Misker approached me and asked me if I would write a little bit of my story and how it has affected me in my life--to add to her section on abuse. So after giving it some thought I finally decided, that if I could help one person out there then I would do it. 

My story of physical, mental and emotional abuse began when I was 14. I was raised in the Roman Catholic religion and had all kinds of respect for the priests, brothers and nuns of the church.

I was the oldest of 4 boys and like every young lad looking for love and affection from my parents and not getting it--I would do things like stealing etc.. to get attention. This did not work so I began getting into more trouble until I ended up in trouble with the police and the courts. The first time I got probation. The second time I went to court my Mom and Dad said they couldn't handle me and sent me to St. John's training school. This was at my father's request because it was a Catholic organization and he thought it would be the best place for me to be and be looked after by the brothers and that it would straighten my life out. Boy was he wrong !

From the first time I walked through the doors of St. John's training school I learned it was more hell then good. The beatings started right off. If You didn't move fast enough when a brother told you to do something you got hit with whatever he had in his hands--whether it be a baseball bat or a lacrosse stick or a hard leather strap that the brothers carried around with them at all times. They did not care where they hit you whether it be in the head, the face, the back or the legs

The favorite punishment the brothers seemed to like was to take you into a room and pull down your pants and beat your butt with that leather strap. They seemed to get a real sexual delight in doing this. Then they would have you sit beside them and tell you what a bad boy you had been and that is why they had to do what they did. They would rub your back and hug you and say you shouldn't be a bad boy and they'd help you make yourself into a good boy.

As time went on and you were there a few weeks they would venture to try to play with your crotch and tell you that this is what a good boy got and "didn't it feel good?" Then they would try to get you to do it to them. What was a young guy to do? Who would believe you if you told?? Some of the brothers would take the boys to their rooms at night and give them pop and chips. They would get them to take off their pj's and they would proceed to play with their crotch and give the boy oral sex and then want the boy to do it back to them. If you didn't then you would get a beating until you did. 

Many nights I would pray that they would not come for me and I would thank God when it was some other boy that they took. There was not a night that went by that you would not hear some of the boys crying in their beds after the brothers were through with them. 

I worked in the kitchen peeling potatoes etc. There was an old lady cook running things there. She used to take her pick of the boys into her office and she would tell them to take out their penis and play with it while she watched and rubbed her crotch. Sometimes she would play with the boy of her choice and make him play with her.

There was one time I was her boy of choice. She wanted me to give her oral sex and I refused. She beat me around the face and told me I would never be a man and that a real man would do as she asked whenever she asked. She then made my life a living hell after that. The other boys would tell me to give her what she wanted, because from that day forward she found the dirtiest kitchen jobs she could find for me. Well I never did give her oral sex--I kept running away instead.

The police would find me and take me back to St. John's. I tried to tell the police how things were there but they did not believe me and kept returning me to the training school. When I got brought back they would put me in the hole and I would sleep on the bare floor with a blanket. I was allowed no clothing other then my underwear and a T-shirt.

The brothers at different times would come to the hole to tell me what a bad boy I was. They would do sexual things to me and force me to do things back to them. In the year I was there I ran away a total of 27 times. Each time I would hope they would never find me but they did. Finally they got sick of me there and sent me to another institution. Thankfully these things did not happen there.

That one year at St. John's training school affected my life to the extreme in many ways. I was in and out of jail until I was into my 20's. I was ashamed of the things I was forced to do at St. John's so I acted the tough guy and would fight at the drop of a hat. I did not trust anyone and I lost all respect for the Catholic religion. 

I had nightmares about my time at St. John's training school and at 57 I still do today. I am still having counseling sessions due to that time in my life. However, I finally believe that it was not my fault for what happened there. I was not to blame for the sexual abuse that happened to me.

There are times I will sit and think about how my life would be if I had not been sent to St. John's training school. This is just a short bit about what happened to me regarding mental, physical and sexual abuse that I went through as a young man. 

No matter what gender you are, if things like this happen to you--do NOT blame yourself and get as far away from the person and the situation as you can--as fast as you can. Do NOT blame yourself. There are resources out there today where there are people who will listen to you and believe in you.