What a Body Remembers
Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.
Martin Luther King Jr., Strength to Love (1929-1968)
Well it’s happened. My adoption is threatened in the sense that my child’s foster mother has been harassing him about me and my sexuality. She suspects I’m gay and my son has confessed that, “She calls you that word.” I said, “That word?” He said, “Yeah, you know that word.” He confessed this after telling me of a recent episode that took place with her where she accused him of “liking men too much.” He said, “You know what I mean?” I said, “Yeah.” This “liking men too much” has become conflated with the fact that he has started to become very emotionally attached to me (faster than he has with anyone before), so I had to work with him on this matter amongst many until 2 a.m. Sunday morning.
To say that another human being (especially a minister's wife) would try to manipulate a child to use him as a weapon is off the scale evil to me. I had been warned that this woman wanted to keep my son for the check and I would have to be on guard for sabotage. Well, it’s come down to that.
I reported it to one of the workers. Now because of suspicions the foster mother is throwing upon me about “is he” or “isn’t he” one of the social workers is now talking about having a meeting because “we’re all adults here”. She wants to talk about issues around sexuality (I guess mine if I am gay) and how this might impact my son who does have issues around sex and sexuality. He’s had past homophobic experiences in foster homes including the one he’s in now. So now out of all of this I’ve become suspect, but suspect for being gay? Or suspect for being effeminate? Or suspect for being gay and workers not wanting to place him with a possibly gay man since the child has issues around his sexuality and is asking questions? What’s suspect here? Who’s suspect or should be? The nature of the question itself?
I’ve sat with this and turned it over in my mind, but this morning it was like Spirit came to me with an answer or should I say with a reminder of an incident in Nashville when I was going through PATH (Parents As Tender Healers) classes for adoption in 2005.
I had to have a physical to complete my home study. I randomly chose a physician in Nashville who was not far from my apartment as many of my co-workers’ physicians were out of county. I went to this stranger’s office and we introduced ourselves. I told him that I needed a physical pursuant to what was requested on the form from DCS and he looked it over and looked at me. “You’re not married?” he asked. I said, “No.” “You’ve never been married?” he asked. I said, “No.” He checked my birthday. I was 41. He then said, “Well I have to give you an HIV test.” I said, “No, you don’t. That’s not on the list of things to cover in the physical.” We went back and forth until he finally looked over the form to see that I was right. He wanted to give me one anyway, but I told him, No. He proceeded with the physical and found nothing wrong. Finally, he says, “When’s the last time you had your lower colon checked since you’re in the age and racial group for high incidence of cancer and cancer runs in your family.” I said, “It’s been two years.” An alarm went off in my head and I became nervous. “Well, let’s check you for that, drop your pants.” I was reluctant and something in me was like he’s trying to figure if you’ve been penetrated since you won’t do an HIV test. At the mercy of my own fear of not being able to adopt, I pulled my pants down and bent over, my body tense as he put on rubber gloves and lubricated his finger. I remember thinking this is no gay sexual fantasy to me thinking about jokes people make about gay men and proctologists. It was horrible. He probed with his finger as I resisted with my sphincter tight, not wanting him inside of me. He pushed in, telling me to relax and part of me went out of my body counting time, wanting this to end fast. I remember thinking it’s for the child and the adoption. I had no evidence to accuse him of wrong behavior. I was a grown man submitting to his finger. He finished and smiled contentedly. “Alright Mr. Pegues, everything looks fine.” He took the anal specimen and packaged it although he and I knew he neither needed it nor wanted it; it was his insurance against accusation of wrongdoing. I could see he was happy with his findings. My anus showed no signs of scar tissue or my having been penetrated. I left his office feeling low and violated and began to think of women I’d known who had felt violated by doctors doing pelvic exams. I knew solidarity with them I never could have guessed at in a hundred years.
I got home and called my insurance company to ask when I could change doctors as I was not happy with the service I’d been given with this particular physician. I remember the woman on the phone asking me, “Mr. Pegues what happened? Is there something we need to know about?” I said, “No ma’am…well, ah no ma’am…nothing really.” She pushed, “Mr. Pegues if something happened we need to know about it.” How could I prove he’d done anything wrong? I was a grown man. He was a grown man. They could easily accuse me of being paranoid or just plain crazy. I had no proof, only what I felt and knew in my heart and who’d ever heard of a 220 pound, 6 foot tall, black man being assaulted in the ass with an index finger? I backed off and said, “No that’s alright. I just need to know how long I need to wait before he files his claim so I can change physicians.” She gave me the information and I hung up. It bothered me so that when I went back to work I told my supervisor at the time what had happened. She shook her head and said, “Conrad you don’t let anyone violate you like that. Even if it just feels wrong don’t do it.” She said, “I’ve gone to get pelvic exams and if the doctor gave me a bad vibe I got up and walked out.” I knew she was right. I had betrayed myself out of fear; it wouldn’t be the first or last time and the hardest lesson of my life.
The thing about self betrayal is that it leaves you angry with yourself more than any other. You can’t set yourself out enough. You can’t walk away from yourself disgusted. You have to live with your actions and your anger 24/7. It’s not an easy thing to do and it’s hard to forgive and takes work to do so which makes the experience stick in your flesh and blood like that irritating splinter you can’t quite dig out of your finger. You have to tear up healthy flesh to get to it and get it out before it infects and ruins more of you. Your allegiance has wrongfully been to church, tradition, shame and guilt or what your mama might think to defeat your best self and mind. I’ve done it too many times thinking that if I defend myself or take up for myself I’m going to be the villain, they’ll know who I really am and I’m not always nice, then no one will defend me or back me up.
I had to go back to pick up my tuberculin skin test and sign off on my paperwork a few days later. The nurse saw me come in and immediately handed me my form. She looked at me and smiled and there was a knowing between us which I can only describe as sympathy. I said, “Shouldn’t you all mail this to DCS?” She said, “No, you take it,” and hurried me out of the office. No mention was made of the results for the specimen. I felt relieved when I saw that he had signed approval for me to adopt. I also felt like I’d dodged multiple bullets, especially with him, my desire for a child held in the tightness of my sphincter.
Spirit reminded me of this episode I’d forgotten that took place in 2005. I’d wondered how I’d forgotten so easily when I promised myself to let no one violate my body like that again. Now, I come to another level of suspicion because I’m not butch masculine and I’m unmarried at 43 and a worker wants me to have a conference between myself, my son and his therapist. I’m not so sure about this drudging up old issues of being judged, not quite a human being and not quite worthy to raise a child who others have traumatized around his sexuality.
I thought about it this morning and decided I’m not going to do it after Nashville 2005 was brought to my remembrance with a physician who has worked under the banner “Do no harm.” I may not get my son, but if I lose him I’ll just have to stand on principle that I did what was right for me. I know he’s a child and many would deem him worthy of such sacrifice, but to be bent over a table again, even figuratively, is more than I’m willing to bear. I recognize the kind of world we live in and its rampant homophobia and what the Christian church teaches about gays and lesbians all over the world and how those in and out of church hate people like me and don’t think we should be adopting children. I refuse to be crucified again laid over an examination bed, a white man’s finger probing up in my ass for signs of homosexual practice.
I’m not ashamed of my sexuality and I’m not going to be remade to feel any shame of my sexuality that I’ve worked hard and long for years to counter within myself. The system is too fucked up for words. I won’t be violated again--not even for a son’s love.
c. Raphael—God has healed
5/11/07
