INDIANA
The Republic
Dennis McCarty editorial@therepublic.com
Published: 12/29/15
A few Fridays ago, my better half, Kate, and I decided to take in a movie. Our choice was “Spotlight,” the docudrama about newspaper coverage of the Boston Archdiocese sex abuse scandal.
This topic hits close to home with me. I’ve been on the receiving end. It’s not something I talk about a lot, but from about ages 8 to 11 I was a sexually abused child. More than 50 years have passed, but it still bites me from time to time.
I’m a movie buff, though. “Spotlight” got phenomenal reviews, and everyone said the abuse part was tastefully and delicately handled. So off we went, figuring everything would be just fine.
Which it was, mostly. I’m definitely glad I saw the movie. But about halfway through, I started to tear up. Then the part that really got to me was when the reporters began to realize just how many Boston children had been sexually abused: hundreds.
That’s when I burst out crying.
Yep. Crying.
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