tHE cASE aGAINst cELEbraShun
iT IS aBOUt the POWER
I grew up Catholic, attending church and Catholic schools through ninth grade until I was able to convince my mother to let me GO PUBLIC! Among my soon-to-be-friends, I was almost a goody-goody! As a roughly hewn square peg, I wanted to get away from the voracious and unforgiving round hole of a parochial school.
I stood out like a sore knuckle and eventually prided myself on always having the box checked that read: Has no respect for authority. Well, that was because there were so few to respect in my situations. (Most listeners always seem unsettled when I say that without a speck of regret.)
Even before all the current reveals, de-frocking, ousting and adjudications, the only scandal I was aware of that happened regarding our clergy, was when the school's very young favorite priest “had to” play the *thorn bird and marry a student. I know, I know. He was the ADULT & SHE WAS A STUDENT. But I knew about her, unfortunately, and she ... well ... let's say shouldn't have been allowed to work in the rectory. I only knew her because she was the coach for our junior varsity basketball team. She was loud, bossy and full of herself. In other words she was perfect for the job. I wanted to stay on the team so I dealt with it. I think I was in 7th grade.
It was weird. I could play some b-ball really well with the boys in my neighborhood and they usually weren't allowing me special treatment. But with the girls at school, I didn't do too well. I think it was because I didn't fit in and wasn't one of the best on the team. (Plus, girls WILL scratch you!) And none of them were really friends of mine. I can't tell you exactly what set them off but when we were changing in the locker room, I was jumped. I was sitting on the bench tying my shoe, was pushed backward and fists and feet flew! I fought back and managed to get up and began screaming all the obscenities I knew. I think they were a little surprised that I could fight, cuss and wasn't scared. The meanest girl always hated me and was really enjoying herself and yelling back. Coach arrived just in time to hear me hurl a nice, long, nasty diatribe in response. I was in the midst of telling the girl she was a "ho". This set the coach off. "How da ya know she's a *whore? You ever seen her sleepin with anybody? You're off the team! Get outta here!" Coach was a senior and a tough, gangly White girl. She didn't understand that whether the girl was a "ho" or not was immaterial in Black talk. It basically meant the same as calling someone a "bitch". I guess both were sore points for her.
All the White kids in our school's neighborhood were tough. If they weren't fighters, they knew how to be cool. If they weren't cool, they knew how to blend in. As far as I know, no one was actually racist. Theirs were the families who couldn't move when the neighborhood was "changing".
Of course, there was no way our former "Father" – or anyone - justify his “knowing” the high school senior in the biblical sense and what it had wrought. He had severely let everyone else down.
Having had the fun of sitting next to him in the bleachers as he enthusiastically shouted "GET-THAT- BALL!" and how his kindly nature and ready smile was there for all us kids. Among the many wanting him to be the one to hear our transgressions during confession. He never sounded judgy or ticked but would make helpful remarks toward my improvement. I had pretty much memorized the little book we learned from. "Bless me Father for I have sinned. My last confession was ... I can't remember when." I actually, seriously said that! Telling the truth was very important to me. I always led off with "I fought and quarreled with my brothers and sister." That was my warm up and always true. Afterward, I'd get my penance: "Say 5 Hail Marys and 5 Our Fathers. Go with God, my child." Then repeat the required telling of my venial - never mortal - sins the following week.
Later, it was sad to see him in regular clothes as 'they' attended church together. The utterly weird looking plaid shirts and ugly shoes. He no longer had that wonderful mystique and was now totally off limits. No more gentle reproach after my tattling on me. Having to remember to think of him as Mr. instead of Fr. Trying not to stare at him and the Mrs. Hoping it was working out. Trying to act as if everything was OK. Still fighting and quarreling.
Today I wonder how the church reconciled allowing him to remain a part of the parish. His transgression couldn't be and wasn't hidden. How had his confession ended?
I know memory is faulty but I swear they came to church when she was very pregnant. And no one seemed perturbed. Well, he was extremely popular.
Former priest privilege?
With all of the oldest and latest revelations going on and the endless upheaval, I want to remind people that ANY kind of abuse - especially sexual - is about POWER.
Any abuse is about forcing someone to do what you want using trickery, bribes, seduction, and the threat of mental or physical harm.
And men are not the only ones doing it.
And just because one is gay does not make them an abuser.
And a lot of abuse is done with control; not unbridled lust or frenzy.
And the majority of adults are able to override any inappropriate ideations or actions regarding the care of any child. If this were not true, children would not be safe - anytime or anywhere.
Abused People Abuse People. Bred or Taught.
* Thorn Bird "There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its own agony to out-carol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain.... Or so says the legend."
From the front matter of the book The Thorn Birds written by Colleen McCullough, 1977.
[Bible Book by Book Summary]
[Disclaimer: One of my favorite public school teacher-friends is now - and has been for a long time - a priest.]
This story will be included in the upcoming revision to my latest book I WAS Raped & I ReMEmber! True Stories By Survivors of Sexual Assault [November 5, 2018]
copyright Karen E. Dabney 2019