My mother failed me that day. I remember that the day in fifth grade that I came home from school to tell her I had been selected to be an altar boy, she was ecstatic. I never saw her so happy. The fact of the matter is that if I tried to tell her that I had been molested by a Catholic priest, she would not have believed me. If I could have reported this to the police, they would not have believed me either. The truth is that back then in 1961 nobody could or would believe a twelve year old boy was sexually molested by a priest. I was taught in Catholic school that priests were Gods' representatives here on earth. Priests were a little less than the angels. I believed this myself. So I must have deserved what he did to me. No other conclusion was acceptable. About six months later, I made the first attempt to hang myself by attaching a belt around my neck and attaching it to the top bed railing of my bunk bed. My brother walked into the bedroom. I tried again later but didn't succeed.