GUT INSTINCT TOUGH TO TEACH KIDS
Teaching stranger danger is easy, the tough lesson is getting kids to tell you who makes them uncomfortable
I ALWAYS knew there was something wrong about Father Brown.
Well, “knew” is not quite the right word. It was more “felt”.
All of us girls in seventh grade discussed it. The way he’d linger at our lunch table, the way he’d emphasise a remark with a heavy touch on the shoulders or back.
We couldn’t define what it was, but we knew it was creepy.
We never said a word to any of our parents. What was there to tell? He was our trusted parish priest. Beyond that, he was a former pilot who had once famously given last rites to passengers after an air crash at our airport. He was a hero.
Father Brown was a great story-teller and communicator, we would actually listen to his homilies – a not inconsiderable feat for young teens. When he would visit our classroom, however, his stories became overly personal and intrusive. He had already split our class into two sessions – the boys and the girls.
We girls were told to kiss someone before marriage was a sin, and if we had any questions about this, we should come see him privately in his office.
I left that school the following year and 12 months later, I left the country to move to Australia. But I’ve never forgotten Father Brown.
Which is why when the Roman Catholic Church in Texas released the names of almost 300 priests who it said had been credibly accused of child sex abuse over nearly eight decades, there was one name I was looking for.
And yes … Father Richard Brown’s name was there.
Turns out he came directly to our parish after the allegations of sexual abuse against a young girl – who was about the age we were – surfaced.
To be honest, I’m still reeling from this information. It’s not so much what he did, awful as that was, but what I didn’t do.
Why did I never tell my parents that I didn’t like how he behaved with us girls?
Actually, I do know why. If I didn’t trust my own gut feeling, how did I ever expect them to do so?
My first reaction when I read the news about Father Brown was to text that group of seventh grade girls from Dallas (yes, we are still friends). But then I paused. Just because he never physically abused me, doesn’t mean he never touched them. The last thing I want to do is trigger someone who is in recovery.
And then I realised the people I really needed to preach to were my own children. I’ve long warned them of stranger danger, but the greatest danger rarely comes from a stranger.
While I simply do not believe anyone at their school or sports clubs could fit in this predator profile, I need them to know that risk can come from the most unlikely of places.
It’s part of the message shared by Bruce and Denise Morcombe, whose 13-year-old son Daniel was abducted and killed in 2003.
I’ll never forget interviewing them years ago, especially when Bruce spoke of the feelings his son would have been experiencing in the moments before his abduction. Sick to the stomach, hair prickling, goosebumps, sweat … the body yelling: Danger! Danger!
My body never shouted quite that loud, but boy was it telling me something every time Father Brown came near.
Since Daniel’s death, Bruce and Denise set up The Daniel Morcombe Foundation, which aims to teach children about their personal safety.
This is essential information. As well as the three Rs of reading, writing and ’rithmetic, our schools should be sure they are teaching the three Gs … gut feeling, goosebumps and getting bad vibes.
But just as we parents reinforce those maths lessons with homework around the dinner table at night, so too should we speak to them about being able to talk to us if they ever feel uncomfortable – no matter who it is.
Our family had that discussion just the other night and, I have to admit, I’m still
processing some of the things the kids said. They’ve already had experiences where they can remember feeling some of those symptoms. Nothing alarming … but just situations where their gut doesn’t sit right.
To be clear, nothing has happened to them, and thank God for that. But at least now I know that they are able to identify these feelings … and they know they can talk to me – at anytime and about anyone.
Far too often we read in this very newspaper reports of child sex offences committed not just by wastes of space like serial rapist Robert Fardon, but teachers, coaches and parents.
I’m not advocating for my children to trust no one, but a title or job alone should not earn their immediate confidence.
As for Father Brown, from what I understand his case never even made it to court. According to the Catholic Church, the last records showed he was living in upstate New York.
And you better believe that makes me uncomfortable.