Pedophile: all about his "rights"

It is a thing too shameful to speak that I sometimes suspect my father of having pedophilic tendencies. I have never seen any hard evidence: but every time that I see a list of “warning signs,” to help guide parents, my dad checks off at least 90% of the criteria. And my gut knows. My gut knows that he just can not be left alone with my children. 

…and he asks. All. the. time. 

Even when things are not very good between us. “Can you send the kids to the camper?” “We’re in town. I know we’re not communicating. But we have a hotel room with a pullout couch. If some of the grandkids want to spend the night.” 

Just…weird.

Today I was thinking about a childhood friend. Part of why my “antenna” are up on this issue is that this friend…let’s call him Luke…was discovered in pedophelia six years ago. It rocked my little town. It destroyed his marriage. But more than that — it caused catastrophic damage in the family that had trusted him, and let him have “bible studies” in the basement with their junior-teen boys. 

Just sickening. So sad.

A bit of context. Way back when, Luke and I were in the same youth group. And my #1 issue was pornography. I somehow knew that his was too. And so we started a group. A few other young guys joined us for a while: but Luke was the most consistent. We met pretty faithfully for several years. 

We didn’t make any real progress, I don’t think: but we confessed our sins to one another (often in far too much detail), and cried for one another. We came from similarly dysfunctional homes. An angry dad, and an emotionally confusing mom. Although his issues seemed deeper than mine, we could relate. He told me one day that, “I can’t tell you the worst of it,” and he never did. But he shared a lot. And I always listened, and always prayed for him. His tears seemed very genuine. It seemed like the right thing to do.

We were really good friends, and we were trying to be better. At least, I was. I believed he was too. 

Eventually, I found a mentor and found help. We grew apart. When I married, I lived just down the street from him: we always said we would get together, but we never really did. He was far more interested in spending time with certain other kids. Doing “ministry” as he called it.

So then he was caught. One of the boys went forward at a church service, told someone. And from there, their father learned of it. 

And this father…this man…he went over to Luke’s house with another man (to witness). He told him he knew. And then he got out a pail of water, and he washed the man’s feet. He said, “I forgive you.” 

I am trembling as I think about the weight of that moment. I don’t know what to say about it.

So then Luke’s family blows up. The church blows up. The police are involved. The town is hurting. We were out of town for all of this, but somehow ended up in town for his sentencing (home on furlough, I guess).

I heard all the details of his crimes. 

I lived right down the road. Why didn’t he ever ask for help?

So then he went to prison. He said he was sorry. He says he is on a path to recovery.

When he got out of prison, I was the first person he called. It was bad timing, because I was literally burning out right then. I couldn’t handle him. I basically told him that he would have to look elsewhere for support. I wasn’t in town anyways. 

Then he texted me later — he had his life more together by then, albeit without his kids or wife — several years later. A trucker now, Luke wanted to get together when he was in town. We talked once on the phone. Once via text. 

Something…always felt off. Always. 

So here is the thing. This is what I wanted to get to in all of this.

In every phone call or text, Luke found a way to talk about his rights. 

Before he was sentenced I met him. He found time to tell me that a social worker was depriving him of his kids, his wife depriving him of his car, and people around town making him afraid. Also, would I consider writing a character statement to defend him in court? (I politely refused…we had barely spoken in a decade, despite being neighbours)

His rights.

When he got out of prison he said, “Yes…I was in prison. I was terrified every day. Now I’m out…”

His rights.

We talked a year or two ago, but something just felt off. I remember feeling embarrassed mentioning things in my life: ministry, kids, house…because, as he mentioned early in the call, “It was so hard visiting with family earlier this week, because they all have their kids around, and…my wife isn’t letting me see mine.” That’s rough. But again…his rights. Can’t talk about anything good in my life, because it’ll make him feel bad about the rough deal he’s got in his.

It just felt off. So I didn’t answer his calls for a while. Then I felt bad (never a good sign) and texted him from guilt. He said something like, “It’s OK. I found some other guys who have also been divorced. I went on a retreat with one guy. We were able to…you know…mutually complain about how hard it is to be broken up.”

His rights.

All about his rights. 

Now, he does say he’s sorry. He has it down to an art. It rattles off his tongue so quickly it’s like, “pass the ketchup.” Blink and you’ll miss it. Except you won’t, because he’ll say it again a few times for good measure. Oh, he says he’s sorry.

Then, he goes on and on and on about his rights, and how much his life is screwed up because of…everyone else. “Oh, and also because I messed up. I know what I did was so incredibly terrible. But you know…”

So how does this relate to my dad? I don’t know exactly.

But my mind sees patterns. And this is a pattern. 

Luke was raised in a dysfunctional home. So was my dad.

Luke is emotionally immature, so is my dad.

Luke may be a narcissist (or something similar) so is my dad.

Luke is weird about sex, so is my dad.

Luke makes me feel uneasy, although I can’t put my finger on it, so does my dad.

…and mostly this…

even when they do terrible, obnoxious, even criminal actions, and people respond by recoiling from them in horror, or setting boundaries with them, they always respond by talking about their rights. 

My dad talks on and on about his grandkids being taken away. I don’t think he has ever said they are my children: he does not even recognize my wife as a person, except as her role as mother of “my grandkids.” And the letter from my mom? All about her rights to us, and to their grandkids.

That is a pattern. That is a pattern that does not prove that my father is a pedophile. But it is a pattern that indicates a similar sort of dysfunction lives here.

It is a pattern I intend to take careful notice of, and keep far, far away.

Because when you cannot own your own sins, then the consequences of your sins do not lead you to repentance: they lead you to blame and to hide. 

Punishment, when it lands on a tender conscience, leads to tears of repentance a changed life, with the potential of restored relationships. 

Punishment, when it lands on a hardened heart, leads to feelings of hurt (self-centredness), thoughts of revenge, thoughts of victimization, “lessons learned” and thoughts of how to further conceal the sin and avoid punishment.

Punishment draws soft hearts out to the light, to be healed: but 

Punishment pushes hardened hearts into the darkness, for fear that their deeds will be exposed.

And in that darkness, those sins can grow and grow and grow. 

And that is an evil that will stay far, far away from my family.