A Boy experiences the Emotions of a Man

I was asked to write an article about the impact on a young boy being raped by a woman.  We frequently view a boy who is raped by a woman as "hitting the lotto". This blog is intended to bring a little reality to that perspective and show how a boy is changed and his values distorted. Maybe it is time we considered this rape as a REAL crime and not a rite of passage. My first thought was to discuss it in practical, almost clinical, terms.  The following approach for me seemed to capture the life changing effect in a more real way.  Would love to have comments back.

A Boy experiences the Emotions of a Man:

I was 12 when I got my first car.  I didn’t even know the beautiful girl that gave it to me.  She was a older, maybe 8-10 years, maybe more.  Her gift surprised me because it was a bright yellow and spanking new Maserati.  I had never seen anything like it before and told her I wasn’t old enough to drive and didn’t have a license- she said not to worry.  I told her my parents would be furious, and she said we just wouldn’t tell them.  I got behind the wheel and felt grown up and like a king!  Her warm touch reinforced that I was man enough for this adventure. I drove it, and drove it fast, but only in secret.  I started to lie to friends and family, so they wouldn’t know, but I would have done anything to continue driving my Maserati. It was a thrill and an exhilaration I had never felt before.

Right after I turned 16, I went to meet her and drive again, but there was only a note at our meeting place “Dear John, I have met another and am giving my Maserati to him. “  She didn’t even sign it or say she cared.

I lived in emotional turmoil for days and weeks after that.  I couldn’t tell anyone, because that would expose my secret and all the lies.  The memories of the supercharged emotions I felt while driving the Maserati sustained me for a while, but I needed a REAL replacement.  I looked everywhere for that replacement.

Since I had no money, I couldn’t rent a replacement and so I started buying Maserati magazines and reading about them all the time.  Pretty quickly, I became addicted to the magazines and had to look at them every day.  I kept them hidden, for fear of my secret life being exposed.  The more I read the more I fantasized about having a Maserati again. I test-drove every car I could get my hands on, even if I had to bribe and cajole the owner, but nothing compared to that Maserati.  Cars were objects to me and the only thing I cared about was whether they could measure up to that first experience. The first Maserati felt like a “love affair”, but after that there was no emotion only an overpowering need to be filled.

I finally made a commitment to a car just for me.  It was a Honda Accord, which was a really nice car, but definitely not a Maserati.  Every time I drove it, I thought of the Maserati.  I gave my Honda the care it required, but never the attention it deserved. My mind was forever tied to that first drive and the powerful emotions it created. It established a standard for emotional experiences that I could never repeat and, throughout my life, gave me a sense of inadequacy and loss.  Even 20, 30, and 40 years later, I was still dreaming and fanaticizing about that Maserati.  That first ride had made my entire life seem downhill and a sad failure.

The Story between the lines:

I didn’t win the lotto and it definitely did not make me a man or a better man. I didn’t realize I was being seduced and used from the very first moment.  Promiscuity didn’t help and pornography didn’t help either. I didn’t realize until too late that I was simply an object to her, a conquest to make. She left me comparing every intimate moment in my life to that of a naïve 12-year-old boy.  She left me feeling stupid and embarrassed, untrusting and fearful of intimate relationships, because nothing could match the standard of that first moment or the despair of  subsequently being discarded.  Love, intimacy and affection were all measured against the same standard, since I had no understanding of how different they really were.  They required trust and I couldn’t.  They require commitment and I couldn’t. They were not meant to be sex, they were meant to be joyful experiences in themselves shared with another person-I simply missed all of that in life.

Child Sexual Abuse and Greiving

As a survivor of child sexual abuse, I look back and frequently say "What if?".  Interestingly enough, I never have given myself time to grieve what are probably losses similar to a friend’s death or other tragic event.  Certainly, there is no answer to the "What if?" and maybe it is not an answer I seek.  It is true realization and acceptance of the fact that predators entered my life, stole my innocence and my sense of self and I have never cried or grieved over the death of that person.  It was a death in every sense of the word, which then gave life to another person occupying my body.  For decades the "other" person was a fabrication and, in some ways, is still a fabrication today.  As one boy died, his childhood and memories died with him, only to be replaced with new stories, most often filled with violence and evil.  When the little boy died, his values and mores died with him.  They, in turn, were replaced by the distortions of the sexual violation and the manipulation of the predators. These distortions and the violation have impacted every relationship I have ever had, no exceptions.

So we fast forward to today, we see a man of 69 years.  He has been blessed with the opportunity to find healing.  He has been blessed with trustworthy friends and colleagues, who have helped as he rebuilt his values and his life.  Their help has come without cost and without judgment or criticism. Today, he sees in the mirror a person he loves, a person in whom he has great pride and a person that he knows has shed much of the overt damage of his early years.  He has been reborn a second time, in the image of his Savior.

He pauses one last time to consider "What if?" and then steps away knowing that the little boy of those early years is immensely proud of today's man, but the two shall never meet.  The little boy's time passed many years ago and transformation of his badly broken successor continues to this day.  Through these hardships and the immeasurable losses of self, identity and connection, a man capable of helping and supporting others is born.  He stops for a second and ponders "What if this had not been his path?" and "what if he had not accepted the challenges of his path?"  Who would be there for those in need?

You can't enjoy an egg without cracking it!

A friend sent me the following quote:  "Ring the Bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in." by Leonard Cohen

It conjured up so many thought-provoking images, I thought I would share some.   

As a survivor of child sexual abuse, I have always viewed myself as damaged.  Not scratched, but seriously, and at times life-threateningly damaged.  Most of my energy was spent covering over the cracks, which symbolized this damage.  I labored endlessly to hide the cracks and hopefully make them disappear.  Most times, I was much more willing to allow the internal pain, suffering and anxiety to build to a bursting point, rather than allow others to see the real, and the real size, of the cracks in my facade.


The quote above gave me a whole new perspective.  While I was hiding, I didn't realize I was blocking out all the sunlight that brings joy into a life and makes one a person others desire to be around.  By patching over the crack in the bell, me, I muffled the beauty of its ring and the opportunity for the real me to shine and spread light.


Today, I accept the cracks, large and small, and I feel joy in the resonance my life has and how that echo encourages and supports others.  I accept that sometime there will be a harsh tone that represents the mistakes of life.  I pray to learn from those, but not allow them to silence my ring.  My ring is distinctive, because I embrace the uniqueness of my "bell".  It is important to the symphony of life.  Maybe there is a lesson in this for all of us.