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My daughter is not a monster. I'm proving it here. I got a phone call from another mother that made me pull over and throw up on the side of the road. She said my daughter did something to her daughter at a playdate. My daughter is 6. She makes friendship bracelets for everyone in her class and delivers them in a ziplock bag with their name spelled wrong on the front. She cries when butterflies die. That's my daughter. The phone call said my daughter took another girl into a closet and pulled down her pants and touched her. My daughter did that to another child. I need you to understand that sentence because I've been carrying it for two months and it's the reason I'm writing this in the first place. My daughter wasn't being a predator. She's 6 for fuck sake. She doesn't know what a predator is. But she did something to another child that should never happen between two children. And the mother on the phone was hysterical and I was on the side of the road and I couldn't breathe. I picked my daughter up early and brought her home. I sat her on her bed. I didn't yell even though I wanted to. I said: "Baby, what happened at Sophie's house today?" She looked at me confused. Not guilty. Not scared. Confused. She said: "We were playing the game." "What is the game?" "The game you play with someone. Where you go in the closet and pull down your pants and look at each other. And touch." I almost cried on the spot i felt my whole body go cold because where did a 6 year old learn this game... "Where did you learn that game?" She shrugged. "who taught you that game?" She looked at the floor. "I don't know how to say it." "Baby, who showed you this game?" I was in mid panick attack trying to control myself. She started picking at her blanket the way she does when she's uncomfortable. "Someone showed me. At a place." "What place?" "I don't know. A place I go." "Who was it?" "I don't know how to say it Mommy. I don't know the words." She was trying to tell me. She was sitting on her bed trying to tell me that someone had done something to her and she didn't have a single word to describe it. She didn't know the word for what happened to her. She didn't know the word for the body parts involved. She didn't know the word for what the person did. She just knew it was a "game" that someone taught her at "a place she goes." My 6-year-old daughter had been molested by someone. And she couldn't tell me who. Or where. Or when. Or what they did. Because I never gave her the words. She didn't even know it was wrong. She thought it was a game. The person who did it to her called it a game. So she learned it as a game. And she played it with Sophie the way kids play every game they learn. You learn it. You teach it to your friend. That's what kids do. She wasn't being a predator. She was being a 6-year-old who learned something from an adult or an older kid and didn't have a framework that told her this is different from tag. This is different from hide and seek. This is different from every other game someone teaches you. Nobody taught her the difference. I didn't teach her the difference. I taught her "don't let anyone touch you" and "tell mommy if something feels weird." Someone DID touch her. And it didn't feel weird to her. Because the person who did it made it feel like a game. It felt FUN. It felt like something exciting and secret and special. "Tell mommy if something feels weird" doesn't work when it doesn't feel weird. It felt like a game. So she played it. With Sophie. In a closet. At a playdate. And a mother called me screaming. And I threw up on the side of the road. And my daughter sat on her bed saying "I don't know the words Mommy" while I tried to figure out who had done this to my child. We went to a therapist. My daughter couldn't describe what happened in therapy either. She pointed. She used her hands. She said "the game" over and over. She couldn't name body parts. She couldn't name what was done. She couldn't name who did it. The therapist said: "She's trying. She doesn't have vocabulary. Without vocabulary she can't disclose and without disclosure we can't identify who did this to her." My daughter was a victim who couldn't name her abuser because nobody gave her the words for what happened to her own body. And she became the child doing it to OTHER kids because she thought it was a game and nobody told her it wasn't. Victim and perpetuator. Both at the same time. Because of the same missing words. The therapist recommended body safety books. I found Safe Kids Path online that night scrolling on Facebook, at 2 in the morning I couldn't sleep. And shortly after i ordered them. When they arrived I read them to my daughter. She didn't laugh. She went still. She listened the way you listen when someone is finally explaining something you've been trying to understand for a long time. At the end she looked at me. And she said: "That's not a game. What he showed me isn't a game. It's a body secret. And body secrets aren't safe." He. She said HE. First time she'd ever used a pronoun for the person who did this to her. "Who baby? Who showed you?" She looked at me and said: "Coach Ryan. At soccer. He takes me to the room where the balls are and he does the game. He said don't tell anyone or I can't play soccer anymore." Coach Ryan. Soccer. The equipment room. "Don't tell or you can't play soccer anymore." My daughter had been molested by her soccer coach in an equipment room. He told her it was a game. He told her not to tell or she'd lose soccer. She loves soccer more than anything on earth. So she didn't tell. She PLAYED THE GAME WITH ANOTHER CHILD instead. Because she thought it was just a game. Because nobody told her games about bodies aren't games. Because nobody told her "don't tell" means you HAVE to tell. Because nobody told her that the rules about her body apply to coaches too. The books gave her the words to name him. Four sentences. Coach Ryan. Soccer. The equipment room. Don't tell or I can't play. Specific enough to act on. I called the police that night. I'm not going to write about what happened next because it's still happening. There are things I can't say. What I can say is that my daughter's four sentences from a bedtime story are the reason there's an investigation right now. Not the background check. Coach Ryan passed the background check. Not me watching from the sideline at every practice. I was RIGHT THERE. Not the other parents. They were right there too. Four sentences from a 6-year-old who learned the words from a bedtime story three weeks earlier. That's what broke it open. But I need to tell you what happened two weeks ago because it's the reason I'm writing this. My daughter was at school. A boy in her class told her to come to the bathroom and he'd show her something and she couldn't tell anyone. Same words. Same pattern. "Come with me. I'll show you. Don't tell." And now that im writing this I'm seeing first hand this stuff happens way to commonly it seems like... My daughter looked at him and said: "That's not a game. Body secrets aren't safe secrets. If you say don't tell that means i'm telling my teacher right now." She told her teacher. She told me at dinner. Between bites of spaghetti. "Mom, a boy at school said come to the bathroom and don't tell. I said no and told Mrs. Davis." Then she said: "Can I have more garlic bread?" My daughter just shut down the same pattern that was used on her by a grown man in an equipment room. The same words. "Come with me." "Don't tell." She heard those words and the script from the bedtime story fired before the boy finished his sentence. She didn't freeze. She didn't go along with it. She didn't think it was a game. Two months ago she was TEACHING these games to other kids because she thought that's what you do with games. Two weeks ago she stopped a boy from starting it using five words from a bedtime story. Two months ago she was the problem. Two weeks ago she was the solution. The difference is phrases from a kid friendly set of books. I think about Sophie's mom every day. I think about the phone call. I think about her screaming. I think about my daughter in a closet with her daughter. I think about what my daughter did to her child because someone did it to my daughter first and my daughter didn't know it wasn't a game. I think about every parent who is going to get a phone call like that. Not because their child is bad. Because their child learned something from someone and doesn't know it's wrong and is teaching it to other kids the way kids teach each other everything. Your daughter might be the child in the closet. Or your daughter might be Sophie. Or your daughter might be both. The same books protect all three. The child who needs to say no. The child who needs to report. And the child who needs to understand that what someone taught her isn't a game and she needs to tell her mom who did it and where. All three children need the same five phrases. My daughter couldn't name her abuser for months. She played "the game" with another child because nobody told her it wasn't a game. A bedtime story gave her four sentences that named a man and started an investigation. The same bedtime story gave her five words that stopped a boy at school two weeks later. She went from being the child who does it to being the child who stops it. In two months. Because of bedtime stories. Your daughter is learning things right now. From older kids. From adults. From screens. From places she goes without you. She's learning games. Does she know which ones aren't games? Does she know the words to tell you what someone taught her? Or is she going to teach it to a friend at a playdate because she thinks it's just a game? Before the phone call. Not after. I got the phone call. I threw up on the side of the road. My daughter was the one doing it. She was also the one it was done to. Same child. Same missing words. Give your daughter the words. Before she learns a game she can't name. Before she teaches it to someone else's daughter. Before a mother calls you screaming. I gave them to my daughter too late. But better late than never, i'm doing my best. Don't be late for your child Believe me it sucks.