This isn’t about me

“I’m the victim here! How am I supposed to be a man?!”
– Josh Lyman, The West Wing

This story is my own, but this really isn’t about me.

When I was a freshman in high school, I took a piano class taught by CK, the school’s band and musical theater teacher. I was already writing my own pieces by then, so I was one of three students given my own sound-proof room with an actual piano. After spending some time with the ten or 15 students learning basic scales on keyboards, CK would spend a bit of time with each of us alone in our rooms.

I really enjoyed playing music with CK. I had written a piece for four hands, and it wasn’t like I could play the entire piece on my own. He would sit next to me on the bench, and we would play the piece together, sometimes improvising little bits, sometimes adding something to the end. It was obvious he enjoyed playing with me as well.

I think the first time I felt awkward around CK was when he commented on my belt. It was a weaved belt of some sort, and I wore it with the end hanging down. I don’t remember the exact words, but he somehow or another alluded to its phallic symbolism.

CK sat very close to me on the bench. But then, he wasn’t a thin man, and piano benches aren’t very large. Sometimes, he would put his hand on my thigh. Sometimes, he would move his hand around a bit. Sometimes, he would wiggle his pinky.

It wasn’t long before I stopped going to my private room. I was friends with the boys in the other rooms, and I would just go to one of their rooms instead. When CK would come by, we’d show him how I was teaching them how to play one of my own compositions. For the most part, though, it wasn’t an issue.

Then one day, CK wasn’t at school. Rumors were going around that he’d been suspended for inappropriate behavior with a student. I went to the school advisor that day and told him my own experiences. Soon after, I repeated my story to the police and, later, to a prosecutor.

Because I was a minor, I was the prosecution’s key witness – the counts related to me carried the highest penalties. At the preliminary hearings, I gave testimony from the witness stand. It was a miserable experience. I can still remember the physical and psychological discomfort of sitting there, answering these incredibly personal and awkward questions. I remember how pathetic CK looked beside his lawyer. And I remember how his family looked, sitting behind him in the front row. I felt especially bad for them. The ruling was that there was sufficient evidence for the case to go to trial.

Fast forward to my junior or senior year – I honestly don’t remember – and it was finally time for the trial to begin. I have no idea what had happened in the interim. I was approached by the prosecutor’s office and informed of a possible plea bargain. In order to avoid a trial for the various sexual misconduct offenses, CK could plead down to half a dozen assault charges. I was told it was my choice. It was my choice to decide whether he would go to trial. It was my choice as to whether I would have to testify again.

I didn’t want to deal with that again. It was in the past and I hadn’t really thought about it since then. I assumed assault convictions would be enough to keep him out of schools and away from other kids. I told them to go ahead with the plea bargain.

I’ve always said that my own personal experience with molestation didn’t have a profound impact on me. And while I’m sure it affected thousands of small decisions throughout my life, I still believe that. Last week I found a photo on Facebook of him teaching musical theater to teenagers. I suppose the fact that I even went looking serves as evidence that I lack sufficient closure, but I’m quite confident that the experience itself had little impact on the type of person I am today. Far less than one might expect, at least.

But why? How could I so comfortably reduce my own personal experience with sexual molestation down to an anecdote? Well, because I never had any doubt that he was the bad guy, the villain, the deviant, the one who was small. He was pathetic and weak. He was a loser. I was being victimized, but I was not a victim. I was a smart, talented, young man, and he was taking advantage of his authority and of the situation. I sought out – and easily found – opportunities to escape, and when an opportunity to come forward presented itself, I did so.

But this really isn’t about me.

Lately, I’ve been hearing and reading a lot – far too much – about women having to deal with harassment or abuse, or harassment and abuse, as part of their everyday lives. While the circumstances are specific, the stories are far from unique. This isn’t a new thing, but like many (men), I guess I had half-fooled myself into believing that it was an old thing, that we’d fixed that.

In many respects, for me, it was easy. I was the child, thus I was the innocent. And I knew I was past it, would never let it happen again, and would never have to allow it to.

But for a woman… You don’t get the chance to grow out of that, to know you can prevent it from ever happening again, to know that everyone who hears your story will take for granted that you are the one who has been harmed, and the perpetrator of the crime the villain. Instead, women are doubted. Women are condemned and women are accused – of lying, of leading men on, of dressing provocatively, of… of… of being women.

I’m so sad now, not just for all the women in my life and all the women I will never know, but even more so, for my two beautiful daughters, and all the sorrow and misplaced shame that they will likely – but hopefully not – learn to take for granted.

My daughter was three when I first asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up. Her answer was perfect: “The same as me.” She just wanted to be herself. I’d like to raise my daughters in a society that allows them to do just that. I want my daughters to grow up in a world where they can speak up and speak out, a world that allows them to outgrow the pain and suffering they will endure.

This really isn’t about me – it never was.

I will teach my children to be strong, to lead, and to stand up for themselves and others. I will try do a better job of standing up for – and with – others as well. I will try do a better job recognizing villains in the world, and I will try to prevent villains from doing harm.

What about you? What will you do?

Cover photo: Ed Yourdon’s “Play Me, I’m Yours” – https://flic.kr/p/8fAt1V