A Special Gift for Victims

One of my brothers works as a driver for the richest old people’s home in the city. Last week he sent me an email about a certain priest who had come up prominently in recent news reports about old cases. He asked what I knew about him.

I replied that oh yeah, I knew that guy from altar servers and high school. Mean, beady-eyed, arrogant little bastard.

A bit of a detour for background: The last parish this priest had been stationed at had a grade school. Back when I was trying to confirm my memories, I contacted an old friend whom I had seen since he had been in my own class in parochial school. Poor SOB had a difficult life; he was kicked out of the FBI due to a coke habit. But he got a big settlement along the way because our 5th grade teacher, a Mr. Garcia, whom he called “Mr. Gusher”, had kids jerking him off in the cloakroom. (Never heard even a whisper of that, going on at the very same time as my own abuse, until Steve told me. Amazing what went on in Catholic schools!)

Anyway, due to family pressure, my friend was still reluctantly involved with the Church. And his folks talked him into taking me to see dear old Father, I guess, to attempt some sort of reconciliation. I was just curious enough to go along, because it seemed to me that my friend had abuse issues that his personal situation didn’t allow him to face.

Turned out that the priest owned a big house near the school. And amid all the papal certificates and religious junk on the walls, the whole place was a boy’s elaborate fantasy den. Pool table, huge widescreen TV, video games, posters of athletes on the walls; the works. My alarm bells rang like a freaking 4-alarm fire. But the priest knew I was an abuse survivor. He wasn’t intimidated, but tried to toy with my reactions a bit. He was not intimidated by me at all.

Even back then there were rumors of this priest’s wrestling matches with kids in underwear. But, like so many others, he was never criminally or even civilly charged – statutes of limitations once again. Bishop Accountability‘s page devoted to him shows that the only punishment he’s ever gotten is that he’s been on restricted status for the last 13 years.

As for the priest, I found out back in the day when I got my perp’s personnel file that he had sent in the newspaper ad I placed looking for info on my abuser, and had previously led the delegation of priests that took the perp’s dead body back to California for burial. Small world… So yeah, the guy in the nursing home’s got a lot of history with this issue, and was probably up to a lot more crimes than what he had been accused of.

My brother said that as soon as the news came out, the priest locked himself in his apartment for a week, even cancelling several medical appointments. When he did finally emerge for an appointment he couldn’t cancel, he was accompanied by a niece, and they waited nervously in a corner waiting for his ride. They even avoided eye-contact with the other old folks.

When my bro came up and asked if they were ready to go, he said that the old man appeared absolutely terrified. To me, this is amazing. This fellow was a short pitbull of a man; there was never any place for fear before.

So think of that, my friends. All across the nation there are hundreds of old men, now exposed, who are living out their final days in terror of… us. Of the knock on the door, of being stopped on the street, of our showing up on their doorstep to confront them after all this time.

I submit that we don’t have to do a thing. Not even say “boo!” Divine justice, by the knowledge of their own guilt, is eating them alive. The Lord will have his vengeance; and that, boys and girls, is a pretty fine Christmas present to have after all these years, IMHO.

That being said, if your perp is still alive, why not send a Christmas card to let him know you still remember and think of him often?

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