentenced to 12 months’ imprisonment and placed on the Sex Offenders Register for five years. The case took ten months to come to court and was finally heard in October 1997. When people asked me that year how I was coping, I said I had pencilled in a nervous breakdown for November. In the event, it didn’t happen. I didn’t have the time. Tamsin needed all my energy.
Tamsin went downhill quickly. The first signs were strange attacks, which she called freakies. They are difficult to describe. Her body was there, but the rational person that was Tamsin disappeared. Instead there was a frightened creature which threw itself at walls and on the floor, and scratched itself incessantly. I spent many evenings desperately holding her hands to stop her scratching out her eyes until the prescribed tranquilliser could take effect.
For a while, she underwent counselling and we got a brief glimpse of the old Tamsin – a normal teenager full of fun and laughter. But then she went downhill again. Two years after she first disclosed the abuse, she was admitted to a psychiatric hospital, where nurses found her scraping away at her wrist with a knife. When they took the knife away, she continued to scratch with her nails. She talked about hearing bad voices – the Doctors, she called them. One night, after she was discharged, I found her shaving the skin off the back of her hand with a razor. ‘Don’t be angry with me,’ she begged. ‘I didn’t want to do it. It was the Doctors; they made me!’
Five-year-old Tamsin enjoying a family day out
For six desperately anxious months, we worried that Tamsin was schizophrenic. But psychiatrists eventually concluded that she had been suffering from a neurotic, rather than psychotic illness. As new medication began to work, life calmed down and there were no more voices or self-harming. It was by no means the beginning of the end of our story; but perhaps it was the end of the beginning.
I, too, underwent counselling to unravel my confused feelings. There have been those who, on hearing our story, have expressed amazement that I had just accepted Tamsin’s word when she told me her father had been abusing her, without first giving Daniel a chance to have his say. I can’t explain it. Partly it was because I knew from reading about the subject in newspapers and magazines that children seldom, if ever, lie about abuse. Partly it was because I knew that Tamsin was a truthful person. But mostly it was that somewhere deep inside I had known instinctively that she was telling the truth. Afterwards, odd bits of behaviour and events began to click into place.
One of the difficulties when a relationship ends abruptly is that there is no proper closure. I never got the chance to say goodbye to Daniel. People didn’t expect me to grieve for him because of what he’d done; but this was the man with whom I had spent half my life. I came to understand that without grief there can be no final acceptance.
Another insight was the realisation that the pain of Daniel’s betrayal will never go away. Again the answer is acceptance, because without acceptance nothing changes. Daniel served six months of his sentence. Our only contact with him since has been through solicitors.
Today I can look more objectively at our experiences. When Tamsin revealed the abuse, some friends found it hard to accept. Daniel doesn’t look peculiar or behave in a peculiar way. He was on the Playing Field Committee in our village; he was asked to be a steward in our church. Surely he can’t be a paedophile? Surely it must have been a misunderstanding? At the heart of this attitude is denial. To open yourself to the knowledge of what an abuser has done is hard. Much easier to think of it as a mistake for which no one should suffer.
Tamsin has had the most horrendous time. Anyone who understands about self-harming knows that physical pain is easier to cope with than mental pain. At 27, she is still extremely anxious all the time. She has not worked since leaving school and only now is she well enough to attend college, where she is studying horse management. Like most abused kids, she has been through a period of promiscuity. You’d think that abused kids would want nothing more to do with sex; but the fac
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