Saturday, March 4, 2023
Six Dollars for sixty years. Story of Rape by Catholic Priest.
In two day's I will have the sixtieth birthday of my Rape as a nine-year-old child By two Catholic priests. I was not Catholic at all. I Did not even know what it was; I was not alone that day. My identical twin was solitary for the ride. Our first nine years were complete daily of one tragedy after another. We were born with Twin To Twin Transfusion syndrome. He had a 1% chance of survival; I had a 10 % chance. We had our first stroke of luck in the location of our births. A special hospital built out of its tragedy is the Colman Hospital for birthing mothers Only. It came about by a tragedy that left a young Mother, her daughter Dead, and her child at the General Hospital of Indianapolis, Indiana. The General Hospital, a county hospital, was general. I would go there thinking it was candy when I took a bottle of pills. My brothers and sister would go there with each rat bite they would receive in the hundred or so low-class houses we would live in. My mom was still a teen when she had me, her seventh child. My Identical twin was her sixth. Colman Hospital saved our lives at 6 am Saturday, August 1ST, 1953. Colman Hospital was next store to the General Hospital. When my mom arrived two months early for the birth of her baby, they sent her across the parking lot to Colman. A 3-pound boy was born needing three months in an incubator and new blood. I was still inside my mom when she yelled something else was wrong three times to the delivery staff. Soon I pooped out a healthy identical twin. Now, nine and some months later, we end up with a new stepmom and a drunk musician for a dad. They were married, and we moved in. Bobby is 11 months older, Lon is three minutes older, and I am. We still lived in the lowest form of poverty known to the Scottish with trash. We had three marbles and one longer one. A large marble to play with in two feet of the side and front yard grass. My twin decided we would play kick the can. It was a Saturday morning, and we knew Dad would sleep till noon. Our stepmom told us not to cross any street. That was the only rule we had. So off we went down Charles Street South, kicking this can. It was the day before Easter. The sidewalk opened up into a large church parking lot. Luckily, we did not have to cross the street or be limited by a three-foot sidewalk going one way. Life was good; a Judge had given my dad custody of the four of us instead of paying child support. God sent me my double vision as we kicked the can around the church's parking lot. I had already met Jesus and then the devil a few years earlier, floating along a humming bridge at tenth street river white river. The day I went to church for the first time. A black congregation. God had sent two noble mentees to meet my smaller twin and me. We were still trying to catch up in size from his battle with TTTS. This church was no church like all I had ever seen. It was a Monster-sized church, The Catholic Church of the Sacred Heart. I was going places. I was about to meet gods and men. These priests wore robes and headgear of royalty. I had never seen such a display. One of these two mini gods scolded me Saturday morning for making such a racket in a church parking lot. Not being of the Catholic faith or knowing how terrified a young catholic boy would be to have a priest yell at him. We fell silent. After the verbal bashing, he asked what we were doing making such a racket. I explained we were kicking a can at each other. W had just moved into the house on the corner the day before. We had not been down this dead-end street yet and had not seen the Sacred Heart Catholic Church. Realizing he had two destitute little boys in his parking lot, he invited us into the church to go bowling. Something I had heard of but never played. The two priests walked us downstairs to a small bowling alley lane. Excitedly, I ran for a bowling ball but was reprimanded for taking off my shoes. I needed special shoes to walk on a wooden floor. I pulled off my holey shoes to reveal my holly socks. We had just been released from the Marion County children's home for the fifth or so time and had minimal amounts of clothes. We had holly socks and holly shoes. The Priest then made his move, Calling me to him. My twin had disappeared by this time. I felt responsible for him. He had saved me in the womb. The Priest explained to me that he was also a doctor's Priest. I did not know what a priest was and that a doctor had saved our lives at birth. He asked if I had had a physical before. I did not know what that meant, But I trusted him in his outfit. He took my pants and saw my dirty underwear. Somebody removed them all. I was naked in the bowling alley in the basement of the church in front of God, man. I went with it. He looked and touched me all over. Then he spread my checks and probed with something. I had had a nurse flick the head of my dick the summer before during a physical for Happy Hollow Camp. I went with it. After a while, he was done touching and probing and said I would receive new underclothes and socks. No one asked where the new underwear had come about. We move after a few months there. I never told anyone. I had been paid underwear for my first sex act with a priest. By the time I was in the Army at eighteen and a half, I would have already been passed around by 20 to 25 priests. Including The Preist, Who married me at Saint Jude twenty years later. Father Morley was a last-minute priest change at my wife's family church, St. Jude, which they helped establish in the sixties. That brings me to why I waited thirty-plus years before I told anyone about my Catholic church Experiences. I wondered if I was legally married to a priest who raped me as a teenager? I have many priest stories, including being driven across the country at 15 while being prostituted by him to pay for expenses. Including getting a ride on the top of a truckload of Bibles and being headed to an Indian reservation by a nun in Arizona. Was I married? This thought Brought my past back to my active mind. Turning fifty opened a wondering made me decide to contact the church. Although Father Morley and his pervert brother Bud Morley were both dead. I decided I needed restitution. I needed an acknowledgment of their dirty deeds. I contacted the Main Church headquarters of the Catholic Church in north Merdian and was dis-believed. They offered counsel, and a private detective interviewed me after lying to my face. She said that she would give me a copy of her report. That was to be unbiased. She later lied and said she did not say that. I had held more stories away from Scientology and a dozen other groups over a 25-year history of spiritual searching for the meaning of my being tricked so easily by the Priest with the big headdress. How does being Raped as a child affect you for Life? Life is a flow through the air of living. Suddenly someone rapes you. This Rape is like being picked up and thrown into a river. Fighting whatever that river brings you. Discovering that you do not control the river's current or anything at all. You do not control the temperature or movement or its speed. You do not control anything about it at all. There are lots of animals and bugs and slithering things. That all try and eat or bite you. You become disoriented and lose all sense of possibilities and Life's purposes. Your families are gone, as you knew them. You are an outsider going down a river to another land, another town, another time. You understand things. Yet, know no that one knows you. Now, you begin to fear everything. You cannot trust or forgive your shake and sometimes lose control of your body. You are no longer you, but something dirty some use, others want to abuse. You feel worthless and distracted. You will never find your way back home. No one believes you because it must have been you that caused it. Your heart is hollow like your mind. It no longer exists. You hide, Soth yourself the best you can. You resent others for having all their breaks. All because some dirty pedophile wants to take your hand. Do strange things to you. Why would God abandon you now? You bounce from Religion to Religion, looking for clues to the big question, WHY. You fail and move to the next one in a maddening push to understand God of all Gods. You find that there is no end. But a new beginning. A new way, a new hope, A new possible Understanding. You begin to see common threads and imperfections that are the same in all. You wonder why all animals must breathe. Is this a weakness or an outpoint? Water, why can it change in so many ways? Always equaling out. After sixty years in this whore pool, I discovered that Life is to be lived by you. People are to be loved. Your Life is to worship in a way that suits you and your family. No Religion is the final word or way. Water works well in some recipes and Oil in others. Nothing is worth disloyalty. And family is supreme and friends grand. Work is an adventure, and all others are allowed to be themselves. Sickness is the enemy, and abuse is hate. War is uncalled for, and energy is not supposed to hurt. God is you, and you are others' God. Restitution is a higher state of apology and crime wastes time. Prisons are evil, and medicine is good. The greatest of all is Life. A baby is in a pure state. A dad is alive if you're lucky, and Moms are humankind's gift to us all. Soon it will be sixty years of God's Rape. Sixty years of uncertainty. Sixty years of fear and distrust. Will you hold my hand? Will you love me? Will you be mine? Together, we can set the world straight and move forward well for all humankind. Many things must change in our lives. Like the sun, we have unlimited resources. But our greatest resource is our Young. Change is uncertain. Change is scary. Yet change brings about a new beginning. A new direction. New hope and new dreams. Our children are our hope, our dreams, and our possibilities. Let them have a hand. We must lead from the bottom up. We must allow somebody to have new ideas. We must stop being afraid of our own. We must stop destroying the planet. We must stop eating our own through a wasteful prison complex. We must allow laws to be changed or go to pasture.
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