My childhood monster died today.
For most children, their childhood monster is a belief in the boogeyman; a monster that hides beneath their bed, or one that hides in the shadows of their closet. For these children, those monsters dissapear and become distant memories as they reach adolescence and learn that they no longer need to fear the manifestations of their imagination.
For me, the bogeyman was but a distant thought; but one that I would have gladly traded my monster for in a heartbeat. My monster's name was Neal Crase; and he has haunted much of my life since I was only eight years old. Starting at that young age, when all of my thoughts should have been about cartoons, riding my bike, and playing with my friends, Neal spent the next ten years of my life sexually and mentally abusing me. The effects of that abuse has permeated nearly every facet of my life, even well after the actual abuse ended.
My father called me, at work, a little after 10:30 this morning to tell me that shortly after 10 AM this morning, Neal had passed away at a medical facility in Mount Hope, Arkansas. I was stunned. Not from the fact that he had died, but from the mix of emotions that flooded my mind. A part of me was elated and glad that he is finally gone from this world. A part of me felt pity for him. I felt sadness for my cousins, who have lost their father today. I felt angry, because although I have had the chance to confront him about the awful things he did to me and dozens of other young boys, I never got the closure of having him actually tell me that he was sorry for what he had done. He never apologized, even though I have strived to forgive him of his crimes against me and my youngest brother.
In 1994, at the age of 23, I was given proof that Neal had molested my youngest brother (who to this very day will not discuss his experiences at the hands of Neal), another cousin of mine who happens to be Neal's grandson, adn that there was a good probability that he had been molesting untold numbers of students at the school where he was a special education teacher for children ranging from reading problems to mentally challenged (or retarded as they were labelled when I was a kid). I took his ass to court, and with the help of the St. Louis County prosecutor's office charged and convicted him of deviant sexual assault of a minor. unfortunately, I was the only witness willing to actually testify before the grand jury; so he was only convicted of five accounts of criminal behavior. Since it was his first run-in with the law, so to speak, he was given five years of probation, required to register as a sexual offender, surrender his teacher's certificate, and participate in mandatory counseling. Basically, a slap on the wrist; while I still lived on with the mental and social scars of his actions.
The very odd thing that strikes me as being something that I can only attribute to divine influence, is that when saying my daily prayers yesterday morning, I actually prayed that God the Father would put a heavy burden on Neal's heart to seek His forgiveness and to repent of his sins. Even though I have often harbored deep seated hatred for this "man," I still do not wish that anyone would have to spend and eternity in Hell when that fate could be avoided by the simple act of asking Gods grace be upon them and to be forgiven of their sins.
At the moment, I am not exactly sure what to feel; although I am glad that a reminder of my childhood torment is finally gone for good.
... to be continued later...
For me, the bogeyman was but a distant thought; but one that I would have gladly traded my monster for in a heartbeat. My monster's name was Neal Crase; and he has haunted much of my life since I was only eight years old. Starting at that young age, when all of my thoughts should have been about cartoons, riding my bike, and playing with my friends, Neal spent the next ten years of my life sexually and mentally abusing me. The effects of that abuse has permeated nearly every facet of my life, even well after the actual abuse ended.
My father called me, at work, a little after 10:30 this morning to tell me that shortly after 10 AM this morning, Neal had passed away at a medical facility in Mount Hope, Arkansas. I was stunned. Not from the fact that he had died, but from the mix of emotions that flooded my mind. A part of me was elated and glad that he is finally gone from this world. A part of me felt pity for him. I felt sadness for my cousins, who have lost their father today. I felt angry, because although I have had the chance to confront him about the awful things he did to me and dozens of other young boys, I never got the closure of having him actually tell me that he was sorry for what he had done. He never apologized, even though I have strived to forgive him of his crimes against me and my youngest brother.
In 1994, at the age of 23, I was given proof that Neal had molested my youngest brother (who to this very day will not discuss his experiences at the hands of Neal), another cousin of mine who happens to be Neal's grandson, adn that there was a good probability that he had been molesting untold numbers of students at the school where he was a special education teacher for children ranging from reading problems to mentally challenged (or retarded as they were labelled when I was a kid). I took his ass to court, and with the help of the St. Louis County prosecutor's office charged and convicted him of deviant sexual assault of a minor. unfortunately, I was the only witness willing to actually testify before the grand jury; so he was only convicted of five accounts of criminal behavior. Since it was his first run-in with the law, so to speak, he was given five years of probation, required to register as a sexual offender, surrender his teacher's certificate, and participate in mandatory counseling. Basically, a slap on the wrist; while I still lived on with the mental and social scars of his actions.
The very odd thing that strikes me as being something that I can only attribute to divine influence, is that when saying my daily prayers yesterday morning, I actually prayed that God the Father would put a heavy burden on Neal's heart to seek His forgiveness and to repent of his sins. Even though I have often harbored deep seated hatred for this "man," I still do not wish that anyone would have to spend and eternity in Hell when that fate could be avoided by the simple act of asking Gods grace be upon them and to be forgiven of their sins.
At the moment, I am not exactly sure what to feel; although I am glad that a reminder of my childhood torment is finally gone for good.
... to be continued later...