The Orlando Child Abuse Show reminds me of a conversation I had with my folks a couple of years ago. This was back before I had dumped cable, so I was watching Law and Order: Sex Crimes on (I think) USA, one of the unending marathons of that show. I tuned in for the last ten minutes of a show about a kid who had been raped by a priest or a coach. Then I watched a whole show about, I dunno, international child porn. And right before that show ended, they put up a promo for the next show, which would cover the charming topic of teenage hookers.

Remote. Off button. Pick up book.

But I got to thinking about the weight of all those awful (in many senses) story lines. L&O: Sex Crimes has been on for a long number of years. Could there really be that many different stories about underage abuse? (Obviously, this was before I had spent a lot of time in Orlando.)

So I called up my Dad, who had been an assistant prosecutor in the Calumet Region during the 70s, and I told him about the three-in-a-row child sex crimes marathon. I continued: “Can there really be that many child sex cases, even in New York. Dad, you were a prosecutor in Hammond in the 70s. Hammond must have about 90,000 people in it. How many of these kind of cases did you prosecute a year?”

Dad thought about it. “Around 20 a year, I guess.”

I was surprised. That seemed like an awful lot, I told him.

“Keep in mind, I was one of three assistant prosecutors. And that’s just the cases we brought to trial. At the time -- and I’ll bet this is still true -- you only took one of these cases to court if you had no doubts and irrefutable proof. Because you were going to ruin somebody’s life. So with that kind of proof, most guys didn’t want to go into court, so they plead out. And sometimes if the cops were sure, but there was no evidence, they would just beat the shit out of the guy, and tell him he was dead the next time.”

“So you were seeing how many of these cases?”

“Maybe 50 a year. And like I said, there were other prosecutors.”

Gobsmacked. Jaw hanging like a marlin on a rumpus room wall. After ten years in New York and five in Chicago, I thought I had a pretty clear sense of how depraved the world could get. And here were my parents, once again proving that I will likely never know as much about the world as they do.

I was about to say so to my Dad, when he continued, “And that doesn’t even count the bestiality cases. Hey Nona! How many bestiality cases did you see a year at Legal Aid?”

“Why do you want to know?” I heard my Mom ask.

“Your son is shocked at how many weird sex crimes there are.”

“Oh.” Mom thought. “Four or five a year, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Dad said to me. “That’s about what I saw. Four or five a year.”

“Bestiality.”

“Sure.”

After we were done talking, I realized how much more horrifying L&O: Sex Crimes could be.