A part of my story I have not yet told, and which you may be about to read, was much harder to write about than what I have always considered to be the “real” sexual abuse chapter of my life. This was only a single encounter, and I remember very, very little of the details. Although I can reconstruct the events that led up to it, the few memories and vague impressions that remain can only help me surmise what happened. However, knowing what I now know about predators, I have a pretty good idea.
Please allow me to fill in the background first?
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The recent Pennsylvania grand jury report that covers six of the eight Catholic dioceses in the State of Pennsylvania names 301 “Predator priests” and over 1000 victims. The jurors themselves state that in their belief, they have not identified even half of the actual number of victims.
NY Republican Senators need to take a good hard look at whose bidding they are doing and whether or not they want to be associated with an institution more corrupt than even they are.
. . . was born 101 years ago, today, on July 17th, 1917, in New York City. He only got to walk this earth for 81 of those years, due to his love of golf. Well, not exactly. But he did die in a hospital recovery room after successful knee replacement surgery but unsuccessful patient care afterward. Although I’m sure this affected most areas of his life, especially any that required mobility, his stated reason for the operation was so he could play golf with less pain. Unfortunately, he never got to play another terrestrial round of golf to test that out. This November will complete our 20th year without him.
Everyone who knew him would say they could see parts of Phil Toale in his children, whether a physical resemblance or a corny sense of humor and gregarious nature. I know I can easily see my father in the facial expressions and mannerisms of both my siblings. And much to the chagrin of others, when any two of us are together (beware if it’s all three!) there results in an inevitable attempt to out-wit each other with the most clever puns, in Dad’s honor, of course….
The Roman Catholic Church is like an ocean liner, in the sense that it is heading straight toward an iceberg but can’t seem to make course corrections significant or impactful enough to change direction and avoid disaster. It’s a disaster that is inevitable. Eventually, all empires grow too corrupt to sustain themselves and must fall. Unfortunately, while steaming along to this inescapable end, countless lives have been destroyed as the direct result of clerical elites attempting to preserve a status quo they have come to enjoy and believe they deserve.
Recovering from the effects of child sexual abuse takes a lifetime. There is no being cured of it. But, thankfully, life does regain the sweetness and lightness that was lost when, over time, you learn to stop blaming yourself for what happened.
Pope Francis did an amazing thing, for a pope, that is. He declared that the “culture of abuse and cover-up”, as it pertains to the sexual abuse of children by the Catholic Church, must end. The statement was made in a letter to the Catholics of Chile, where a sex abuse scandal has been on display for the whole world to see unfold.