Guest Blogger

The Catholic church pedophilia scandal: The forgotten victims

Filed By Guest Blogger | April 05, 2010 3:00 PM | comments

Filed in: Living, The Movement
Tags: Catholic church, gay priests, pedophilia, priest sexual abuse

Editors' Note: Guest blogger Dr. Carlos T Mock is a native Puerto Rican who resides in Chicago, IL and Three Oaks, MI. He has published four books and is the GLBT Editor for Floricanto Press in Berkley, CA.

carlos mock.jpgI was never molested by a priest.

To this day I feel inadequate that I did not meet the criteria--it feels like my biggest failure in life.

I grew up in San Juan, Puerto Rico. I went to a Catholic High School. Late in my junior year I had a very public crush on a classmate. I confessed it to a priest--unbeknownst to me he was gay and reveled in all the gory details.

After that, I was invited to the night parties at the high school swimming pool. There was lots of sex going on between priests and students, but I was too afraid to act on my impulses. I was on the swimming team, so I developed a crush on a young Jesuit seminarian who was also a swimmer. At the parties, we both spent time swimming together. Let's call him Larry for sake of this article. He was six foot one, dark straight hair that he wore short and preppy. He had a Greek nose--he bragged to me that it was a "perfect" nose--he had done sexual favors to the head of the order to have it shaped by a plastic surgeon. He had the deepest blue eyes--those that looked into your soul and immediately unarmed you. To this day, those eyes haunt me.

At the pool, we had hugged and developed some sort of rapport. One night, he invited me to come to his residence for a drink. I drove my mother's beaten up station wagon. Once inside his small quarters, he offered me a drink. I told him I was in love with him and that I wanted to hug and kiss him. Abruptly, he stopped the conversation and asked me to drive him to Old San Juan. I was more than happy to oblige, excited that he was finally paying attention to me.

We went to a gay bar--of course I did not know that ahead of time. He ordered rum and cokes for both of us and, about five minutes into the conversation, he excused himself and disappeared to a back room. I got plenty of attention, either because of sympathy, or pity--since everyone in the bar saw what happened; but I had no idea what was going on and I was afraid to leave the bar without my "friend."

Finally, I walked inside the dark room with a lit match and saw him having oral sex with several people. I started to cry and told him I was going home. I ran out. He followed me and asked for a ride back, which I obliged. All the way home, not a word was spoken. I dropped him back at the seminary and cried for days--never understanding what I had done wrong. We never talked to each other again, and I never went back to the swimming pool parties.

I came out as a gay man at the age of 23 in New York City while I was doing electives in my senior year of medical school. I was helped by my uncle Henry and his lover, Peter, who built my damaged self esteem by hosting parties in their wonderful flat in the Upper West Side in Manhattan. At every party they held, they made sure I slept with the boy of my choice.

Peter even came up with the idea to write a questionnaire for people who rejected me, so I could figure out why I was being rejected and avoid future Larry's. (I published the questionnaire in my first book: Borrowing Time: A Latino Sexual Odyssey.) Slowly the damage was repaired. My confidence grew--I now was able to go to any man and seduce him. However, in all the faces attached to the bodies I had conquered, I was looking for Larry's eyes. I could not get them out of my head.

Few people pay much attention to the importance of eyes when it comes to seduction. To me, eyes are essential, just like music to a good opera, or the image captured in a painting--I needed to find Larry's eyes. I had left my soul in there! I believe that I slept with everyone available in New York during my three month stay there but I never found eyes like Larry's.

Finally I found Larry's eyes in my present lover--the day we met, I knew he had been hurt in his youth just as badly as I was. That's why we connected immediately. I finally got my soul back at age 44. Ten years together they are still there comforting me and guiding me.

The funny thing is that it was always the straight boys who had sex with the priests. Was I not good enough? Was I a burden? Perhaps because they knew I would not keep my mouth shut? I think the Church needs to address the needs of those of us who never made the cut and were crushed by their rejections. I've often thought of starting a support group--as I said I was never molested by a priest.

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Carlos... thanks so much.

I don't have the specific connections... long-time Episcopalian, wannabe fundamentalist for a while in my 20s.

But, something deep stirs within me to think of living on the cusp of exploring the connection between sexuality and spirituality, in an environment rich with both, only to find intense connection mated with life-changing rejection.

One of my biggest hills to climb has been accepting that, no matter how much my partner was desperately wounded by others, the 3-month period he spent researching and preparing for his suicide was a big f**k-you directed at me.

Like Larry did with you, Dale revealed many of his secrets to me. I heard him assuring me that the trust between us was new, fresh and different from anything he'd known.

The 10-year anniversary of his death is approaching in November, and I'm still self-conscious about it.

My 12-y/o nephew is 3 months into residential treatment for depression and suicidal thoughts (his third round of inpatient treatment) and I still feel the sting of stigma when I want to say, "Well, here's something that worked for Dale and me..."

Of course, we're trying to circumvent irreparable damage to my nephew's mental health and lifespan, but whatever wisdom I have to offer is shadowed by the fact that I was Dale's partner, best friend, closest confidante, and he still died...

...leaving me in tricky, complex, generally-misunderstood space in which
limited or no support is available, and/or self-phobic hostility is easy to muster.

The silence in the comments, 8 hours after publishing your thoughts, suggests to me that you've pinged an uncomfortable nerve.

C'mon, people, let's talk... what matters to us here?

ch arles powell | April 11, 2010 6:49 PM

I am very sympathetic to boys who suffered violent abuse, but I am concerned about gay men who are judged to be child molesters without due process and little evidence. Everyone should be careful with people who have a grudge,and those[often parents! who want to deflect suspicion from themselves.Also watch out for underage kids who are into exposing themselves via online webcams - no matter how the images were sent to you, the fact that they are stored on your computer is enough to get you serious jail time and social ruin.and those[often parents! who want to deflect suspicion from themselves.Also watch out for underage kids who are into exposing themselves via online webcams - no matter how the images were sent to you, the fact that they are stored on your computer is enough to get you serious jail time and social ruin. Before you get hit by false charges or entrapment, be sure you have an experienced defense lawyer on speed dial who can intervene on your behalf without much notice., and disabuse yourself of the notion that there is anything called " winning" in this game, only losing less