(For those unfamiliar with Horatio Alger, he was a nineteenth-century novelist, who wrote about poor boys finding success through hard work and perseverance; and a suspected pedophile. Here are links to the stories I'm referencing. They're also available for free download here and here.)
This is the story of a good Christian boy I knew who managed to break
free of his super-strict upbringing, with an interesting (sexual) twist
at the end. I'll call him Peter. My parents went to church with and were friends with his parents since he was a fetus. When he was born, I've heard, his dad asked the doctor to "make her tight again," which caused difficulties in subsequent pregnancies. That probably should have been a sign as to what kind of man was raising him.
I was basically brought up with Peter for a few years. I am told that I once refused to share my can of peas with him, shaking my head emphatically and saying, "Uh-uh! Uh-uh!"
We watched Power Rangers at his house, played with his castle and soldiers, and once I ran out of his bedroom shouting, "Mommy, I'm peeing my pants!"
"I tried to warn her, but she wouldn't go!" Peter said, following me. I really hope he doesn't remember this incident, though every time I meet one of his friends, I imagine him secretly telling them, when I'm gone, "She peed all over my bedroom."
He is about a month older than me, and my mom has a picture of me kissing him on the lips when we were three. I've heard that our moms bathed us together, which surprises me now, considering the way his parents were many years later.
When I was about five, his parents started going to a new church, and pressuring my parents to go. When my parents stayed at their current church, they stopped being friends with my parents.
Years later, my mother and I ran into his mother and him in town. His mom kept using the term, "my husband," rather than her husband's name, even though we knew him quite well. I also noticed that every time I saw her, she was wearing a skirt.
Sarah (not her real name) mentioned that they had a teenage girl living with them who had a bad home situation and needed them. She and "my husband" had sat her and their son down and told them that "we trust you, but something could happen, so you two aren't allowed to be alone together." I'm not sure how that worked, given that they lived in the same house.
They lived in the country and had goats, like us. My mom mentioned that she had some leftover fencing, and invited her to our house to come and get it. About a week later, she showed up with her three boys (who were home-schooled, like me, and so went with her everywhere).
I invited Peter to a swing-dancing class I was taking, but his mom said, "Sorry, he's not allowed to touch girls."
Touch girls? I was taken aback. She had somehow managed to make dancing from the fifties into a creepy juvenile feel-fest. She apparently had a very dirty mind.
There didn't seem to be a problem if I went somewhere alone with him at my house that day. Somehow we managed not to rape each other, and they went home. A few days later, my mom said that she had tried to call Sarah to get together again, but she wasn't answering her phone. "I feel like she just wanted the fencing, and now she doesn't want anything to do with me," she said.
We chanced to see his parents again during this time. "Our boys aren't allowed to date anyone until after college," Sarah bragged, obviously proud of herself.
"But you have to trust your kids until they prove untrustworthy," my mom reasoned.
"I would trust her," M.H. said, meaning me, "but not the boy. There's nothing preventing them from finding somewhere to park." He said "park" like he was saying the word "fuck."
"But I'm sure some boys aren't like that," I said, trying to be respectful to my elders but frustrated at his ridiculousness. "There are nice boys..."
"Listen! If any boy, including my son, takes you on a date alone, he's only after one thing," he replied, intensely.
I was too shocked to say anything. That he would not trust his own kid...I hadn't heard that the kid had done anything, and I thought what M.H. had said was the saddest thing I had ever heard.
A few years later, my mom called Sarah to catch up. She talked to both his parents, and they seemed glad to hear from her, less judgmental. "So how's Peter? I heard he got married," my mom said casually.
"Oh," Sarah said in a strange voice. "Peter left the family. We haven't heard from him in years."
"Sarah, I'm so sorry," she said. Then later, to me: "How can someone 'leave the family?' That's impossible! I'll bet they disowned him." She had always told me that I was her kid no matter what.
A few days ago we saw Peter and his wife in the grocery store. They mentioned that they had been married almost three years now, and were thinking about having kids. He looked very happy, happier than I'd ever seen him.
The next day my mom got curious and typed his name into Google. "You've got to see this!" she said. He was on a dating website, looking for a "third person" for his marriage, a girl who "wants to be loved by two people, not just one." He listed his religion as Wiccan.
"Hey," Mom suggested, "why don't you do it?"
I had thought about it for a second, but I didn't find either of them sexually attractive. Wicca is my favorite religion, though, with the earth goddess, and being one with nature, and casting spells for peace and prosperity. Too bad I don't believe in it.
I am really surprised that he reached escape velocity from his religion and sexual hangups. I guess this story goes to show that, even if you have the shittiest parents or family imaginable, you can still end up with a wonderful life, full of love and happiness and magical three-ways.
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