ME TOO (#58 ): It doesn’t seem right to move on to law school without explaining my behavior in high school. Somethings are very hard to talk or write about, but have had a profound effect on one’s life. I have decided not to skip the ugly parts in hopes that shining a light on what happened to me will help someone else realize that what happened to them wasn’t their fault, and they are not alone. Here I am, 70 years old, married to a kind and lovely women, living a wonderful life in Mexico, and I still feel some shame and embarrassment.
Part of what gives me the courage to tell the story was what happened during the Conformation Hearing of Brett Kavanaugh. As the controversy over Christine Blasey Ford’s allegations of sexual assault by Kavanaugh gained national attention, “Me Too” become a way of showing support. I posted “Me Too!” on Facebook. I didn’t know at the time that my best friend in SMA had also posted “Me Too!” the same day.
We talked about what had happened to us. Here was someone I respected, a fighter pilot in Vietnam, telling me what happened to him. I had never told anyone before except my Mother.
While I was caring for my Mother during the months that it took cancer to kill her, she told me, “I hope you find a nice girl. I always liked Linda (my ex-wife) so much.” I replied, “I did too. I really messed that up. And I keep doing it.”
Then I told her what happened. She said, “I wish you had told me then. I’d have gotten that son of a bitch!” You have to love Mom! I was 15 and had gotten my first job. My supervisor seemed like a nice guy and eventually invited me to go fishing at his cabin on Lake Tarpon. We’d cook steaks Saturday night, come home Sunday.
I was trapped by someone in a position of authority. It could have been a lot worse. My heart goes out to anyone who has been raped. My experience was like the “Catholic Priest gives Choir Boy his first blow job” type of thing. Still, it was so creepy, so dirty; I should have done something.
I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t even quit my job right away. I stole $10 dollars from the day’s receipts. It could have only been him or me. I was hoping he would turn me into the owner, then I would tell what had happened. He just cover the $10. The next weeks, I stole $20. When he covered that, I just never came back after receiving my last paycheck.
I know I am not alone. Nearly 1 in 5 women have experienced rape or attempted rape. 1 in 6 men have been sexually assaulted. More than 3 out of 4 sexual assaults are unreported.
The physcological effects were significant. As I entered high school I pulled away from old Gulfport friends, I quit studying and my grades dropped from an A average to a B-. I made three new good friends, and once I got car keys and discovered beer, we were literally “Hell on wheels.” Saturday nights were date night, but Friday night’s were for fighting and trouble. You would be surprised the places you could drive a VW Beetle.
My best friend was a big guy, and my father used to jokingly call him my bodyguard. If he only knew. There was no end to the ways we could get in, but just barely stay out of trouble.
One of our favorites ways to get into a fight was to go to a dance at a nearby high school. My friend would ask around and find out which jocks were there. We’d find one on the dance floor, always with one of the prettiest girls. My friend would wait until a song was over, then start up a conversation, “Hey aren’t you……… ; I saw you………; That sure was a great……….; Do you know so & so.”
They would get a good conversation going, appealing to the jock’s ego. A new song would start, and the pretty girl didn’t like being ignored. I’d ask her to dance and she would usually say yes, just to show the jock he needed to pay attention to her. When the jock finally noticed, he would tell me to get lost. I reply, “Make me you big jerk!” He’d call 4 or 5 friends over, and I’d say, “Let’s take this outside you big dummies.”
So there we would go, two on 5 or 6. The number didn’t really matter. The plan was for me to punch the jock as soon as we went through the door and then grab him and duck and cover so I didn’t get hurt too badly. My buddy would keep his friends back until we were saved by the adult supervision. I’d yell, “They started it. Look, it’s 6 against 2.” Then we’d beat a hasty retreat while the adult supervision gave them a warning.
I was lucky this happened in the late 60’s. No guns or knives, and you couldn’t get beat up too badly if you stayed near adult supervision. Drugs weren’t on the scene when I was in high school. If they had been, I’m sure I would have tried everything. Once I got to SPJC, I had my fraternity brothers and a sense of responsibility to them to keep me in check.
Looking back, I’m sure this also had a significant affect on my relationships. My friends married their high school or college sweethearts. I found ways to avoid the alter. Six of my ADE brothers all agreed we would each pay $20 to the last one of us to get married. By the time I got married at age 29, they all claimed the bet had long ago expired.
So that’s my story. I’m fine, writing this has helped. I hope not to get a lot of sympathetic comments. If you want to post or message me a “MeToo” or your story, that would be great.
Note: I thought I finished this story yesterday, but this one is hard to let go. If it wasn’t for the Pandemic, I would probably stop the entire project now. But the truth is, I have enjoyed writing these stories, until this one. If I stop now, I’ll never finish the book I want to start working on again after I finish “One Hundred Stories”.
A lot of thoughts went through my head last night. Should this be posted on Sunday? Why not? Dedicate it to the Catholic Church. I can’t think of any organization that has sponsored and enabled more child molesters. Add that and its exclusion of woman, and it is hard to imagine that the Catholic Church can still exist in its current form.
If you have watched my Musical Documentary “You Don’t Belong Here” (still available on CAST Of CHARACTERS Live @ YouTube), you know it is about trump and his handling of the Covid-19 crisis. When I first talked with Tonio K. about using the song, my idea was for an attack on the Catholic Church. Women and children, “You Don’t Belong Here.” As always, Tonio said, “Well, that’s not why I wrote it. Just let me see it before you release it.”
When I went to work on the video, it occurred to me that I didn’t need to get the entire Catholic Church down on Tonio K., and I stopped the project. The song stuck in my head and when the pandemic struck, it was the perfect song to shown the stupidity and lies that were killing so many. The sequel “I Handle Snakes”, is also available on my YouTube channel. That Musical Documentary shows that attending a trump rally or going to Sturgis was as dangerous as handling rattle snakes.
But, I digress. I often think of myself as the boring neighbor who was always trying to get you to watch the home movies he made of his vacation.
I also thought, don’t post this right after your fraternity stories. What will the guys think? But if a man who flew fighter jets in Vietnam can tell me his story, then I should be able to write about mine.
Finally, tell them some more of the stupid thing you did! I honestly would rather have you think I’m a flaming asshole than a weak sissy. Through 9th grade, I never got in trouble. I went to Washington D.C. in the sixth grade as one of representatives of the Gulfport Elementary Safety Patrol. We did throw water balloons out the hotel window. In 1964, I went to the BSA National Jamboree in Valley Forge.
In tenth grade I was only up to a little mischief. But in my junior year, I had car keys and the Gang of Four emerged. We were up to no good on Friday nights. I will write about our exploits tomorrow so you’ll just think I was an idiot, not a pansy.
Note #2: I decided to post both stories today and get the unpleasantness over with. If you like, continue with #59. More idiocy awaits you.