Joseph*

Joseph* during the 1994 kidnapping. Child Protective Services was looking for Karen* and me. My maternal grandfather looks sad.

For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.

attributed to F. Scott Fitzgerald

I am exhausted.

I am 40+ years old as I write this. Since I was 6, life has been a chore, an exam, a physical test. Not living. A collections of tasks to be completed. If I did well, I would be with my family forever in the Celestial Kingdom.

Since I was 6, I have had to put forth tremendous efforts to survive in my family while simultaneously being sexually and physically abused.

I tried to commit suicide twice. Once with pills, once with the knife. I won’t do it again.

I try to push on. I’m old now. I find the energy to be a good dad to my kids. I’m not the best father, but I’m a good dad. I believe that I am good dad.

My father was a sperm donor; that is all he did for me in my 40+ years. My father had a great stepdad to emulate. Instead, my father became a monster.

April 2023 LDS Mormon Child Sex Abuse (CSA) victim update:

Album artwork for Steely Dan’s 1973 album “Countdown to Ecstasy”. I’ve listened to it 506 times this year.
Father’s favorite SD album when we moved to the CSA-house in 1984. The rest of my Top 5 is just as hmm.

Courtney and I were raped in the fall of 1984. The CSA started as soon as we moved in. The rapists groomed us on the day our U-haul pulled into Reading*. The school informed Mother of the sexual abuse before Christmas of 1984. Mother beat us and threatened additional harm if I told anyone what happened to me.

Father must have known something was going on. After the rapes were beaten away, Mother started trying to whitewash all reminders of sex from our house. It was exceedingly difficult, even in our Mormon home.

The album. Father would put on the record, sit is his chair, get out the lyrics sheet and sing the album back-to-back. Both sides. On Countdown to Ecstasy, it seemed that he and I loved the same songs.

We would sing the shit out “Show Biz Kids”. The repetition and twisted lyrics made it an amazing setup for “My Old School”. The song of songs; the jam of jams. Father would belt this one out. I would dance and vibe all over the room. Donald Fagen would be proud if Father was not one of the horrible people that Donald and Walter (RIP) wrote many lyrics about.

One day after the rapes, Father and I were playing Countdown to Ecstasy. “Show Biz Kids” was on full volume. The ethereal noises and sonic breakdown at the end of the song was in full effect. Father was singing and jiving. I was singing and dancing.

Mother stormed into the front room. She ripped the album off the turntable, grabbed the sleeve and shoved the record in. Father was typically speechless.

Mother pushed the cover of Countdown in Father’s face. “They are fornicating” she seethed at him.

I never saw that album in our Mormon house again. I don’t recall seeing the other Steely Dan albums again. Father lost his music.

I lost my music too. My assumed identity. My humanness.

I am an empty vessel.

The caterpillar that didn’t come out.

Dried and swaying in the chrysalis.

The end. want to meet the rest of our Eternal Family?