^^^What the hell, I’ll share a personal story to reinforce my thoughts on the above:
Back when I was maybe eleven or twelve my parents thought I should get involved in something that would encourage good personal development. My mother did 4-H as a youth so that’s what it ended up being. The problem was that not unlike the Catholic Church, many of these types of places (Boy Scouts being another example) are well known now for preying on young innocents in an especially perverse manner. Perhaps not so much back in the early nineties. Anyways, one of the group leaders I was assigned could be described now as a typically unkept looking older man in his late fifties. I’ll call him Clarence here, because well, that was his name and I don’t give two shits. Overweight, graying and receding hairline, thicker glasses, wardrobe stuck in the 70’s in the worst way, etc. Wasn’t exactly uncommon but whatever. At my age I didn’t think much of it. He was also a bit of a local historian, which I found more interesting than anything 4-H seemed to offer.
So my experience in this organization began with toy rocket building. I still remember him being quite fond of the Big Bertha model, but I ultimately went with the Silver Streak, IIRC. I put together my rocket with a little help from dad, and lit it off in the back yard to some delight. Didn’t go as high as I’d have liked, but it was still pretty cool nonetheless. We later lit them off as a group with other kids at some Rec. center. Clarence was a pretty jovial sounding guy, I’ll give him that. It probably helped his cause.
That kind of thing went on for a while with other trivial projects. I think we built a birdhouse or something for example, but things got particularly interesting when he proposed the idea of going on a camping trip. It would be an overnight thing, and we’d have another kid (I don’t recall his name) tagging along. Actually I was probably the third wheel as it sounded like this kid and him had a far longer history; I think he lived just down the road from him. Anyways, one Saturday morning my mom brings me to Clarence’s house to drop me off, and I meet the other kid right before we head out. He seemed very...well, the opposite of Clarence’s joviality. He might’ve been a year older so not unusual for that age. I say goodbye to my mom and we venture off in his ugly ass hatchback, also from the 70’s like his wardrobe.
We get to our camping spot and build a lean-to. Yeah it was 4-H so we’re roughing it. Then he tells us to go off and look for some firewood. The kid is very quiet and reserved, but so was I to an extent. We did manage some conversation and he tells me more about what he’s done in the 4-H group, how he knows Clarence, etc. It wasn’t until later that evening when things took a peculiar turn.
Clarence thought that since we were both scouring the deep woods for firewood that he should do a “tick check”. This is something I wasn’t unfamiliar with since I was no stranger to the outdoors, but the way he did it caused me some consternation. He started with the other kid who had his back turned to me, and it looked like he was fondling the kid’s twig and berries because well, he was. Then it was my turn. In that moment I didn’t think of how his hands were obviously not sanitary by this point, but looking back, gross. He’s looking over my barely-pubescent junk like someone handling a model car. I remember thinking this seemed different than the junior high school sports physicals they used to give with boys lined up for hernia checks. Those felt like the doctors just doing their job. This felt like a violation of privacy. This felt wrong. That was an odd night and made for an odd night sleep, especially considering the sleeping conditions.
The next morning, we leave the camp site and go to some local landmarks, including an old church. Then we wrap up by actually going to another church for actual mass. Because of course the hypocrite pervert is also religious. Finally he drops me off at home and I probably said thanks for...everything? Minus the obvious.
Now for the important part. I don’t recall if it was that night or later that week one evening, but I called both of my parents into my room and explained in sufficient detail what that fucker did to us. Needless to say they were off put in a “that shit doesn’t fly with us” kind of way. So a few days later I was outside shooting hoops with my dad, and good old Clarence stops by with an idea for another camping trip. My dad told me to wait by the house and walked him back to his car. I don't know what he said and I don’t really care to know, but I never saw him again. Well, technically I did a few years later but it was a random occurrence on my paper route. He was just leaving the house of a family of three boys I knew from school. He said “Hi!” in his jovial stupid voice, but I ignored him.
It might’ve been around that same time that we had a new priest in our church. I grew up catholic so it was a regular thing. I also never had a problem with priests and they all seemed very genuine, except for this new guy. Not only was he very old, but he had that same glassy, fucked up look in his eyes that Clarence did. Not because he also wore glasses, but the actual eyes behind them just seemed “off”. He pulled me aside after mass one Sunday and did the small talk shit old men usually reserve for boys, and asked me what I thought about being an alter boy. I probably said something about not being sure, but he was persistent with it every week. I’m glad my folks didn’t seem to care or push for the idea, because I don’t want to know what might’ve happened there. Thankfully he didn’t last there long, and was replaced by a good one again, from India IIRC.
I wonder sometimes if I didn’t have the experience I did with Clarence earlier if I would've sensed danger with that priest. Years later working a summer job, one of the full-time guys on the yard clean up crew I was in brought up a recent local scandal involving a pedophile that happened to be one of my school friend’s step dad. His step brother, who was a prized athlete, good looking, seemingly everything going for him, was ready to kill himself before finally spilling what he’d done to him and a large number of other boys, videotaped and all. Thankfully he got prison justice not long after being sentenced to life. Anyways, back to the summer job, the full-timer just happens to mention old Clarence in association to this guy. Needless to say I wasn’t surprised, but my gut still kinda dropped just hearing it.
Moral of the story: When bad sex shit happens to people, even if it’s just verbal abuse, they need to speak their fuckin minds and not be shy about it. Keeping that shit locked away keeps the wrong person with the power while they should be the one feeling the pain, no matter how great or small it may be.