The Whacker

The Hand Whacker

Philadelphia, PA

 1970

I was in 10^th grade when this incident happened. It was now the third time in four years that a man exposed himself to me. When I was in sixth grade, a man stood in the tunnel, in the park, completely naked. When I was in eighth grade, a man wearing a trench coat revealed himself to me. On both occasions, just like this one, I’m with my friend Kathy. But this time, we were also with Helen.

We were coming from school and dragging our rear ends from the long walk home. We stopped for just a moment in front of the church to rest. We were laughing at each other and not paying attention to anything around us. I’m not sure we even noticed the car that had pulled up to the curve. It wasn’t until the driver honked that we stop what we were doing.

He motioned with his hand for us to come over to his window. Thinking he needed directions or help of some sort, we complied with this request. But he didn’t roll down the window. When we looked inside we saw he was very busy jerking off.

We just started to laugh at him. Helen shouted him “put that tiny little thing away. Stop bothering us”. And we roared with that comment. He must’ve been humiliated because he just stopped immediately, put that car in drive and drove off. We continue to laugh for a good five minutes. And we shrugged it off and finished our walk home.

Being Abused

Being Abused

Stroudsburg High School

Stroudsburg, PA

1991

It had been over 20 years since I last heard from John. He found me on Facebook and was so excited to reconnect with me. He was one of my students in high school. I was the assistant principal at that time. Once we connected, He wrote short notes o me regularly. He wrote to me regularly with cheerful comments add birthday wishes and videos of his family. Like all my other students, I’m pleased to see he has become an adult and contributing member of society.

One day he asked for my phone number, in hopes that we could reconnect, to catch up on now what is a 25-year distance between us. I am always hesitant to get my phone numbers to former students. I’ve learned these casual conversations often come with a request for a donation to a private project that is consuming all their obsessions.

I did give John my phone number but I never thought we would speak to each other. He called at a time when I was very busy and my preoccupation served as a great excuse not to get back to him. But after a month he sent me a note and asked if I was okay because it was unlikely me said not to return his call. So now I had to call back.

Our greetings were awkward because I did not have too much to say but I could tell John wanted to tell me something as he was nervous.

“John’, I asked with sincerity, “are you looking for some help from me. Is there something I can do to help you”?

There was a long pause and then he drew a breath, exhaled and then stammered, “well yes, yes. I had an incident in high school and I’ve never spoken to anybody about it. And I’m wondering if I can speak to you about it.
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 “Of course John, tell me what happened.”

Remember Mr. Smith. Yeah, yeah I don’t remember Mr. Smith. Well, this has just been bothering me for 25 years. He used to abuse me, not sexually, I don’t want to be accusing him of that. But he used to punch me all the time. He used to beat up on me. But I still have nightmares about it. I still can’t figure out what I did wrong. And I’m still angry and I can’t let it go. And I want to know why he punched me. I never talked back to him. I was never disrespectful to him. But it just seemed like if he was having a bad day, he’d take it out on me. He was very secretive about it. he wasn’t open about it. I would be in the locker room and he would just charge in and start punching on me. You know he knew I had a troubled home life. I think that’s why he picked me as a target. Because nobody was going to my defense. My family it was so screwed up. But he just beat on me. I’d leave school literally shaking. And then I’d beat up on myself because I couldn’t figure what to do and I couldn’t get him to stop.  This went on for three years. And I don’t know what to do about it. But I can’t take any more of it. I just had to tell somebody”.

“John, are you getting any help I’m a medical doctor for posttraumatic stress disorder? I calmly asked him. “Because you need help John. You should not be suffering like this 25 years later. You need professional help and that needs to be your priority”. I tried very hard to be empathetic but insisted but he get help. “You were a good student John and do not deserve to be beaten. I’m sorry this happened to you. And I’m sorry I didn’t know about it because I would’ve intervened because you or any student for that matter should have not been hit. I’m sorry John. I’m truly sorry”.

There is a heavy silence. He cried now and tried to regain his composure. But it was too much effort. He surrendered to his tears.

 “I’ve talked to my wife about it but she went to high school with me and loved this teacher so she doesn’t get it. But I have to do something about this.

 “What was your intention for calling me?” I asked. “What were you hoping would be the outcome by telling me?”.

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“I don’t know”, he admitted. “I just had to talk to somebody who may be understood. I don’t know what I expect to happen. I don’t know what I’ll do with this conversation. Maybe I thought you knew other kids with the same story. Maybe I’m not alone.”

“No John I don’t. but you need to get professional help. I think you should also look for a support group. You need to talk to other people who’ve been abused and understand what you’ve been through. If I could track down the teacher and get him to speak with you, would that help you? Is there something you think you need to tell him?”

 “I don’t know and I don’t think you would listen, do you?

“John I don’t know either. I didn’t see this guy as somebody who Beat up on students so I don’t know if he would meet with you. I’m confused myself. But I know that you didn’t deserve this and you should not be suffering like this. And there is help that you could get to relieve some of this trauma but you need to see a medical doctor”. I try again to drive this point home.

“Well That’s another thing. I don’t know if I can afford go see a doctor. I don’t know. it’s another expense. I don’t know how much all that would cost. He should have to pay for that. Somebody should have to pay for that”.

 I suggest he contact the human resource director at the school. I warned him “but I don’t think everything will be done on your behalf because of the statute of limitations”. But maybe, just maybe another student has filed the same allegations and these two could become allies and support each other to work through this trauma.

 John seems agreeable with this idea. I also tell him that it might be healing for him to let the current school personnel know so they could become more vigilant in recognizing and dealing with students for hurting. The potential of this outcome seemed appealing to John as well.

 But then John became hesitant. “My wife now works for the school. I’m afraid if I speak up she could be fired”.

“No,” I tell him, “that won’t happen. One has nothing to do with the other. And we are in the business of helping children. And if one of our students was injured under our watch we have a responsibility to hear that, to own that and to step up and make sure that doesn’t happen again. They won’t penalize your wife for this”, I assure him.

He’s going to do it, he tells me. He’s going to call them. He’s going to see a doctor to get help to put this behind him. Hey asked me if he could call me again after he speaks of the school personnel.

 “Of course you can John. I’m anxious to hear how that goes. Again, don’t expect much. But I think just telling your story will be healing for you. I think it’ll be good for you. So, call me after you to speak with them.

“That would be great,” he said with so much gratitude in his voice that it broke my heart. “I’m going to call them tomorrow. I’m going to do that.  Thank you. Thank you Dr. Kelly.  This was helpful.”.

 That was a month ago. I haven’t heard from John.

DICKbill Platypus

DICKbill Platypus

63rd Street & Woodbine Avenue

Twilight on a winter's eve

Philadelphia, PA

1967

We had just been studying about the duckbill platypus, a very strange animal.  Our biology teacher shows us photos of this animal and I am intrigued by it.  as a 13 year, old, I have never seen anything like this and wonder where I could see a live one.

I don't remember if it was on this day or sometime around this day. But today, I am walking home from school with my friend, Kathy.  We carry our heavy, heavy book bags. We drag our feet as we are tired and ready to get home and do nothing.  The sun is about to set and it is getting dark.  A man passes us on the sidewalk.  He walks right between us, forcing us to move over to the grass. He didn't say anything. He just charged through us.  But then he was right behind us, almost on our heels. "Excuse me, girls," he says in a meek voice.

We turn around and his raincoat is pulled aside at his waist.  He exposes a huge penis. We scream and run and he seems to vanish in the night.  I don't know where he went.  I don't know how far away from him I ran. But when we stop, he is gone.  We catch our breath.  We are trembling in fear. We don't know what to do.

"Did you see that thing?" Kathy asks.

"What was that," I ask.

"His thing", she answered.

"It was so huge. It looked like a duckbill platypus," I tell her and I mean it.  I had never seen one up close and personal before but this thing was so big it looked fake. We laugh but we are still shaken.  We run the rest of the way home.