PEDOPHILES
Part one
By Peter Schmedding
“I have never had a friend in all my life”.
That was John's first comment. At the time I was a part-time volunteer counsellor, mostly in sexuality matters for young people. In that position, John, moving toward middle age, was not really the sort of person I was used to dealing with.
Even after all the years that have passed in between I still remember my first impression of John as he came to his first consultation. His neat dress did not harmonise with his facial expression. He looked grim. I could not help wondering if he had ever smiled in his life.
From experience we know that the real reason for a client to ask for help is seldom revealed. Deeply seated complexes or feelings of guilt, secret phobias or deviations from what is considered the norm are seen as too risky to be disclosed, at least at the beginning of such encounters. Rather it is common for most clients to find a more acceptable symptom that is presented as the reason to seek help and advice.
I tried to hide my impatience as we talked for some time and seemed to go around in a circle, repeating and repeating the old story: No friend - ever. It was obvious, there was an secret issue that John was not willing to talk about.
Although to my mind we had made no progress whatsoever in this first session he seemed to be very keen to come again. He insisted that we made another appointment right there and then.
This time he talked more freely about some of his wrongdoings, his failures in life. He seemed amazed that I did not react in a disapproving manner. Moving toward me he suddenly whispered: "You know, I have been in jail..." As soon as the words came out his hand covered his mouth, leaning back defensively. Did he expect me to hit him?
"You have been in jail." My emotionless tone of voice, free from any accusation or surprise seem to have lifted a load from his shoulders. Now he was able to talk more easily, however, he changed the subject to unrelated matters. He seemed to be in a hurry to get away and again insisted on making the next appointment. Before leaving, however, he said:
"You know, I had sex with young boys".
"Then they found out about it and put you in jail?"
"Yes. Then they put me in jail." With a sigh of relief he left.
I thought back to my own childhood. As a four or six year old, on a couple of occasions I was warned not to take any lollies from a certain man somewhere around our neighbourhood. "Never talk to him and if he approaches you, run away". As there was no further explanation I was confused. I had never met this certain man but I remembered the anxiety I had felt should some stranger ever have approached me, talked to me or offered me some sweets.
Now I had met John. Was he the 'stranger', reincarnated?
At that time I was a member of the then Society of Sex Educators, Researchers and Therapists. In all our activities we had never discussed sexual activities between adults and children, so I was interested if a man (or a woman, for that matter) who had the urge to sexually interact with the young is an inherited trend or is it something that is allowed to develop in the mind, possibly from early childhood. Would John be able to provide some answers?
After the third session we had developed a mutual trusting relationship. I suspected I might have been the only person who ever in his life was willing to listen to him and take him seriously. I arranged a few meetings outside the consultation room. We met a few times for an afternoon cup of coffee or simply for a walk in the open air. Bit by bit the story of his early life unfolded.
John¼s mother was unmarried or divorced. She hated men. She hated men with a passion. She wanted a child. Of course it had to be a girl. Her prayers were not answered. When the baby arrived it was a he. Not surprisingly John had no conscious recollection of his earliest days. As he became aware of his surroundings, his main memory was a steady feeling of resentment, of hostility.
As the meaning of words and speech developed, he remembered mother’s expressions of how useless boys are. “Boys are dirty.” “Boys are mean.” “Boys are bad”. Those and similar expressions had now become John’s daily mental diet.
In his childish way he had made attempts to be good. As he grew older, even trying to behave like a girl did not have any effect on his mother’s attitude toward him. Realising that nothing he could do to gain mother’s affection or at least approval, he gave up. Why did she give life to a child as she hated him so much? There was no-one to ask, no-one to give an answer. He felt betrayed, helpless.
His lack of self confidence made him behave in ways that his school mates ostracized him. He was not allowed to invite any of his peers to his home. He was never able to establish a friendship. There were no birthday parties or invitations for John.
By the time he was around ten years old, his mind was made up: Females are enemies. The feeling of hostility he was exposed to from his early days now was directed to women. He hated ‘all the opposite sex’. For fear of hitting out one day he avoided coming too close to them.
The lack of a male model during his developing years was a significant factor that led to his feeling of worthlessness and emotional isolation. Then he discovered that he could accept and be accepted by boys much younger than he was at the time. He enjoyed meeting them and talking with them. That intensified over the years and finally lead to his demise.
My last memory of John was watching him selling ice cream in a kiosk. He made no attempt to hide his expression of bitterness. If his face could have talked it would have accused every one of his mostly women customers for just being there.
I rang up to arrange another meeting. A woman answered the phone: “They carried him away this morning. He died of a heart attack.” So ended my association with the man who never in his life had a friend.
Looking back, John had approached me in the hope of finding that one person who could give him the comfort of reaching out to another human being, of understanding him in his isolation. I believe I was able to give him that comfort. To me, however, John had become an important teacher. He had added yet another piece in the jigsaw puzzle that has been in my mind for most of my life: The emergence of the personality. He became an example of how a life can be wasted. A tragic loss I will remember for the rest of my days.
I gave a speech to an audience one day. I spoke about the life and death of John. Last sentence:
"... and so I accepted John, the pedophile, posthumously as my friend."
* * *
Copyright © 2007 Peter Schmedding - Canberra Australia.
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