But you know what? She was right. I did know exactly what she meant. It’s called respect, respect for women. And she was not alone in her demand. My father was right there with her.
I remember another incident that reinforced that lesson. I had reached an age when I became increasingly aware of girls in a way that I never had before. I suppose that’s called puberty. Whatever the scientific term is, the feelings of curiosity about the opposite sex became increasingly intense. And with that curiosity came other feelings that I didn’t quite understand but needed to explore. Of course, that meant nascent experiences with sexual urges. I was just fascinated by the differences in the female body.
One day while I was hiking in a small patch of woods near our house, I found a discarded mailbag. When I opened it, I was amazed (and delighted) to find it was filled with so-called “girlie” magazines! Some of them were relatively benign, but others featured graphic nudity. I had never seen anything like it. I was awestruck! After thoroughly going through the stack for some time, I put all but one back into the sack. That one was coming with me for further inspection.
When I got home, I immediately stashed the magazine in what I thought would be a safe hiding spot where I could occasionally return for further investigation. I suppose that I went there often in the beginning, but over the course of time I think that I may have forgotten that it was there. That is, until my mother found it when she was cleaning. I remember hearing her say, “Frank, what’s this?” while she was thumbing through the magazine’s pages. I knew the jig was up and I had no adequate response. That’s when she said the line I dreaded: “Just wait until your father gets home. He can deal with this.” I retreated to my room for the agonizing wait, expecting the terrible punishment my father would visit upon me when he returned.
After what felt like an eternity, I heard my father’s car pull into the driveway, the front door open, and his footsteps methodically working their way up the stairs to my bedroom. The door opened. I resigned myself to my fate and waited to receive my punishment.
But instead of anger, my father began to speak to me softly and with great empathy and understanding. He said, “Frankie, I understand those feelings. As men, we all do. And I get the attraction. But you must understand those magazines exploit women and have no place here in our home.” It was as if a great burden had been lifted off my shoulders. I wasn’t worried so much about any physical consequences of my actions, but the psychological ones. I was already embarrassed. I was also feeling so guilty and ashamed.
However, my father didn’t use any of those emotions to make his point. Instead, his use of calm compassion and deep understanding of the real innocence of it all turned it into a lesson I have never forgotten. He turned something potentially ugly into a beautiful lesson. I know my younger brother received the same kind of guidance in his life.
I want to stress that children do not raise themselves. I understand the enormous challenges involved. This can be particularly true of young men, especially at the onset of puberty and sexual awareness. It made me think of Jeffrey Epstein. Without proper guidance, the world is bound to create more men like him.
It’s not easy being a man — a real man. It takes a lifetime and guidance, lots of guidance. Even the strongest of us can’t do it alone. Teach your children and they will learn.
Perhaps that’s why I feel this entire Jeffrey Epstein affair is not only vile and disgusting, but also inconceivable in my life. I simply was not brought up that way. This is well beyond politics. Any man accused of the behavior attributed to Epstein is not a man. There is no excuse. Release the files and let those responsible be punished to the fullest extent of the law – whoever they may be. It’s what men, real men, do. This is what I was taught. This is what I know.
