Why I was never molested by a Catholic Priest.

Catholic Catechism Class, early 1980s

The priest wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom. I held my urine for two hours, until my lower back hurt. I told my father when I got home. I cried.

My father casually strolled into the next class, during the opening prayer, and grabbed the priest by the throat. He lifted the priest off the floor with one hand—dad worked construction—and pinned the holy father against the chalkboard.

“If you ever make my son cry again,” my dad assured him, calmly, “I’ll send you to meet your fucking boss.”

The priest cried. My father just let go, dropped him on the floor, winked at me, and casually strolled out of the classroom.

• See, the thing about my father was…»

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