Pedophiles are predators. A few hunt like a hawk, swooping down on their unsuspecting prey and carrying them off to a private place where they abuse their victim. These are the highly publicized stories we hear about in the news. But this is not the modus operandi of most pedophiles and not that of the man who abused me. Their approach is more like that of a spider. They put themselves in an environment teeming with prey, spin their web, and wait for the victims to come to them. Is it any wonder that so many of these molesters are parish priests, scout leaders, teachers, or as in my case, coaches? Of course not. These (mostly) men situate themselves in an environment where their needs can most easily be met. The fact that these positions tend to be ones of authority, judgment, confidence, and admiration only facilitates the hunt. This predator grooms its prey right out in the open, with our quiet blessing and good wishes. Unknowingly, we create and help support the very web into which our children are led. This is what happened to me.
My family played basketball. From the time I was in first grade I was a regular at the St. John's gym, watching the older boys practice and shooting around when the opportunity presented itself. When I got old enough, I joined the team. Garvey was the coach and in that arena he was god. He doled out praise and pushed us to excel. He massaged pulled muscles. He monitored school report cards. He took us to Barbato's for pizza parties. He paid for my milkshakes when he saw me at the counter of Fred's on 27th and Parade streets. When the parish didn't have the funds for new uniforms, he bought them with money out of his own pocket. And he won. He won like noone else in the history of our school.
But he could also be very cruel and manipulative. He "rapped" us, as he called his bare-ass paddling, for poor performance on the court or in the classroom. He berated players on the court, calling them a "skaboojie", "lunkhead", "coward", or as in my case, "gutless" or "gutless wonder". He had us stand naked in front of him and others while he commented on our physiques. In those days the showers (two stalls in the boys' basement bathroom) were across the hall from the lockerroom. "Take your towel off," he would say. "Look at Mr. Soandso's legs. See how the thighs are formed. He's bow-legged." On a number of occasions he forced me to stand under a completely cold shower for sixty seconds, longer if I complained or whimpered, because he said I was so over-heated I would get sick if I didn't cool down before I walked home. Yet this is the man I was trying to please. The one who controlled my basketball future. The one who determined whether I would get the chance to accomplish that for which I had worked so long and hard. This position, this doling out of praise and criticism, this meting out of reward and punishment, is the manipulative methodology that gave him so much influence and power. I was eleven years old, had been groomed in this environment for years, and was no match for him. I was easy prey.
predafile@hotmail.com
