Where dad it start?

"When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child ..." 1 Corinthians 13:11 (NLT)

I was born on a small island in the West Indies where I lived with my mom for the first six years of my life. I vaguely remember my dad being around, but as far as I can remember, he didn't live with us. He lived with his mother and brother and I visited them. I did not know it then, but my mom had been a victim of domestic violence; she had suffered at the hands of my father. They were teenagers when they had me, my mom, 18, and my dad, 19.

The one memory I have of my parents together was the only time I saw him hit her. Too young to understand, I didn't know why he did that. I do remember running to her rescue by picking up a shoe and threatening to hit him with it. He yelled at me, and I ran behind my mom for protection.

When I was three years old, my mom and I went to a Fair in our town. As we walked around enjoying the food, games and men on stilts, my mom caught the eye of a man. He walked over and introduced himself and his kids. I don't remember much else, but he started hanging around after that day. He had four kids, three by his ex-wife, two boys and one girl, and one boy by a girlfriend he was living with when he met my mom. I remember all of us going out to Fairs and movies, going to the beach and eating out. Whenever he brought his kids to my house, we hung out together and played with my toys. Although I was older than one of his sons and his daughter, we were all fairly close in age.

When I started school, I liked my school, and I still have a few memories from that time. I had a boyfriend, named Mark. I also had a best friend, although I can't remember her name. The school memory that stands out most for me was of one day when I went into the bathroom and a big girl followed me in. She pushed me into the stall and closed the door, lifted me up off my feet and told me not to tell anyone or she would beat me up. She had her hand under my uniform and was rubbing my vagina through my panties. I don't know how but somehow I managed to get away--maybe someone walked into the bathroom or she decided to let me go--all I know is I ran out of that bathroom as fast I could without looking back. I didn't stop running until I got back to my class. I have never told anyone about this before now.

At the age of six, I immigrated with my mom to America, where we came to live with my grandmother and uncle in Brownsville, a community in Brooklyn, New York City. Shortly after we relocated, my father moved there, too. He did not live with us; I think he lived with his aunt and cousins. My mom's boyfriend, who did not move with us right away, joined us, too, at a later time. Once he arrived, they got married and are still married today. My parents, all three of them are friends and, although many