The past couple of weeks have been horrible. I have been in a deep depression that started building around Thanksgiving and just blew up my mind between Christmas and New Year. On January 2nd I started writing a post looking back on 2019 and talking about some hopes for 2020, but it has been too painful to finish on top of my depression and immense physical pain.
“Normal” depression whispers all kind of self defeating things in ones ear. Severe depression is like standing in front of a concert speaker stack, with these negatives thoughts of self, just bombarding all of your senses.
You are not enough.
You are not good enough.
You are not smart enough.
You are not driven enough.
You are not good enough to be worthy of love.
You are not enough to attract the type of woman you want.
You are not worthy of love anyway.
You will never find someone who loves you for you without intentions of changing or “fixing” you.
No one ever stays, so do not connect with anyone.
You aren’t good looking enough…
You are too fat…
too old…
too tired
Whatever good you may have had coming to you in your life has come and gone.
You will always be alone.
You don’t deserve to be happy let alone content or at peace.
It’s not just negative and self defeating thought… you can feel the thoughts all around you. You hear them in random movie lines or music. In a state like this thoughts and memories from the past fill my being. I am filled with a lifetime of sadnesses that I can recall as if I was right back there… I remember the good and then the bad. It’s all always there, right below the surface. In times like this these memories take over my existence.
And the whole time I am walking through the playback of my life, I am thinking of various things I should be writing down here for a blog post… the experience is draining, emotionally and physically. Imagine living the collection of your whole life’s best and worst moments all in the matter of a few days or weeks. A lifetime of great moments and a lifetime of pain and loss… all converging and pouring through your mind in the briefest of periods. I spend half the day crying… the other half of the day in excruciating physical pain.
I think it’s dark and it looks like it’s rain, you said And the wind is blowing like it’s the end of the world, you said
And it’s so cold, it’s like the cold if you were dead And you smiled for a second
I think I’m old and I’m feeling pain, you said And it’s all running out like it’s the end of the world, you said
And it’s so cold, it’s like the cold if you were dead And you smiled for a second
Sometimes you make me feel Like I’m living at the edge of the world Like I’m living at the edge of the world It’s just the way I smile, you said
I recognize that many people do not believe in spirits or ghosts or any kind of “paranormal” activity. I, personally, do believe in these things. I have seen ghosts in my life time. I was once visited by my Nana when she had an out of body experience a few days before she died.
I woke up this morning at 4:30 AM from a very disturbing dream. In the English language we don’t have a word for a sad dream. It wasn’t a nightmare, as it wasn’t scary, but I woke up in tears.
In the dream, my mother and I were visiting Stony Brook University (where she and I both have our college degrees from and where my father worked for almost 40 years) for some reason. We decided to go visit my father’s old office. When we got there the door was open and several graduate students were working in there.
The office did not look the same as when my father used it…. except one corner still had some of our family photographs on the walls. I tried to speak to the graduate students but as I talked my tongue swelled and my words became incomprehensible, so they just looked at me weirdly and then went back to work. I started to pull down the family photographs and started to cry. I was sobbing and not able to speak at all.
Then my father appeared in the dream… looking the way he did about 20 years before he died. He hugged me and said, “It’s OK. I’m OK.” Then I woke up.
Professor Stephen Cole in his office at Stony Brook University.
I am glad for the visit from him. I am glad that he is OK. It’s sad to me that he had to die to be OK. The last 10 years of his life were not very good ones due to his health and social isolation. My father had many many flaws, but I loved him dearly. I loved him fiercely and I miss him.
How 3 Generations Suffered Depression Due to Expectations and Disappointment within a Family
Monday, November 25, 2019 5AM
I just awoke from a very strange dream. In the dream my aunt and uncle invited me to stay with them to finish writing my book. This may not sound very strange to people who don’t know me, but let me explain. I have an uncle, my father’s brother Jonathan Cole, but I have no relationship with him or his family and haven’t for some time now. The choice to cut ties with Uncle Jon was made in anger, but had been coming for a very long time. In the dream the whole family was gathered at the apartment of my Aunt and Uncle (not the actual apartment they live in but some fantastical apartment that doesn’t and couldn’t exist anywhere). It makes sense that I would dream of getting together at Uncle Jon’s this week, fore when I was a kid the whole family gathered at his NYC apartment for Thanksgiving for many years. It also makes sense that I dreamed of him specifically last night because yesterday was the 21st anniversary of when I shot myself… and Uncle Jon (and his family) did not come to visit me in the hospital after I survived the shooting.
One might assume, because of this dream, that I miss my Uncle… and I do, but not the man he became but rather the great man I once thought he was and I know that he could have been. This might sound ridiculous to people who know Jon as many think that he is a great man. He has been married to the same woman for close to 50 years. He has 2 fairly healthy children and 2 grandchildren. He was very successful monetarily… He is part of the 1%. He was successful in his career, being one of the longest serving Provosts of Columbia University. He has published several books and is considered such an expert on higher education that the Chinese Government hired him as a consultant and flew him to China to give advice on building the world’s largest and “best” public research university in the world. These all definitely sound like the trappings of a successful man in our society.
My mother and father with me at 3 days old. You can see that my father’s right shoulder is much higher than the left because of his Scoliosis.
I mentioned that I once thought Uncle Jon was a great man… and this was true, when I was a small child before my parents divorce. I thought the world of him but not because of the societal trappings of success that he now has and had started to gather back then. My father, Stephen Cole, was a sick man in many ways. He had a very bad curvature of the spine (Scoliosis) that ultimately caused him to lose almost 70% of his lung capacity. As a child I can remember that one shoulder was always significantly higher than the other. My father made enough money to afford custom made suits in which extra padding was added to the low side shoulder to make him appear “even.” Towards the end of his life there was no hiding the effects of the Scoliosis; he looked like a hunch back. My father also suffered from crippling arthritis at times and chronic migraine syndrome for most of his adult life. Overall, he wasn’t a “well man.” On top of his physical ailments my father was very narcissistic personally and competitive in his work. All of this meant that he never played ball with my brother or me. He didn’t take us to ball games. He didn’t encourage us to pursue things that we were interested in. He encouraged us to pursue the things that he had been good at… getting good grades and making money.
My Uncle Jonathan playing catch with me and comforting me when I got hurt. He must have brought the football because I don’t remember ever owning one as a kid.
When my uncle and his family would visit us out on Long Island he would play ball with me outside. I was too young to emotionally understand what I was thinking, but I elevated my Uncle to hero status because he wasn’t “sick” like my father. Uncle Jon doesn’t have scoliosis and stands over six feet tall. He is a handsome man. He was smart and well spoken… and much more soft spoken than my father, who had a tendency to be loud and aggressive in his speech (perhaps to make up for the fact that he was physically weak?). When I was a small child I can remember looking forward to seeing Uncle Jon and looking up to him so much.
When my parents separated and were getting divorced, Uncle Jon told me that if I ever needed someone to talk with or if I wanted to come visit in NYC… all I had to do was call and he gave me his number. But that turned out to be an empty promise. I reacted very negatively to my parents divorce. I was a problem angry kid prior to their divorce and only got worse through their dismantling of our family.
I remember that I tried talking to Jonathan a couple of times. He did not know how to deal with my anger; most people didn’t… and then he was gone. There were no invites to the city. There were no invites to join his family on vacation to the country, the Caribbean or Europe. He has had a house on Martha’s Vineyard for more than 20 years and never once has an invitation been offered even though he specifically said one would be. Invitations from Lena and me to come to our home in Rivertown were turned down. I expected my uncle to be present in my life and I was disappointed.
It wasn’t just me that was let down, Jonathan totally abandoned my brother; in some regards more so than me. My younger brother Walt, lived less than 20 blocks from our aunt and uncle in NYC all through high school and even closer during college… and during all of that time I don’t think Jonathan had Walt over for dinner once, other than the obligatory Thanksgiving get together. Walt went to Columbia University where Jon worked… and not one lunch or breakfast… not one cup of coffee. What kind of man does that? I expected my uncle to be there for Walt and was disappointed when he wasn’t. There’s no excuse, but it was indicative of a larger issue.
Uncle Jon, Nana and my father.
From the mid 1980’s until my father’s death last year there had been an ever deepening divide between the families of these two brothers (my father and uncle) who once were so close.
From what I have been told my father and his brother were very close all through college and graduate school. They both attended Columbia University at the same time. They both majored in sociology. They both went on to hey PhDs in sociology from Columbia studying under the same mentor, Robert K. Merton. Even at the beginning of their professional careers they remained close working together on research projects and books. “The Cole Brothers” were known as a formidable force!
Very early in his career (around 1969) my father left a tenure track position at Columbia and moved our to Long Island and started his career at The State University of New York at Stony Brook (which would later be renamed, Stony Brook University). I honestly am not sure why my father made this choice and he would come to dislike Long Island intensely later in life. He did become the youngest full professor in Stony Brook University’s history, and I believe he still hold this record to this day.
My mother after my birth, Joanna Lewis Cole, Jonathan R. Cole and Sylvia Cole, in Port Jefferson, NY
At this point the brothers were still very close… working together and visiting each other and their mother, who lived in Queens, often. When I started to write this blog post I dug through some old family albums that my mother has lent me in order for me to digitize them and found these photos from the year I was born. I have to admit that I was somewhat shocked or, perhaps more accurately… bewildered by the photo of my father holding me up to his face between him and my Aunt Joanna.
My father, me at 6 months old, and Aunt Joanna
As far back as I can remember, I have always felt that my Aunt Joanna didn’t like me. I can’t put a finger on exactly when I was aware of feeling this way as my childhood before the age of 10 is fairly blocked in my memory… but I always felt that she looked down on me or didn’t approve of me for some reason unbeknownst to me, as a child. As a young adult I was keenly aware that Joanna and her children did not care for me and at the time I thought it was because I was an unapologetic outspoken conservative. My uncle and his family were fairly liberal back then and only became more liberal as time went on.
My mother claims that when I was 7 or 8 at a family get together, I called my cousin Daniel a “fag.” I don’t remember this. If I did indeed do this I must have been mimicking my father, who didn’t really have anything against homosexuals but was just an ass. It was clear from a very young age that Dan was homosexual. His parents and my grandmother Sylvia, Nana, were all in denial until he came out of the closest some time in college or shortly thereafter. Once Dan came out he was 100% accepted by everyone in the family. Perhaps my uncle’s family thought I did not approve because I was a “conservative,” but nothing could have been further from the truth. In college I was a hardcore Libertarian style conservative and I couldn’t care less about anyone’s sexuality. My mother also claims that Jonathan and Joanna did not agree with how my mother and father were dealing with me being a “difficult child.” So, according to my mother, I was a significant factor in the dividing of these once so close brothers and their families.
Nick Grinder and Daniel Cole at the celebration of their marriage.
My father had a different point of view. My father had an expectation that Jonathan be grateful to him as my father attributed much of Jonathan’s success to himself. According to my father, Jonathan never would have finished his PhD if it had not been for my father’s help. Also, when my father left the tenure track position at Columbia University this opened that track up to Jonathan. There was very little chance that both brothers would have received tenured professorships at the same university. So from my father’s point of view all of Jonathan’s success at Columbia was to some extent because of my father’s actions. Jonathan couldn’t write a book on his own until he was in his 60’s. His last two books on higher education had little to no input from my father; and quite honestly… I have not read the latest book, but “The Great American University” is a steaming pile of shit, in my opinion. Regardless, my father felt (had the expectation that) Jonathan owed him a debt of gratitude that was never paid.
My father being the emotionally stunted individual he was allowed this disappointment to grow into resentment and this furthered the divide between the brothers and their families.
Sylvia Cole (Nana) holding me when I was just 3 days old.
My father also had a very close relationship to his mother, my Nana. He would go into his office and call her for an hour every day. Nana came to visit us on Long Island often. We went to visit with her often at her apartment in Queens. I am named after my father’s father who died when my dad was only 19. Due to me being named after the love of her life and me being the first born grandchild, I was my Nana’s favorite… not that she didn’t totally dote on the other grand children, but we had a special relationship above and beyond what she had with the 3 other grandchildren. Eventually, my father and I both felt disappointed in how his brother and his family treated Nana. Nana had the expectation to be allowed to be present and appreciated in my uncle’s family. By the end of her life Nana too felt very disappointed by the behavior towards her by my Uncle Jonathan and his children.
Sylvia Cole (Nana) holding Daniel Cole in 1975
Despite routine efforts on the part of my Nana to be part of lives of Daniel and Susanna, my uncle’s children/my cousins, she was routinely rebuffed and eventually almost totally excluded. Nana had the expectation that because she was their grandmother and that because she loved them, that they would love her back and want to include her in their lives. This expectations and resulting disappointment had the effect of causing my Nana severe emotional pain and depression. The older Daniel and Susanna got the less Nana heard from them or saw them. She was even excluded from Susanna’s wedding which took place right in NYC while she lived half an hour away in Queens. Multiplying the hurt was the knowledge that the grandchildrens’ other grandmother, Joan Lewis, was included in everything.
Susanna Cole Bach, Joan Lewis (the favored grandmother) and Daniel Cole
I can’t find the words to express how hurt my Nana was by the exclusion she felt coming from her own son’s family. She spoke to me about it often. She cried about this often. She would send the kids gifts and not even get a thank you. She wasn’t the only one treated this way. Neither my brother or I were invited to our cousins’ weddings. My aunt and uncle did have a get together at their apartment several months after Daniel and Nick got married and I was invited to that. I took a lot of very nice pictures of the party and offered them to Daniel and Nick as a kind of wedding gift. I did not get so much as a thank you email or call or anything. Furthermore, and perhaps more insulting… they never even looked at the photos. I put the photos in a password protected gallery on my website and I get notified when someone signs in… they never even signed in to look at the pictures. I tried repeatedly to connect with both of my cousins and was rebuffed every single time.
This blog post has gone on much longer than I had anticipated… The good news is that I have learned my lesson… I no longer have expectations of anyone because I realize that expectations almost always lead to disappointment… and with enough repeated disappointment leads to depression. When I married Lena in 2011 I told her point blank that we should not have expectations of one another. I said that the only expectation I had of her and she should have of me is that we not cheat on one another and that we don’t leave the relationship. I held up my end, she couldn’t live with just those expectations and apparently consistently felt let down by me and eventually asked for a divorce. Now I live a life where the only expectations I have are of myself. Period.
I’ll be 100% honest… the whole thought of dating makes me want to kill myself. I am well aware that I am not randomly going to run into “Ms. Right” in my day to day life. Because of where and how I live, online dating is really the only option. I have profiles on several sites, although I don’t pay for the premium services. I waste countless time actually reading profiles and flipping through hundreds of pictures. I am discouraged at the number of fugly women out there… sorry. Seriously, I am sorry. I 100% wish I were not so vain and superficial. I have married, and then been divorced from, 2 stunningly beautiful (on the outside) women. I know, without any doubt in my mind what-so-ever, that if I could fall in love with an ugly woman, my life would infinitely be better. I know this with zero doubt… but I just can’t. So, I swipe left… swipe left… swipe left….. Then….
Then, I come to a beautiful woman… and I just want to hang myself. Why? Am I not worthy of being with a beautiful woman? Would I not be appealing to a beautiful woman? Honestly… after everything that I have been through… I don’t know. I guess despite my outward bravado I must still have some insecurity. Why would a woman “like that” want to date me? What would I have to offer a woman “like that?”
Even if it’s not insecurity eating away at my sanity… there is a laziness factor that has come into play in my late 40’s. Do I really want to expend the time, energy and money to pursue a woman “like that.” Finding someone takes time. Wooing someone takes time. I am not looking for one night stands, so more time than one night is required. I often feel like I live on thin ice as it is… how much can I risk pursuing something that is probably doomed to start?
When I start to talk to a woman I have so many variables I need to keep track of. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time… so when do I reveal my psych history? Many women are immediately scared away from me because I have tried to kill myself in the past. I understand this. Other women have been attracted to me because I have tried to kill myself in the past — I have learned to be very weary of these women!!! They want to save me and no one can save anyone else!
On top of my psych history I have several physical ailments that can be an impediment to a relationship. I have Fibromyalgia. I have a degenerative joint and nerve disease. I have Afib. I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome and Spastic Colon which also gives me chronic gastritis! I have chronic migraine syndrome. I take Opioids and muscle relaxers every single day. Who the fuck wants to deal with all of that? I certainly hate having to deal with it!!!
I am lucky in one regard… most of the time I don’t mind being alone. In fact, I rather like my alone time. But there are some times when I feel lonely and wish I had someone to share my life with. About a year ago, I came up with a test for myself in terms of how much time I am willing to put towards dating… When I think I am lonely and wouldn’t life better with a girl friend… I watch some porn and jerk off — and after I cum I ask myself if I still really want a girl friend. Think about it… not a bad test! Unfortunately, recently the answer has been — definitely maybe. LOL.
I am forty-eight years old. I have been married twice and in the middle/end of my second divorce. I live in a very rural remote area with a low population density. I don’t work. I am not a member of a church or other large social group. All of these things would make dating daunting for anyone within these demographics. Then add in to the mix my psych history and current physical illnesses… and dating can seem just about impossible.
Before I get into my own situation regarding dating, I feel I have to offer a few words of advice for women regarding online dating:
Have a recent picture. This seems rather obvious but alot of women don’t have any photo at all or some of the photos are obviously from many years ago. What’s the point of advertising yourself as someone you USE to be versus who you ARE?
The photo should be close to in focus. Again, this seems like a no brainer to me, but I’m a photographer, so maybe it’s not as obvious to others. What’s the point of having a picture that is out of focus? It makes you seem like you’re hiding something… or just blind?
Don’t use filters. Again, this seems obvious to me as a photographer… but many of the IG filters really block off a large portion of your face and we can’t see what you really look like… and that leads us men to assume you don’t want us to see what you look like or are hiding some hideous feature.
DO NOT PUT UP PHOTOS OF YOUR YOUNG CHILDREN!!!!! Again, this really seems like a no brainer to me but I can’t believe how many women do this. This is unsafe. Period. There are a lot of scumbags out there. There are a lot of pedophiles out there. I get that your children are a big part of your life and you want potential mates to know this… so write it. But having photos of you with your kids where the viewer can clearly see their faces is dangerous. What’s even more disturbing is some women put their children’s names in their personal ad!!!! WTF??!?!?!!? Most personal ads say where you live… so all some pervert has to do is see what town you live in and Google the schools… then show up and they know your name and your kids name. I hate to sound too harsh but this is plain fucking STUPID. Some women put up pics of their kids without them in the pic… just a pic of the kid. Are you advertising your child to a predator? Are you attracted to grown men who might be “attracted” to your children? Seriously… get smarter or get some damn therapy!
Actual photo from Match. I blacked out the boys faces.
This is an actual photo taken from a Match profile. There was enough information in her profile that I was able to find out her last name and other information in less than 10 minutes on Google. To her credit, she did not give the boys names. But, there was more than enough information in her profile to find her in real life fairly easily and quickly. This is not an uneducated or unworldly woman! Actually, she is exactly the kind of woman that the best version of me would fall for. She is stunningly beautiful. She is educated. She is a fellow creative by trades. She is a born again Christian, and even though I am not one, I tend to agree with most of their moral and political stances. So, if a woman like this can make this “honest mistake” you can imagine what less sophisticated women are posting.
{NOTE: I did not look up this woman to stalk her or harm her or her children in any way. It was merely an exercise to see what could be found out in what amount of time. I have never had any pedophilia tendencies or thoughts. If I did, I would stick a gun into my mouth and pull the trigger. If you, the reader, have any pedophilia type urges… I suggest you put the gun all the way in and pull the trigger. Pedophiles deserves nothing less than death. Period. RK, if you’re reading this, I mean people like you.}
Don’t put enough information in your profile for some stalker type to find you in real life, unless that is your goal. I don’t pay for many of the sites that I have posted profiles to and purposely put more than enough information in the profile for anyone one with half a brain to be able to find me in real life if they so choose. But then again, I am a guy, who doesn’t care if I die… and I sleep with a loaded 12 gauge.
Your screen name on the dating site should not include your first or last name. Part of the reason I was so easily able to find the woman from the above photo is that her screen name was her real first name. 🙁
Most of the pictures should be of you. So many women put up landscape pictures and memes in their dating profile. Why?
One last thing… I can’t tell you how many profiles I have seen where there are several pictures and each of them have more than one person… and I am left flipping back and forth trying to figure out who the common denominator is!!!!! WTF? Seriously annoying!!!
OK… I’m done with my rant. Next, I will talk about the harsh realities for someone like me trying to date. Stay tuned.
I write this blog because I think that many of the issues I talk about are seriously pressing issues in our society today. It’s also a form of therapy for me. I have received a lot of very positive feedback from a wide variety of people about this blog and my public talks. I am happy that I am able to help some people. If I reach even one person with each post or each talk and somehow help them, then it’s worth all of the time and energy spent. Some people have spoken to me in person thanking me. Some people email me and some people have found my phone number online and called or texted me. I don’t mind talking/texting with anyone. I am almost always “connected online.” That being said, I feel I need to clarify a few things:
I am not a doctor or therapist.
I am not here to save any one.
I don’t need saving.
I don’t have magical powers.
I don’t owe anyone anything.
Also…
Regarding any links to Amazon products: I am an “Amazon Associate” which means, “As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.” The tiny amount I have ever earned from being an associate has gone towards book purchases.
Since I was a young man I have never wanted kids of my own. I asked a doctor for a vasectomy when I turned 18 and they said no way. Every couple of years I would bring it up again and repeatedly doctors said that I was too young to make that kind of decision and they wouldn’t do it. Finally, when I turned 30 I told the doctor that if he didn’t do the vasectomy that I would sue him. He agreed to do the surgery, but first I had to get a letter from a psychologist saying that I was clearly making this decision AND I had to get the written approval from my then live in girl friend.
So sometime in 2001 I got the vasectomy as an outpatient procedure at Southern Vermont Medical Center in Bennington, VT. That hospital is a death trap, but that is fodder for another blog post. Needless to say, the doctor fucked up. I ended up getting a bad infection in my scrotum. The surgeon refused to make an appointment for me to come back in as, “Some infection was normal.” Some infection? My balls were the size of oranges and completely black and I had pus coming out of the stitches! I said, “Fuck this!” and got myself good and drunk and high on pot and used a handheld mirror and an exacto knife and cut the damn stitches out myself and cleaned everything up with alcohol and hydrogen peroxide. Everything cleared up and returned to “normal” within a day or two of my removing the stitches myself.
After the infection and swelling cleared up, I still had pain in my scrotum. I figured some pain was normal and lived with it… for years! At some point, maybe about 10 or 12 years ago, I made an appointment with Dr. Ernest Bove in Rutland, VT. He is NOT the surgeon that did the vasectomy. I got to his office and filled out the initial patient visit forms and waited to see the doctor. At the time my insurance was Medicare as I was on disability.
Dr. Ernest Bove
When I finally got in to see Dr. Bove he asked me what was wrong. I explained what had happened with the vasectomy that had been performed several years prior and said that I was still experiencing pain in my scrotum. He looks over my file and questioned me why I was on Medicare. Seriously. If a doctor suspects fraud, then they should report it, but it’s not really his business why I was on Medicare. I told him the truth.
I told Dr. Bove that I was on disability after shooting myself in the chest with a 9mm gun and then overdosing 6 months after that and that my disability was psychological. He asked me what psych meds I was on at the ti,me. I told him. I wasn’t on any pysch meds. I am what is considered “treatment resistant” meaning that pysch meds do not work on me! He immediately called me a fraud. He told me that I was bilking the Medicare program and he would not be part of it. He then threw me out of his office!!!! He refused to treat me because I was not on pyshc meds and he therefore concluded that I was a fraud.
Imagine how surprised I was when I got the paperwork showing that Dr. Bove had BILLED MEDICARE for my visit!!!! So… he calls me a fraud… tells me I am scamming Medicare… and then he bills them for refusing to see me. To add insult to injury, he had me in collections for 7 years because I refused to pay him for telling me I am a scum bag.
Who is the real scum bag? Dr. Bove discriminated against me because I have a psychological disorder and didn’t fit his stigmatized parameters for someone who is disabled. Why am I writing this now a decade later? Because I am finally able to stand up for myself and articulate what happened without wanting to or threatening to punch the man in the face.
The fact of the matter is that I have been damaged most of my life. So damaged, and recognized as so damaged ,that those who should have helped me or protected me didn’t. By the age of 15 I had been written off by family and school teachers and administrators.
May 28, 1987 While I was taking a shower tonight I thought of a solution to all of my problems. After I make love with Cat, and I am all happy and cheerful, I should kill myself. That way, at least, I will die happy. You know what they say, “Get out while the getting is good.”
Richard D. Cole, journal entry
In May and June of 1987 I had an affair with one of my high school teachers, Catherine Bishop, and more than a few people knew about it… and no one cared. Cat, as I called her, was twenty years older than me (making her the same age as my mother), was married and had two children, the oldest of which was only a couple of years younger than me.
My father knew. In his infinite wisdom he said, “You can’t rape a willing victim.” My mother knew… In fact, my mother claims to have had a phone conversation with Mrs. Bishop. I only heard of this phone conversation years later and have no idea about it, but she knew. I mentioned to my mother that I was writing this post about this relationship… and her response was, “Please don’t out her.” Think about that! Several male teachers at school knew. I remember them laughing and punching me in the arm and making comments to me about it.
I was on the school administration’s radar as a troubled kid. Apparently my Spanish teacher reported that I had a volatile temper and she didn’t want to be around me when I finally blew. She filed some kind of concern with my guidance counselor which resulted in my mother being called in to speak with the Assistant Principal for my grade, Mr. Claude Frank. I remember this meeting… Monday, June 1, 1987. Mr. Frank started to tell my mother about the schools concerns about me. My mother asked a few questions and Mr. Frank then made his fatal mistake… He told my mother that he and the other people at the school were “professionals” and she should let them deal with me without question from her and she should be a good little woman and make sure things were OK at home. Seriously, maybe not in those exact words, but my mother got the message… so she proceeded to rip Mr. Frank a new asshole… which totally got the meeting off the topic of me and my problems… and kept me out of trouble. I had zero respect for Mr. Frank for many reasons, but I do not believe he knew of the affair. I will give Mr. Frank credit as several years ago we reconnected briefly on Facebook and he apologized to me. He admitted that he did not have the knowledge or skills to deal with me or help me and admitted that he let me down. Not a lot of people, especially school administrators, admit their mistakes, so he gets credit for that!
Sunday, May 31, 1987
On Friday afternoon I came home right after Spanish. I quickly took a shower. I didn’t even dry myself off. I just put on my shorts. Then I waited. At about 3PM Cat showed up. At first we talked and made out in the living room. She kept stroking my penis through my shorts… then we went up to my bedroom… After she left I just fell asleep. I was really exhausted! That night I was not sure how I felt. I was not angry. I was just so confused. Cat called because she was afraid that I might be angry… Saturday night around 9 o’clock I took an orange juice glass and filled it with scotch and got bombed. Today I went to the University to do some work. Cat came by at 12:30PM… I was sitting on a chair and she spread her legs and sat down on me… When we were done, as we were getting dressed, something happened inside of me. I got very angry. It was not just at Catherine but it concentrated on her, and she felt it. I feel badly because today when she left I think she was hurt. I don’t want to hurt her…. She told me that she thought she was falling in love with me.
Richard D. Cole, journal entry
So, why did no one care that a 15 year old student was having sex with his married 36 year old teacher? Maybe it was a sign of the times? After all, female teacher sex scandals didn’t really hit the public eye until 1998. The fact of the matter is that I did not see myself as a victim at the time and for many years afterwards. I thought I was having the time of my life and even when I was angry and depressed about the “relationship” I blamed myself, not the adult teacher. It wasn’t until I had a 15 year old step-son and one day looked at him and realized I was having sex with a teacher at the same age. It was only then that I really started seeing what happened as totally fucked up. I just think that I was such a screwed up kid that no one really cared what I was doing or with whom. I was damaged beyond the point of concern.
Mrs. Bishop’s inscription in my 1987 Ward Melville yearbook. (I blanked out someone else’s quote. )
I ran into Mrs. Bishop while in college. We spoke and she apologized for what happened in high school. She claimed that she was an alcoholic and that she had been drinking when our “affair” happened. I do remember her bringing wine to one or two of our rendezvous, but she never smelled of alcohol or acted drunk, so I don’t know.
My next open and free public talk on issues of mental health, PTSD, bullying, suicide and the stigma of mental illness will be December 9th at 7 PM at the Hampton Volunteer Fire Company #33 in Hampton, NY.
