is generating a good deal of turbulence with their report about pedophile priests.

The contention of this report, that is that the permissiveness of the 60’s and the culture of the time played a part seems facile on it’s surface, but I’ve been up close and personal with this issue, and i can tell you a few very true things about it that you probably won’t hear anywhere else.

When I was in school, there were a lot of “old school” priests, who were- for lack of a better word- stodgy. They were very traditional, they were very strict, and they were the ones you feared the most. Brother Rocco, who wore a full cassock even in the brutal heat of summer, and who could bench press the biggest kid in class, and throw him through a door when he misbehaved. Fr Paul, who had a handshake like a vise, and if he grabbed you by the scruff of the neck could control you like a marionette. Fr Fred, whose B.O. was a force to be reckoned with of itself. Fr Ernest, who ate dinner with my family many nights, and who wore sandals with no socks year round, even hiking through deep snow.

And then there were the young priests, the hip ones, the ones who had peace sign stamps they used to grade papers, smiley face stickers they put on kids lockers. They were cool. They knew what had been on Laugh-in the night before. They watched the same shows as us, listened to the same music, played records we liked in class.

Tuirns out those were the tools they used to seduce the kids. Traveling to other schools, other seminaries, other enclaves, I saw them there too. I saw the kids who were their ‘Friends”

I testified about these people. I saw this with my own eyes, and i know what it was about. I was on the inside and the outside of this. It may seem far-fetched to make the connection between this and the atmosphere of the 60’s, but the connection is there. Some people may assign the improper causality to it, but the fact that priests used the culture of the time to identify with their intended prey. it worked, in spades.

Me? I was disagreeable enough as a child that I couldn’t get a priest to molest me. I say this often enough as a joke, but it’s a sad truth, that bites hard at a teenage kids psyche, to not be chosen for the team, to not be chosen for the class trip, to not be chosen as class president, to not, finally, be chosen to be diddled by the most popular priest. or even the least. To not be wanted, even for the things you would prefer not to be wanted for. I went stag to the prom, sort of my final fuckyou to the whole ordeal. By then, I knew I was beyond being hurt by them, or by anyone since.

I have seen, with my own eyes, heard with my own ears, most of the way people can be assholes to other people. After high school it affected me less and less and less. I can look at the most horrid things now, and not look away. The nerves that feel that pain were all burned years ago, and the scar tissue is thick and hard. I don’t recommend it, but it gives you a perspective other people just don’t have; the idea of being nice because it’s the “Right thing to do” is laughable to me, because, trust me, most people aren’t doing the right thing.

There are kiddy diddlers in all walks of life. Anyone who thinks the Catholic Church has a monopoly on that is a fucking retard, period. Those who harm kids are assholes, and it doesn’t matter if it’s a priest, a scoutmaster, or your dad.