Nothing ever happened to me. That's what I remind myself every time I think about or
find out more about the Franciscan priest that ran the Santa Barbara Boys' Choir I was a member of for two years. Nothing ever happened to me.
Right?
Because there is always that kernel of doubt. I mean, for Christ's sake, I spent two weeks pretty much alone in Europe with the guy (one other boy was there, as well as Father Robert's friend, who everyone in the choir knew/assumed was gay), after the rest of the choir had gone home. One week in a hotel room in London, one week at his friend's house, and a couple of days in Amsterdam. Just the three or four of us the entire time. But no, nothing ever happened to me.
Now I read his
"auto-biography" and it seems to confirm that nothing happened. I don't see any mention of the 1987 trip to Europe and anything happening, nor do any of the victims he describes resemble me. Reading over his descriptions of his victims, perhaps I was too old (my 13th birthday took place during the trip), perhaps I came from too stable of a home to be considered "safe" for him. So no, nothing ever happened to me.
But then, even he admits that boys have come forward and accused him of things that he says he doesn't recall, but sound like something he was capable of doing. Is it possible I've suppressed something horrible all of these years? Probably not. I was seeing a psychologist regularly at the time (the bullying I was dealing with at school was affecting me deeply). Surely she would have noticed a change in behavior when I came back, and gotten it out of me. So, nothing ever happened to me.
I hope that this doesn't seem like I'm trying to minimize the pain that the real victims went through. I empathize very strongly with those boys (now men) who suffered that fate. But, when something like this happens, even those who weren't directly effected can still be negatively influenced. Just look at me. I mean, all this worry and fear, but nothing ever happened to me.
Right?