A Girl's Life Online (26 page)

This letter wasn't written to me, it was written directly to the judge. He was only writing that letter to try to look like a decent person. The only thing that he wanted me to feel toward him was pity. I think he wanted me to feel bad that he was going to jail and that I was taking him away from his sick mother.

The only thing that upset me was his desire to apologize to me in person. There was no way I could say yes to that, but I worried that this made me a bad person. He wasn't asking for forgiveness, just a chance to apologize, and because I didn't give that to him, I felt bad. He didn't deserve that chance, but it was very difficult for me to say no.

Frank Kufrovich did eventually see me one last time. It was at his sentencing hearing in a courtroom that was much more crowded than it had been for his guilty plea. He had brought several character witnesses, including his Catholic high school principal from Pennsylvania. They all got up and said what a good man he was. Imagine that, a school principal pleading on behalf of a pedophile. Then Frank spoke for himself. He begged for pity. I refused to look at him.

When it was my turn, I rose with a strange mixture of anxiety and confidence. I started speaking fast, reading from a statement I had put on paper. The judge interrupted, asking me to slow down. I did, and I told them about how Frank Kufrovich had stolen two years of my life, two years of my childhood, that I could never get back. I told them about the pain I had suffered, the guilt and shame. And I told them that I was lucky to have a family and friends and school that helped me through it all.

“He is not worthy of being a member of our society,” I said. “It is not a God-given right. A citizen has expectations and responsibilities to meet. When these basic requirements are not met I think it is vital for the institutions of this country to protect our society. . . . I am looking up to you,” I told the judge, “because you alone have the authority to determine how this man is going to spend the next few years of his life.”

When the judge ruled that Frank Kufrovich would be incarcerated for eighteen months, it meant absolutely nothing to me. I don't think I cared because I didn't know what a fair sentencing was for a pedophile. I also didn't want to think that this was the price for my suffering.

Outside in the hallway I saw Frank surrounded by his supporters. I stopped and stared until Agent Barndollar touched my shoulder and said, “You did good.”

A
s Agent Barndollar said, I did good in that courtroom. But the pain I continued to feel inside told me I hadn't done enough. I still felt empty and confused, like part of me was still his victim. I needed to do something public, something that would destroy all the secrecy and maybe, in the process, lift my shame. The shame would only go away when the truth was told and accepted by everyone who was important to me. This had happened with the people at the courthouse and inside my family. All that was left was my community at St. Paul's.

Four times each week, everyone at St. Paul's takes an assigned seat in the chapel for a ritual that has been going on for more than one hundred years. It always includes a reading from Scripture, a presentation of some sort—a speaker, skit, or performance—followed by a hymn and a prayer. Nobel Prize winners and presidents have come to speak at the chapel. When the rector suggested that I might like to speak in chapel, I knew it was the right thing to do.

So on a September afternoon, after the Scripture was read, I stepped up to the pulpit to face about six hundred of my peers and my teachers. I began by reading them a newspaper article that summarized the case of the
United States of America v. Frank Kufrovich
. The article said that “the victim, who now attends an exclusive boarding school, told Senior U.S. District Judge Ellen Bree Burns that ‘Kufrovich robbed me of two years of my life.' ”

When I finished reading the article, I paused for a moment, took a breath, and then continued:

“Two years ago I didn't really know what a pedophile was. I am still not sure how some of the events took place. I couldn't have known I was beginning a two-year struggle.

“The pedophile who went after me threatened to hurt me and my family if I disclosed any of the events that happened to me. Following the incident I was immediately confronted with the hardest decision of my life, to press charges or keep this information hidden to myself and live my life pretending as if nothing had ever happened.

“I went almost a week without notifying my parents or any authorities. I literally felt as if I were guilty of everything that he was guilty of. I know if it weren't for my conscience, I probably would have let this go.

“You may think, as I do now, How could anyone let something like this go? I can tell you that ninety percent of these cases are not recognized because victims—who feel afraid, ashamed, guilty, and even responsible—will not speak. . . .

“. . . After I formally pressed charges I was called to give reports at an FBI office. I had a polygraph test. I testified at a grand jury. The hardest part for me was beyond the courtroom doors and interview rooms. The FBI strictly admonished me to only speak of this matter if absolutely necessary. Even to this day, I am not allowed to reveal all of the details.

“But I can tell you that this case has affected me every day of my life and affects many decisions that I have to make today. I lost many of my closest friends at home. Keeping this hidden affected my health, and worst of all, my sense of myself. At times I even lost faith in myself as a person.

“Through all of this, I learned many valuable lessons. I have learned how to be tenacious through the judicial system. I have learned that life is not fair. I have learned to believe in myself. I have learned that how a person handles setbacks really speaks a lot about their character. I have learned that nothing good in life should be taken for granted. . . .

“. . . I am now trying to take the most horrible situation in my life and turn it into the most positive aspect of my life. And I believe that this represents a great accomplishment. As JFK once said, ‘A mistake doesn't become a mistake unless it goes uncorrected.' Life is not about setbacks, but how you overcome them.”

I stood at the podium for a few moments as I began to see people put their hands together and clap. I then saw a few people from various parts of the chapel stand up. I began to cry when I saw my friends stand up and cheer. Finally, I was no longer a victim.

A year after I spoke at chapel, I am now preparing to go to college. At boarding school I still use the Internet, for communication and research. It is a wonderful way to keep in touch with people. In fact, much of this book was transmitted, in one form or another, over the Internet. At home, my parents continue to let me use AOL—I guess they figure I've learned my lesson—but my sister Carrie, now thirteen years old herself, isn't allowed anywhere near the Net.

Of course, the Internet was only one factor in what happened to me. I was also affected by my own insecurities, by my isolation from my family, and by the sexual pressures that all young girls experience. A little older, and a lot wiser, I am better able to choose my own path. I am stronger.

I can't say that thirteen-year-old girls in general are any stronger than they were four years ago. I can see on television, and hear in the conversations that adults have, that a lot of people are worried about adolescent girls. Unfortunately, I don't see or hear anything being done to help them. Parents still prefer to deny that thirteen-year-olds live in a sex-saturated world. New Canaan is still a place where physical beauty is valued over everything else.

I am shocked by how much Carrie struggles and yet denies that anything difficult is going on. I know she is confused about boys and dating and sex, and yet she doesn't even admit any of this. It is almost like she thinks that talking about it is wrong. She doesn't understand, and nobody seems to be able to help her understand, that
not
talking about it is really dangerous.

I cannot offer a prescription for a society that seems to value girls as objects and sets them up for the kind of predator who invaded my life. I can only tell you what might help your friends, your sister, your niece, your neighbor, or your daughter.

Understand the world she lives in. It is more adult than you can ever imagine, and the pressures she faces would be difficult for any grown woman to handle.

Let her be heard. Every girl says she is doing fine. But if you just spend the time, you might hear the rest of the story. And if she just won't talk to you, give her a chance to connect to another adult. In the time after Frank, I have gotten help from teachers and counselors who were much easier to face than my own parents.

Let her know she's not alone. The shame I felt when I was thirteen came about because I thought I was alone in how I felt.

Help her see her own value. Too many girls seem willing to believe that their worth is determined by other people. The Internet has created a new avenue for the predators who would exploit this insecurity. Girls who have goals, real connections to family and friends, and a sense that a world of opportunity awaits them seem to be inoculated against this danger. I feel that way now. I wish I had felt that way back then. Before.