Can We Have Some Female and Married Clergy, Please?
I've been asking some of my male Catholic (mostly ex-Catholic) friends about their experiences as lads in Holy Mother Church. It's been instructive.
For example, Indiana U classmate and former bar room buddy, Ed Minczseski writes:
I did have a number of banal encounters with predatory clerics in my golden youth. The parish priests were no problem but the Brothers of Holy Cross (the teaching order at my high school that also runs Notre Dame), were another story. I never had anyone attempt or suggest a B.J., hand job or actual buggery, but there was a lot of groping, rubbing, fondling and general fooling around, the purpose of which (cleric becoming visibly excited) was unmistakable. One tried to avoid those guys known for their "tendencies," but some situations were box canyons. The principal of the high school, for example, an ex-wrestler, was a shoe fetishist and would stand outside his office staring at passing feet with an uncommon interest. We all knew what he was up to, joked about it and blew it off. Until the day I wore Wellington boots to school and he decided I required a private audience. Had me sit in front of his desk while he massaged my brand new wellies. Came in his jeans, in a manner of speaking.
All in a day's work.
I've been asking some of my male Catholic (mostly ex-Catholic) friends about their experiences as lads in Holy Mother Church. It's been instructive.
For example, Indiana U classmate and former bar room buddy, Ed Minczseski writes:
I did have a number of banal encounters with predatory clerics in my golden youth. The parish priests were no problem but the Brothers of Holy Cross (the teaching order at my high school that also runs Notre Dame), were another story. I never had anyone attempt or suggest a B.J., hand job or actual buggery, but there was a lot of groping, rubbing, fondling and general fooling around, the purpose of which (cleric becoming visibly excited) was unmistakable. One tried to avoid those guys known for their "tendencies," but some situations were box canyons. The principal of the high school, for example, an ex-wrestler, was a shoe fetishist and would stand outside his office staring at passing feet with an uncommon interest. We all knew what he was up to, joked about it and blew it off. Until the day I wore Wellington boots to school and he decided I required a private audience. Had me sit in front of his desk while he massaged my brand new wellies. Came in his jeans, in a manner of speaking.
All in a day's work.
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