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John - 5

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Dear John

    it has been just over a year since I released my first book, Burnt Cookies - A Quest for Closure. I had so many feelings of doubt and insecurity that I wasn't sure I could go through with it. My story did not hold back the truth as it detailed how my high school football coach groomed and sexually abused me for several years. The story also told of the damaging effects that sexual abuse had on my life and how I confronted the man who abused me in an attempt for closure. I couldn't imagine how my family, friends, coworkers and others would react to me after reading or hearing about this book. Nobody knew the details of my sordid past and present. At first, I believed that other victims of sexual abuse and their families could benefit from reading a story similar to theirs. I wanted to raise some awareness of the continuous cycle of sexual abuse that plagues men and women in our great nation. The story told of a terrible tragedy that you would never want to see happen to someone you care about, but there was a message for others in the story and some light to be shed at the end of the tunnel. I simply wanted to help. It didn't happen. I actually had premature aspirations that my book would be read by thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of people, after it was released. Making some money to pay off the debt for publishing a book seemed justified - I wasn't asking for a best seller or anything. Little did I know about the book industry and the common tale of the unknwown, self-published author. The days past as the date of Feb 10th, 2010 approached with increasing intensity.

John - 3

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Dear John,

It was only a couple of years ago that you were still a happy-go-lucky kid having a great summer after eighth grade. Hanging out at Rich's house almost every day lead to some of the best memories of your life. It was great playing Intellivison and eating more chocolate chip cookies than Mrs. Watson could bake. After we went to different schools, things just were never the same between you and Rich. All the sports and activities kept you so busy that it was unavoidable that your friendship would strain. He was and will always be one of our best friends. I didn't spend much time with any of the guys from the area who to school with us either. Basketball and homework seemed to occupy my weekdays and weekends for the most part. Remember how long it took to get home after basketball practice? 35th St to Archer, Archer to Pulaski, Pulaski to 95th St and then to 87th Ave in the suburbs. Some nights it took nearly an hour and a half to get home where a cold supper was always waiting. I tried to avoid Coach at school the best I could, but he always knew how to find me. I don't really want to call him coach anymore, it sounds too much like a term of respect or endearment. From now on he will be just plain Mr. C. I knew why he wanted me to go back to his house again and I couldn't find the strength or courage to say "no". I know you don't want to remember, or even think about, what happened that first time in his basement, but unthinkable things kept happening. Not only did he perform sexually abusive acts towards me, I was soon expected to do the same things to him. You went through your hell the first time, I kept going through it every time I entered his basement. It all progressed so far out of my control that I just crawled inside next to you and wished for death. I was not as successful a player in the Chicago Catholic League Basketball Conference as I felt I could be at the end of the sophomore season. A broken leg in summer football forced us to miss that season and the beginning of basketball. You pushed so hard to come back to play, but it was too soon before your leg had been completely rehabilitated. Plus, uncontrolled seizures recurred many a night while I slept and then Mr. C. began sexually abusing me. My grades in the honors program began to slip to a low C average. And just when things started to look pretty bleak, a couple of the guys from the football team invited me into their neighborhood in the city to hang out with them. Why? What did they want with a kid from the suburbs?

When one door closes, another opens of equal or greater value

Talk to you soon,

Arny

John - 1

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Dear John,

I feel the same pain as you do. You never got over what started and I can't live with everything that followed. We need each other if there is any chance to make it stop. It doesn't make any sense that I could be with you when this all began, but I was. I don't know where you are right now but I feel your presence every day. You must be so afraid and feel like you were abandoned all this time. But you're safe now, he can't hurt us anymore. I am sorry that you had to deal with this the first time that it happened. You laid there motionless on the table unsure what to say or what to do next. The emotional shock from the situation made you freeze and then you simply disappeared. I know being first was the worst, but I have had to deal with everything since. My existence started in that moment and I wasn't offered a choice. You are still laying on that table, screaming from the inside trying to get out. You won't  believe this, but it kept happening for over three years. There was not much that could have been done, he had too much power over us. There is so much I need to tell you, but it's hard to decide where I should begin. The past affected what became of the present and the changes today have helped deal with our past. The truth is the best place to start. 

I went home that day and never said a word to anyone about what happened. He kept pursuing me in the hallways at school, always wanting to know when I could come over to his house again. After what happened, I never wanted to go back. The whole thing freaked me out so much that I began to snap inside. I was fifteen years old, young and naive. The second semester had just started and it had happened more than a few times in the basement of his house already. He started asking me to do the same things to him that he had done to us. Everything was getting complicated and I still had no way to stop him or just say "no". I was sure that either his parents, someone at the high school or my parents were going to find out. Then, the first of many epileptic seizures occurred one morning in the bathroom while I showered for school. Enough for now, we'll talk soon

Try to love yourself,

Arny
   

Burnt Cookies Book Trailer

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