A Weekend at my Priest's Country Home
I was invited, along with three other altar boys in my grade, to a weekend in the country at a house that my priest had. I didn't want to go but my parents had accepted on my behalf; it was all set up. I was all set up.
He had a big car, a Lincoln or a Cadillac. Priests took vows of poverty, but their families could supply them with cars and second homes. I now see it as: there were all sorts of workarounds for their inconvenient constraints. We departed Brooklyn NY with the priest and four altar boys in the car. It was my first time outside of the city, my first time on a trip without my parents, my first time Upstate in the country.
Brooklyn was the kind of place where most things were paved. There were parks and highways that had green spaces and some trees, but no really wild nature areas. My mother was a big fan of the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens but I was indifferent to it. When we drove out of NYC and went north on the NYS Thruway the default terrain turned from pavement to dirt and brush. It was very different for me.
We got off the main highway and drove on a series of small country roads. There were some signs of life. There were farms, and houses set a great distance apart, with lots of trees between them. There was no advertising or signs. If you didn't grow up in a place that's paved, it's hard to explain the difference. It was disorienting; I had no idea where we were.
Finally he stopped in the road and turned left into a double-track driveway, and there was a house surrounded by trees ahead. Probably a small bungalow. We all grabbed our bags and tumbled into the house. We helped carry supplies from the trunk, including a big cooler containing hot dogs and our food for the weekend.
We had lunch; hot dogs. The priest told the boys to go out behind the house and they'd find a stream. Turn along the stream and you'll find a culvert. That's a good place to hang out and play. I had no idea what a 'culvert' was.
As we started leaving, the priest told me to stay and the other boys filed out with a "see you later".
The priest called me into his bedroom. There was a new bottle of booze, probably scotch, on the dresser; he opened the bottle and fastidiously tore the loose bits of the tax stamp off the bottleneck.
He put the bottle in his mouth. His lips were usually drawn and thin, but they seemed full and greedy and he put them around the bottleneck and slid his lips down the bottle. It was as if he was fellating the bottle. I stared at it all.
He looked and me and growled "what are you looking at?" Nothing, father. Get in the bed, he said. He raped me and fucked me in the ass. It hurt tremendously. Afterwards, we got out of bed. I pulled up my underwear, pulled up my pants and straightened everything out, pulled my tshirt on. "Let's see you", he said, and then "that's fine".
What now, father? I asked. He said, go out with the other boys. Tell A. to come see me, he's next. I still didn't get what a culvert was, so I asked And where are they, father? And he said, exasperated,: back of the house, out to the creek, turn and you'll see the culvert. Now go", he said, gesturing with his hand.
So I walked into the backyard, then into the trees and brush behind the yard, then eventually found a stream. Still no idea of what a culvert was. I figured it was a 50-50 bet so I turned left. Eventually the stream widened, and then it was lined with bigger rocks where a big galvanized pipe came out of the earth and emptied into the stream. I found the other guys hanging out, sitting on the rocks and tossing small stones into the stream.
I went to sit on a small rock and I couldn't sit down. My butt was on fire, in places I didn't know I had. It was like wild animal painful. I tried another flat rock, where I could rest on just one cheek but that wasn't any good. Finally a found a mostly vertical rock, reclining at a slight angle, and I could rest the outside of my hip against it while standing and that worked. I think the other guys understood what had happened, because nobody made fun of my seeking different seats.
I told A. that the priest wanted him to come in next and he said OK. I said to the group, we've got to get out of here but I don't know how. There was a general discussion about walking out but not knowing which way to go. One kid said, if we can find the Thruway we could follow it south and maybe hitchhike. That sounded brilliant but we had no way to find the Thruway. I so wished for a map.
Eventually one of the other guys told A., you'd better get in there, he'll be waiting. He got up and trooped off to his destiny. We were all silent.
Saturday we hung out. There was some football throwing, and some basketball. At times the other boys each got their call to come inside. We hung around the culvert and talked. I remember talking about how the Mets' first baseman, Ed Kranepool, was a complete stiff and he must be Mrs. Payson's nephew because otherwise they'd fire him. Saturday night we had hot dogs.
Sunday the priest said our own small mass. Then we went outside. A little while later, we cleaned up the house, loaded the big car, and drove back to Brooklyn. I made this trip twice.
To my parents, this trip was the greatest thing. First: a weekend out of the city, which was no small thing. And second, an invitation from a priest, which was akin to near-royalty.
There's no such thing as a free weekend in the country.
Ever since, the rest of my life I've been a map geek. Starting in mid-fourth grade I got straight-A's in geography. I almost always have a paper map of the area with me. I collect all sorts of maps - AAA highway maps, bike maps, aviation maps. I always thought of maps as a strength of mine, but looking back I realize it's driven by my lacking a map that weekend at the priest's house.
I ended up in a career field where being in control, problem solving, maps and being able to say No were key. It was a good job for somebody who made the adaptations I did in order to survive.