Sunday, June 3, 2007

A Kiss, A Kiss

I first saw John standing out by the porch staring out at the Bay. In the distance, I could see the Annapolis sculling team. I was at a religious retreat and was skipping a session. I walked over to where he stood. His glanced was simply forlorn and he said, "How's it going?" This was the way our friendship began. John was a Priest. I say "was" because in a sense he was waiting his ecclesiastical trial to be defrocked. Sad. John started out as a good Priest, I think. I liked him. We were both clergy. Before I went into the Army, I didn't know much about Catholics and even less about Priests.

John told me his story. He understood his attraction to his own sex. He was not a pedophile, he said. All it had been was kissing a few altar boys. Two or three of them came every week to help in his services. They were close. It was affection.

I'm not driven enough to speculate on all that brought him to this point. When I asked him once what caused who he was. He said, "How can I say, it is all a thousand times and places." Maybe starting seminary at 13 with all these other boys, who knows. Being sexually arrested. Maybe it was his own abuse. He never said so but hinted.

John's family abandoned him early on, not willing to deal or live with the shame.

The sadness of fallen Priests stretches out in ways that most don't get. Sure we feel sorry for the victims but for me, I also feel an empathetic tinge for my friend John. This was my last thought before the jail door clanked behind him.

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