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	Kelly: Effects of Abuse Linger By Michael Kelly Omaha World-Herald November 13, 2011 http://www.omaha.com/article/20111113/NEWS01/711139934/-1 A friend from my youth has an idea how the child-abuse victims at Penn State must feel — he himself was sexually abused for four years by his parish priest. My friend — I'll call him Tim — came from a physically abusive home, his father an alcoholic. The parish priest groomed Tim, befriended him, allowed him to count out the Sunday collection. The abuse started around fifth grade. Tim couldn't tell his parents; they'd never believe it. The priest tried to make the man-boy relationship seem holy. "A weird part," Tim said, "is that he would pray before taking me into bed." The abuse lasted through eighth grade, when the priest was transferred to another parish. When Tim was in his mid-40s, at times having suffered from anxiety and depression, he confronted his abuser, by then in his 80s. "All I wanted him to say was, 'I'm sorry,'" Tim said. "When I told him how I felt about what had happened and what it had done to my life, even then he couldn't say he was sorry. He wrote me a letter that began, 'How can you embarrass me in front of the archbishop?'" His mistreatment, amazingly, did not turn Tim away from the church. In fact, he himself became a priest, and by all accounts a good one. He is 63 and nearing retirement. Even as a boy, he was drawn to a career in the priesthood, and felt that his faith was "life-giving." But the abuser seized upon the fact that Tim's parents were not churchgoers, saying that would prevent him from being accepted into a seminary — unless the priest interceded. He would be a trusted mentor who would "help" the boy. I have seen Tim occasionally over the years and remember him as a teenager — a great guy. Friendly, kind, fun, active. As he explains: "It's amazing what a front you can put on." I hadn't a notion of his nearly lifelong pain until I innocently asked a year and a half ago how he'd enjoyed his career as a priest. Sitting at a picnic table with several friends, he said it was mostly good — but then, so to speak, he downloaded his story and stunned us. I called him Friday to ask his reaction to what happened at Penn State — a former assistant coach, widely known and respected, accused of sexually abusing boys for years. And no one at the university stopping him, despite suspicions and even an eyewitness account. The uproar over those failures, and the cover-up, led to the firing of the school president, Graham Spanier, and the legendary football coach, Joe Paterno. And to another national conversation about child sexual abuse. "It just boggles my mind how that whole situation at Penn State was handled," Tim said. "I can't imagine somebody walking into a shower room, seeing what was going on and not doing something about it right then. For me, this stirs up a whole lot of feelings." In his own case, the abuse took place behind locked doors in the bedroom of the parish rectory. The priest told him not to tell anyone. Tim wouldn't because he was ashamed and didn't think anyone would believe him. "Who would ever think of a priest doing something like that?" Tim asked, reflecting the naive mindset of most of us in that era. "I was afraid if I told my parents, I'd get in more trouble at home." And so, even though it wasn't his fault, he carried his perceived disgrace silently. "For years and years," he said, "I felt shame, a lack of image and self-worth. So I was a real driven person. I tried to prove myself to people. I never wanted anybody to know about this." Only years later, he said, did he find out that the priest also had sexually abused other grade-school classmates. "My best friend growing up, he was abused, too. Neither of us knew about the other." In the seminary in the 1970s, Tim told his story to a psychologist. No one called authorities. Tim said he didn't even think of doing so because "that's not how it was handled back then." And so the abusing priest moved from parish to parish. "That's what they did in those days — they transferred them from one place to the next." Even as Tim served and counseled families at important times in their lives, from baptisms to marriages to funerals, almost no one knew his story. In the early-to-mid 1990s, though, he finally "got up the courage" to tell authorities in his archdiocese. At first, he was told there were no other reports about the priest, but Tim didn't believe that. He persisted, angrily. Sure enough, he said, previous reports were found. The old priest had retired, and a meeting was arranged. The abuser, who had given absolution to many for their sins, was unrepentant. Tim stood to leave, saying final words to his abuser: "I feel sorry for you." Despite what he had experienced and learned, the breadth of the priest sexual-abuse scandal that became public a decade ago stunned Tim. "It was like a bombshell," he said. "I was shocked at some of the priests, particularly at my old high school." Children today are educated about "good touch, bad touch," and aren't as clueless as earlier generations. Laws have been passed requiring that suspicions be reported to authorities. You think we have a handle on the problem. And then Penn State happens. Another authority figure — in this case, a man who had started a mentoring program to help children from struggling families — is charged with multiple counts of child sexual abuse. "They protected the institution," Tim said. "That's part of what was going on with the church." My old friend has endured health problems of late, including a leg infection that left him hospitalized and two mini-strokes, but says he feels better. His evil, sick abuser is dead. The general awareness of child sexual abuse is heightened. But as Penn State shows, the problem is not behind us. The effects, Tim said, will be felt for at least another couple of generations. And victims will continue to hide their pain. Why men prey sexually on boys — and in some cases, even pray fervently over them before violating them — is difficult to fathom. "I don't know if anybody understands it," Tim said. "Even after all this time, I can't say that I understand it. People don't realize what long-term effects something like this will cause." Contact: michael.kelly@owh.com
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