A Memoir of Ostracization: This disgusting feast of filth

Like most of my fellow human beings, I have made mistakes. I lied about eating a second cookie when I was ten years old. I did not signal my intent to turn and accidentally cut off a minivan full of children on their way to soccer practice. I even forgot to wear a hat during a particularly windy day and ended up with a nasty sinus infection. Quite typical of the human experience, I imagine.

The greatest mistake of my life, however, was falling in love with [REDACTED], convicted [REDACTED]. Granted, she was not a [REDACTED] at the time—well, yes, she was, but I didn’t know that and she technically had not yet been convicted of anything—but I did, of my own foolish volition, fall in love with a predator who would ultimately destroy, in a single weekend, fifteen years of my personal and professional reputation.

So it goes.

One person’s trauma is always an abstraction for everyone else. It is easy to sympathize with someone’s pain, to feel bad for them, because you do not need to understand it, to feel bad with them. When I tell people that I still have open wounds from the [REDACTED] situation, they nod and say, “Sure, that was rough. Takes time to heal.” I know they mean well, but that kind of triteness only amplifies the shame I feel at being associated with this situation in any capacity. I have no reason to be ashamed. I did nothing wrong. I was in no way involved in her activities. [REDACTED] lied to me throughout our relationship, but because I loved her, I tried to support her after her arrest. I thought I was doing the right thing.

And I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping my head down and staying quiet. Our local Facebook exploded, but no matter what they said about her or about me, I remained silent. No one wanted to hear the truth—or what I was told was the truth at the time—so I covered the windows, locked the doors, and tried not to hear what they were saying. But even if I had been inclined to speak, my union representatives did not want me to open my mouth. They were in the process of negotiating a severance deal so that I could leave the school district where I worked with, if not my dignity, at least something, and any comments on my part would be used against me.

I wasn’t allow to defend myself. I was gagged, by politics, by indifference, by fear. Maybe if I had said something then, done something to push back, I would not still be dealing with the fallout four years later.

The bomb exploded with [REDACTED]’s arrest one Saturday in February 2022, and here, in 2026, I find myself still sifting through the rubble, always keenly aware that smaller bombs are right beneath the surface, waiting to explode in my face.

* * * *

But in deference to the need to at least somewhat justify my writing all of this down, we need to look at four events that occurred between June and August 2025. Individually, none of them should matter or elicit much more than a shrug and a resigned sigh from me, but as a collective, they are a reminder of what my life has become since I made my one true mistake in this pathetic saga.

June 2025

In late June, I was offered a gig as a writing tutor at my local community college. It was part-time work without benefits, but it was a steady paycheck, and it ultimately did lead to an adjunct position in the same college and several positive professional relationships. Before I could be officially hired, however, I was required to complete a background check in accordance with Faith’s Law, legislation aimed at keeping schools and parents informed about sexual assault allegations and charges brought against any employee who works with minors. Thinking nothing of it, I sent the required information in so that the appropriate forms could be sent to my former employer, [REDACTED] in [REDACTED] where I had been a high school English Language Arts instructor for close to fifteen years. Unlike other companies that conduct similar background checks, this particular one sent copies of the final report to both the community college human resources department and to me, so that I can see what the report said. I opened the report to find the first page correct—name, supervisor, dates of service, position—but when I scrolled down to the second page, where three questions were asked regarding my former employer’s knowledge of sexual assault allegations or charges having been brought against me, I was confused and dismayed to find how they had been answered.

To the best of your knowledge, has the applicant ever been the subject of an allegation of sexual misconduct?

Decline to answer

To the best of your knowledge, has the applicant ever been discharged from, been asked to resign from, resigned from, otherwise been separated from any employment, been disciplined by you (the employer) or had an employment contract not renewed due to an adjudication or finding of sexual misconduct, or while an allegation of sexual misconduct against the applicant was pending or under investigation?

Decline to answer

To the best of your knowledge, has the applicant ever had a license or certificate suspended, surrendered, or revoke, or had an application for licensure, approval, or endorsement denied due to an adjudication or finding of sexual misconduct or while an allegation of sexual misconduct against the applicant was pending of under investigation?

Decline to answer

What the what now? That wasn’t the correct answer. That wasn’t any kind of answer. The responses provided literally meant “I will not provide an answer to this question.” This had to be a mistake. Surely, some lowly secretary got the form placed on their desk and, not knowing any better, filled it out without giving it any more thought than I gave when I authorized the background check in the first place. But no, the first page clearly stated the date of verification—July 25, 2025—and the name and position of the verifier: [REDACTED], Personnel Director. Of all people, the personnel director for a school district should understand how to comply with the legal requirements of a Faith’s Law background misconduct check. A quick check of the district website indicated that [REDACTED] was a recent hire, so perhaps it was an honest mistake: she’d never filled one of these out before and gave the wrong response. No harm, no foul. I’ll just call over to her office. But when I did call, after a few minutes of soothing breathing exercises, I received what might be the most nonsensical answer to any question since 42: “Well, I wasn’t here when you were here, so I didn’t know,” she said.

“But you have my personnel file there,” I replied.

Silence.

“There is nothing regarding any sort of sexual misconduct in my personnel file,” I told her. “I know because I went through it when I left the district.”

“The form asked about what I knew and I didn’t know anything,” she said.

“So then you check my file and answer no,” I said with admittedly more snark than she necessarily deserved. “I don’t think they care about what one person does or does not remember. They are looking for a record, and there is no record of any sexual misconduct or allegation thereof in my file, so you need to correct that form and you need to correct it today.”

Then [REDACTED], personnel director for [REDACTED], gave the one word response favored by civil servants with no real authority or power but who cling desperately to the illusion that they are in charge of something, of something important: “Okay.”

She was not going to correct the form that day, nor was she the next day, nor any day ending in -day, so I hung up and called the superintendent’s office. I had to leave a message because he was in a meeting—I personally believe with a frustrated [REDACTED], who had run in only moments earlier to complain about the angry former teacher she had just gotten off the phone with, but we’ll never know.

The human resources department of my future employer confirmed what I already knew.

“I just want to know if this is going to be a problem,” I told the lady after she pulled up my file. “I don’t understand why she answered that way, and I’m trying to get through to the superintendent, but is this going to keep me from being employed?”

“We do need a yes or no to these questions,” she replied. “We can’t move forward if we don’t have real answers.”

[REDACTED], the superintendent, called back an hour later. Forty-five minutes after my phone rang, I wished I had sued the school district when I had the chance.

I began by recapping my call with [REDACTED]. I then tried to explain that my concern about the way she answered spoke to a larger concern that I may have been, intentionally or not, misrepresented by the district to other school districts.

For six months, I had been looking for full-time employment in school districts throughout [REDACTED]. Having both a doctorate and fifteen years of experience meant that paying me according to union contracts would be an issue for some smaller districts, but several schools did interview me, and those interviews went, for the most part, quite well. One was a complete non-starter on both sides—the chair of the English department couldn’t be bothered to even look up from her notepad, let alone ask me a question—and another I blew when I said I believed grades were a necessary evil and in no way indicative of student learning. The rest, however, went smashingly, which confused me when, after they indicated they would be calling my references and my former employers, they all ghosted me. I couldn’t get anyone to return my phone calls, and none of them bothered to inform me when the positions were filled.

“And you’re blaming us for that?” [REDACTED] asked.

“No, I’m not blaming you for that, but I do find it strange that I keep getting ghosted after very positive interviews, considering that one of the first calls I imagine a district would make after an interview would be to verify past employment and get some background info. Now I find out that at least once my misconduct check has been answered with ‘Decline to answer,’ and yeah, I do wonder what’s actually being said about me over there.”

“Well, if she answered that way…”

“No, she told me that she answered that way. Her name is on the report. Those are her non-answers.”

“If she answered that way,” he repeated, “then clearly that was an option. It is her right to answer with the option she believes is correct, right?”

“I don’t know what the options were because I didn’t receive the original form,” I said.

“I have filled out these types of forms in the past and I have never seen one with the option to answer ‘Decline to answer.’ I’d like to see that form.”

“I assume [REDACTED] still has it in her email.”

“Can you send it to me?”

“No, I don’t have it.”

“I’d like to see it.”

“It was sent directly from the company. All I did was authorize them to do so.”

“Well, I’d like to see the form. Can you have them send me the form?”

I tried to stay calm. “I’m sorry, but the form is not the point. I have the report. I’m looking at the report right now. I am emailing you a copy of the report right now. The point is what it says and does not say on the report.”

“If she answered that way, she was clearly given the option to do so, and if she had the option, you would agree that she was within her rights to do so, wouldn’t you?”

“No, not when her answer is inaccurate and misleading. When I left, there was absolutely nothing in my personnel record about sexual misconduct, and there is an implication in her refusing to answer questions about that.”

“Has there been anything since you left?”

“No! I haven’t worked in [REDACTED] for three years! There better not have been anything added to my record! And I resent the implication!”

“Put yourself in my shoes,” [REDACTED] said after a long pause. “If I change any answers given, what am I supposed to do when the next angry teacher calls and demands I change something they don’t like? Do you see the problem?”

“First of all, I don’t care about the next person, I care about myself.”

“Clearly.”

“And second of all, this isn’t simply that I don’t like the answers. The answers are not accurate. They are misleading. Declining to answer is a giant red flag that says, ‘I’m not going to say anything, buuut…’”

“[REDACTED] did not answer ‘Yes,’ did she?”

“The correct answer is, ‘No, he has never been accused or charged with anything,’ since there is nothing in my record.”

“But did she answer ‘Yes?’”

“No. But she also did not answer ‘No.’”

“But she did not answer ‘Yes.’”

“Do you really not see why her refusing to answer might be upsetting and misleading?”

“She did not answer incorrectly.”

“She didn’t answer at all!”

“Look, what do you want? What do you actually want me to do right now?”

“I want the form answered accurately and correctly. I want you to change the answers to ‘No.’”

“I want to see the form. I have never seen a form where ‘Decline to answer’ is an option.”

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good.”

Click.

[REDACTED], the company responsible for the background check, was as confused as I was. They informed me that if “Decline to answer” was indeed an option, that was a mistake, and even if it was an option, “[h]e legally cannot decline to answer those questions.” [REDACTED], not [REDACTED], did eventually send in the corrections, for which I am grateful.

And I got the job!

Happy ending, right?

* * * *

August 2025

On August 13, 2025, at 4:48 pm, [REDACTED], a former student of whom I have no memory, sent a Facebook message request to me. The message read as follows: “Hey idk if u Remember me from class in [REDACTED] but I jus wanna remind you no matter your achievements your still a worthless chomo.”

I had to Google “chomo.” It is slang for “child molester.”

* * * *

For want of a horse, the kingdom was lost. For want of a job, my dignity was lost.

[REDACTED]’s school year began on August 12, 2025. The previous evening, I had attempted to log into [REDACTED], the district’s service for teacher absences and substitute teaching assignments, only to be met with an error message: “You have not been granted access to any [REDACTED] services. Please contact your district administrator for more information.” Strange, considering I had been working as a substitute in the district in April and May, only three months earlier. The service had been working fine back then. But subs are generally not needed during the summer months, so perhaps the district shut down access to save on bandwidth or access fees or something like that. Then again, why not open it back up before the school year officially began so that any subs needed in the first few days could plan out their schedules?

Had I been kicked off the sub list, and nobody bothered to tell me?

I woke up early the following day, hoping to get at least a half-day of subbing scheduled, but no, the system was still not letting me in. Curiouser and curiouser. Probably a glitch. Education technology has more bugs in it than the average Bethesda game. I contacted [REDACTED] in the Human Resources department and was assured she’d look into it. And the rest was silence. Five days later, I reached out again to see if there was any kind of update or if I was even still on the sub list. The silence continued.

Parallel to this confusion, I applied for a full-time teaching position in the English department of [REDACTED]. The position had opened up quite abruptly mere days into the school year, and I was ecstatic. Here was a full-time gig in my field, in the school I wanted to teach at, and in the town I wanted to continue living in. This was kismet. Serendipity. Divine intervention. I polished up my CV, double-checked my references, and sent off my application, confident—perhaps a trifle overconfident—in my qualifications. After all, I did have a terminal degree in Curriculum and Instruction, a bachelor’s and a master’s in English Language Arts, and fifteen years of full-time experience in secondary education classrooms. Plus, I lived in [REDACTED] and I wanted to stay in [REDACTED], a community not known as the most happening township in [REDACTED]. To put it immodestly, there are no applicants like me for high school teaching positions, let alone after the semester has already begun.

Let’s really impress them, though. Let’s make certain they know I’m serious about wanting this job. Let’s send them my official transcripts. It made sense in the moment, the way walking on clouds makes sense to people deliriously in love. In truth, my official transcripts were unlikely to make any positive difference as they only reinforced that I was at the upper end of the district’s pay schedule. Why pay for education and experience when you can get a pimply kid newly graduated with their bachelor’s for $25,000 less a year? It’s not like I had demonstrated intent to stay in education while half of all new teachers leave the profession within their first five years.

Basic human decency in the form of direct communication seems not to exist in the world of human resources anymore. Whereas once upon a time, an employer would inform an applicant that they were “going in a different direction,” a tactful but clear indication that “we don’t want you,” employers today seem unconcerned with so much as acknowledging receipt of an application, let alone of informing applicants when the position is filled. Of the myriad applications I’ve sent out these past twenty-five years, the number of acknowledgments I’ve received make up only a single-digit percentage. And the number of times I’ve been informed that they were “going in a different direction?” Maybe a fifth of that single-digit percentage.

In hindsight, I wish [REDACTED] had stuck to their silence, but for whatever reason, my transcripts got them to respond.

[REDACTED], the service used by my two alma maters to handle transcript requests, conveniently sends you an email when there are updates to your request: first when the school sends the transcript and then when the transcript document is opened for the first time. Five minutes almost to the second after I received an email informing me that my transcript from [REDACTED] had been opened and viewed, I received a phone call.

“Hi, Jonathan. This is [REDACTED], superintendent of [REDACTED] schools.”

“Um, hello.” I must really rank if I’m getting a phone call from the superintendent himself! Definitely nothing fishy about this! No sirree!

“I’m calling to let you know that we won’t be needing your services in the school district any further.”

Shock, or shutting down, is difficult to explain to someone who has never experienced it. Essentially, the brain goes into a low-level mode, functional enough to mostly regulate breathing but not functional enough for the most basic of cognition, which is a strange sensation because awareness is not affected. You are aware that your brain is not thinking, but you cannot do anything about it. You can hear yourself say, “Um, okay, um, well, um, thanks, I guess, for the call,” but you cannot connect the sounds you hear to any internal processing. You end the call and you’re not sure what the thing in your hand is or what you’re doing with it. You look up at your computer screen but your monitor is this amorphous blob of… what? Colors, maybe, but what are colors? What’s going on? I’m doing something. Doing? Looking. To look. Look what? And then you’re standing in another room talking, but you have no idea how you got there or what you’re talking about. Maybe it even made sense to someone, was I talking to someone or was I pacing? Pacing? I’m pacing. I’m walking. I’m where? In my living room. Walking in my living room. Talking and walking in my living room.

You do come back to yourself eventually, and when I was finally able to make sense of what I was saying to myself, I realized I’d been asking, “Why?” while walking back and forth across my living room. Then my brain finally reconnected whatever had been disconnected and I linked the question to the phone call and nothing made sense even though it did.

Why were my services no longer needed? That was the question, a perfectly rational question. And why had [REDACTED] been the one to call and tell me? Also a rational question. Rational questions call for rational answers, so I called [REDACTED] back, but he was, as is the pattern with superintendents, “in a meeting.”

I left a voicemail: “I’m sorry, but I’m a bit confused as to why I’ve been removed from the sub list. I was subbing in the spring and everything seemed fine. At no point was I informed of any problems or dissatisfaction with my work, and I know from experience that reliable subs are always in need. I have friends, teachers in [REDACTED], who have said there is a shortage of subs in the district, so I don’t understand. I’d appreciate a call back just to let me know what’s going on.”

But no one dared disturb the sound of silence.

Not that I needed a call back. I already knew—or more precisely suspected—the reason for my quiet removal from the sub list. Hadn’t a similar set of events happened over the previous six months in [REDACTED]? A very positive job interview, the promise of immediate work as a substitute for the remainder of the semester, and then silence. Ghosted. In the case of [REDACTED], I did know the reason, for that hoary cripple with malicious eye did gleefully inform me of the workings of her lie on my job prospects.

[REDACTED], lately the unemployed lover of a [REDACTED] manager and former principal of [REDACTED] High School, had been one of my professional references. She and I had a good working relationship built on mutual respect while I was at [REDACTED], and I thought nothing of listing her as someone who would speak to my strengths as an educator. [REDACTED] called me two days after my interview at [REDACTED] to let me know that the principal had emailed her to schedule a chat for the following day. What I also learned on that initial call was that she had been fired… no… correction… she had resigned mid-contract from her position as principal due to, according to her, a coalition against her led by the math department and her assistant principal, [REDACTED]. A quick, two-minute chat of “Hey Jonathan, just a head’s up that [REDACTED] called and I’m going to sing your praises tomorrow afternoon” devolved into an hour-long diatribe about the thousand injuries she had borne from all avenues of [REDACTED]. Matters were not aided by the slurring of her speech I kept hearing. By the time I managed to extricate myself from the rather one-sided conversation, I had to wonder what she was actually going to say the next day.

She called the next day to tell me: “I talked about your use of the Chromebooks and setting high expectations and working with those challenging students. I also did explain about why you left [REDACTED], and I’ll tell you why I did it. I felt it was important to spare you an uncomfortable conversation. But don’t worry. I assured him that you were never investigated, never accused of anything, that, in my opinion, you were simply not supported at all by the district and hung out to dry. I wanted to do you a favor so you wouldn’t have to explain all of that yourself.”

Gee. Thanks. Because that doesn’t sound like I’m hiding anything. No sirree, please and thank you.

The days of silence became weeks of silence. I could not get anyone from the [REDACTED] school district to answer phone calls or emails. The weeks became months. Finally, out of frustration, I called the superintendent, who was “in a meeting,” and left a message explaining that I simply wanted to know what was going on since the job I had applied for was still being advertised but no one could be bothered to get on the phone and tell me, “You are not wanted.”

The superintendent, whose name I to this day could not tell you, did not respond. Instead, he passed the message along to one [REDACTED], assistant superintendent for human resources. Small town school districts love their Venti titles. So important sounding.

[REDACTED]’s response was refreshingly succinct: “I don’t know why the position is still being advertised since the one opening has been filled and the second was eliminated due to student enrollment. As for adding you to the sub list, we are an at-will employer and are under no obligation to hire anyone for anything.”

“No, I never said that you are obligated to hire me for anything. In my message to the superintendent, I said that the woman I spoke with three weeks ago very enthusiastically said she was going to add me to that night’s board meeting agenda since the district is desperate for subs and that I’d be put to work right away. I would just like to know what the problem is.”

“There is no problem. We simply are not hiring you.”

“Okay but it doesn’t make any sense to ignore a potential sub who has extensive experience in education when you are in need of subs. There has to be a reason why I’m not even being considered.”

“I have nothing more to say on the matter.”

[REDACTED] has since retired and is currently studying to become a Catholic deacon. He’s interning in my home parish.

If [REDACTED] had screwed my prospects of a full-time job at [REDACTED] High School, it stood to reason that she had also screwed my prospects of substituting in [REDACTED]. And since principals and superintendents are well known to examine opportunities, exchange gossip, and spread rumors whenever two of them are in the same room, it stood to reason that [REDACTED]’s little favor might have made its way from one part of the county to another.

Did [REDACTED] truly intend to make me look bad? Yes. No. Who is John Galt? I’ll never know for certain, and it is possible that despite her being a professional educator with years of experience, she genuinely had no idea how her words might sound and genuinely believed she was doing me a favor. It is also possible that octopuses are alien entities.

I really should have sued [REDACTED] when I had the chance.

And then I got a second email from [REDACTED]: “Your transcripts from [REDACTED] have been delivered.” But not opened. Not read. Delivered. So I waited. And waited. And waited. And I got angrier. And angrier. And angrier.

A week passed, and that transcript was never opened and viewed.

It may very well be a hard-knock, dog-eat-dog, kill-or-be-killed life, but that doesn’t take the sting out of flagrantly unfair experiences. I was a good teacher. All of my references, [REDACTED] notwithstanding, would have said nothing but good things about me. Ask [REDACTED], my supervisor at [REDACTED], who I worked for as a graduate assistant during the last two years of my doctoral studies. Ask her what my work ethic is like. Ask [REDACTED], who I worked with for five years at [REDACTED] and on whose behalf I once told a principal, “I don’t want you to hire her because that means I’ll lose her as a colleague, but you would be a fool if you passed her up.” I’m fairly confident [REDACTED] would have something similar to say about me. But no, don’t you dare go past the angry and resentful ex-principal who may or may not have been forced to resign due to creating a hostile working environment which resulted in multiple teachers threatening to quit if she didn’t. And above all else, by God, don’t give me the chance to explain anything. Don’t hear me out.

In the end, fueled by frustration and no small amount of despair, I attempted to stage a sit-in. I went down the central office for [REDACTED] and said I wanted to speak with the superintendent, fully intending to take a seat if he was busy and refuse to leave until he gave me the five minutes I deserved.

He was not in a meeting. He was out of the building. On vacation. In another state.

But I could speak with [REDACTED], the assistant superintendent. So that’s what I did.

“I am fully aware that I am shooting myself in the foot coming here like this. This is not the professional way of handling the situation, I know that, and I know that I am never going to get a job in this school district after this. But I just want to know what is going on. I was thrown off the sub list for no apparent reason and no one told me. And now it’s clear that I’m not being considered for a job that I am more than qualified for, a job for which there are simply no other candidates like me. That’s not me being egotistical. I have a bachelor’s and a master’s in English, I have a doctorate in Curriculum and Instruction, and I have fifteen years of experience as a full-time high school teacher. And I’m not even being considered.”

“Why do you think you’re not being considered? Has someone said that to you?”

“No one had to. [REDACTED], I had my transcripts sent here hoping to convince whoever of how much I want this position. But five minutes after the first transcript is opened and viewed, literally five minutes, I have the email confirmation, five minutes later, I get a call from the superintendent telling me that my services are not needed in the district. Are you going to tell me that’s coincidence? That the superintendent of the district normally makes that kind of phone call? And my second transcript arrived a week ago and has yet to be opened. Because why look at the transcripts for someone you know you are never going to hire.”

“I can’t speak to anything [REDACTED] has said or done. I have not heard anything from him about you or any concerns about hiring you or anything of the sort. He is currently out on vacation this week, but I will look into this and see if I can get you some more information to put your mind at ease.”

“To be perfectly frank, I believe someone from [REDACTED], my former employer, is slandering my name behind my back. In fact, I know at least one person did so when I applied for a job at [REDACTED] because she told me so did so.” I thought of [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]. “And I have reason to believe that others may at the very least be misrepresenting me. All I want is the opportunity to respond if that is the case.”

“You have my word,” [REDACTED] said as we stood and shook hands. “I will speak with [REDACTED] first thing Monday when I see him and have him or someone from human resources reach out with whatever information they can provide.”

Fifty-three minutes later, my second transcript was opened and viewed.

But when [REDACTED] reached out the following Tuesday, he wasn’t very forthcoming.

“I got your message and talked with [REDACTED]. As I said before, we do not need your services in the school district.”

“But why not?”

“We… no longer need your services in the district.”

“But that’s not a reason. Especially not when there is a shortage of substitutes in the district, to say nothing of the serious lack of candidates for the English position with my kind of credentials. I don’t understand why I don’t even warrant a token interview or even acknowledgment. And is it a normal part of your job to call someone and inform them they are no longer needed as a sub? Isn’t that a little outside your job description?”

“I have made those calls before, yes.”

“Okay. Well, I think we both know that’s bullshit, but thanks for at least calling me back.”

So it goes.

* * * *

June 2025

On June 29, 2025, Father [REDACTED], pastor of [REDACTED], contacted me to ask if I would be interested in being a catechist for [REDACTED], the parish’s Sunday school for primary children. Under normal circumstances, I would have declined. Children and I have never really gotten along. Once as I was leaving work, I stopped near the gymnasium to read a text message, only to realize that the basketball coach’s five-year-old son was playing on the floor beside me. I looked down at the child, the child looked up at me, and then the child began wailing. One of the basketball players stuck his head out the gym doors, saw the two of us standing there, and said, “Wow, you really can make kids cry just by looking at them!” Casually interacting with children, though, is different from being in a classroom environment with them, even more so, in theory, when said classroom environment is a religious one. Plus, six months of job hunting and being unceremoniously rejected or ignored completely left my self-esteem a bit low. You can only say “It’s their loss” so many times before you start to wonder if you just might be the problem.

I responded with an enthusiastic “Absolutely! Yes! I’m in!” In an unknown corner of Hell, ice began to form.

However, my troubles with the [REDACTED] school district in August shook me. [REDACTED] is a small town, where everyone knows who’s having an affair with whom and also about that time in the place with the thing, so I became concerned that, if somebody had indeed been slandering my name, word might spread to someone within the parish. And then maybe, just maybe—but probably not, because most people are rational individuals who think through things before passing judgment—someone might raise an objection.

Head it off, Johnny. PR 101: get out in front of the story. I didn’t have anything to hide, but events in [REDACTED] were—and are—deeply uncomfortable for me to discuss openly. Leaving [REDACTED] was supposed to have closed that chapter of my life, to put [REDACTED] and her sins behind me, but a brand is a difficult mark to eliminate, and if branded I be, then show my brand I must. And this is a man of God. Surely a man of God is going to understand and sympathize with my position.

I arranged a meeting with Father [REDACTED]. I told him everything that happened in [REDACTED] prior to my leaving. I explained the [REDACTED] school district’s dismissal of my employment prospects and my suspicions as to their reasons. I reiterated that I had done nothing wrong, that no one had accused me of doing anything wrong, and that I had passed all my background checks—including one done by the Diocese of [REDACTED]—with flying colors. I said that I didn’t want someone to hear any rumors and then make a stink about my working with the children of the parish, that I didn’t want my baggage to adversely impact the church or the [REDACTED] program. I said if he was not comfortable with my being involved, I would understand and bow out. He thanked me for my honesty and asked for some time to pray and discern on the matter.

Father [REDACTED] called me a week later and asked if I would be okay as a substitute catechist instead.

I want to believe he intended to protect me from being in an environment or situation that might cause me anxiety, which is not unreasonable. However, this was one more rejection in a long line of rejections that had nothing to do with my qualifications. Hell, these rejections didn’t have anything to do with me at all. I was paying for someone else’s mistakes. I could not get a full-time teaching position, I could not get a job substituting in a school district, and now I could not even teach Sunday school.

All while [REDACTED] suffered so few repercussions that she was able to smile for one of her [REDACTED] registry photographs.

As the late Jim Gardener might say: Good fuckin’ deal.