By: Julia Hart
I’ve been a fan of Louis CK for quite some time. When I say fan, I mean he’s been my favorite imaginary partner for ages. I was one of the few who actually tuned into his first HBO series, Lucky Louie. I’ve followed his FX show, Louie, from the very beginning, often enjoying it in a dimly lit room with a glass of wine (because ambiance is key when spending time with someone who only exists in your head). As a single parent, I’ve resonated with his reflections on the chaotic world of dating post-divorce, often nodding along with a sense of camaraderie. His insights on parenting after divorce are a brilliant blend of humor and heartache, and anyone who has navigated this journey knows he’s largely spot on.
What makes him relatable to so many is his unvarnished honesty. He takes the stage and candidly shares the moments when he loses his cool with his kids. He discusses the uncomfortable realities of mid-life dating with a rawness that is hard to ignore. One of my all-time favorite quotes from him about food is: “I don’t stop eating when I’m full. The meal isn’t over when I’m full. It’s over when I hate myself.” Good luck avoiding that one at Thanksgiving.
Like many edgy comedians before him, he sometimes ventures too far. He delves into themes of self-loathing, body image, and the absurdities of daily life. Most of the time, he has me laughing uproariously because, let’s face it, my imaginary partner is hilarious.
Recently, he hosted the finale of Saturday Night Live. I didn’t catch it live—after all, even the most devoted fans miss their make-believe partners occasionally—but I did view his opening monologue the following day. I was apprehensive since I had heard whispers about him crossing some serious boundaries.
He began by reminiscing about how different life was for those of us raised in the ’70s, touching on some sensitive topics but keeping it brief. The humor? Underwhelming. This wasn’t the Louis CK I adored.
Then he transitioned to discussing child molesters. I couldn’t help but cringe. It’s difficult to watch someone you admire say something that feels way beyond the bounds of acceptable. He recounted stories about a neighborhood predator from his childhood and made jokes about the man trying to lure teenage boys to fast food joints, even giving him a silly French accent.
He even compared pedophilia to his love for candy bars. He joked that while he loves Mounds bars, if indulging could land him in jail, he’d stop. He remarked, “Child molesters are very tenacious people” and noted how exhilarating it must be for them to risk so much.
Now, before anyone accuses me of lacking a sense of humor or missing the point of comedy, let me clarify: I remember Lenny Bruce, stayed up late for Richard Pryor specials, and even witnessed Joan Rivers and George Carlin perform live. I consider the late Bill Hicks a comedic genius. I appreciate humor that challenges norms and sparks discussion, and I usually embrace it.
As I listened to Louis CK’s remarks about child molestation, however, I couldn’t help but think of my friend.
A few years back, I was at work when my phone rang. It was my best friend, sobbing. I work at a lively elementary school, so I had to find a quiet spot to understand her distress.
She was devastated. A close family member had sexually abused one of her children. Have you ever heard the raw anguish in a loved one’s voice? It’s heart-wrenching. She cried as she recounted the details, blaming herself for not knowing and mourning the loss of her child’s innocence. I listened, feeling utterly helpless.
My friend is incredibly strong. She confronted the abuser and reported him to the authorities, risking her marriage and family ties for the sake of justice. While she knew the damage was done, she was determined to ensure the perpetrator faced some consequences.
In the end, he did pay a price—he took his own life after charges were filed but before any trial began. Throughout her ordeal, I listened whenever she needed to talk. Sometimes, being there is all you can do. I learned that the abuse extended beyond just one child. I was sickened for her and her innocent kids. I had even interacted with the abuser, and it infuriated me that he had deceived everyone into believing he was a good person.
When he died, I felt no sorrow. I mourned the facade he had maintained, the person he pretended to be to my friend and her family. I grieved alongside her, knowing that while the scars on those children might fade with time, they would never fully disappear. I’ve watched her navigate life with resilience, fiercely loving her children. She’s truly admirable.
As parents, we do everything in our power to protect our children. When someone violates that trust, part of us breaks. I saw the change in my friend; a light in her eyes dimmed. Such horrors should never occur to a child, nor should any parent have to endure them.
That’s why I couldn’t find humor in Louis CK’s comments about child molesters. I saw the backlash online—people shocked, and others insisting, “You just don’t understand.” One tweet read, “Anyone who didn’t think that was funny has no sense of humor.” I shook my head. How fortunate those people are to find humor in it while being blissfully unaware of the realities others face.
Louis, I still have a fondness for you. You can maintain those restraining orders. However, as a fellow parent, I urge you to reconsider the lines you cross. Some cuts are deeper than others.
In summary, while Louis CK’s humor often resonates, his recent monologue about child molesters crossed a line that is challenging to overlook, especially for those who have experienced the pain of such trauma. As parents, we constantly strive to shield our children from harm, and sometimes, the boundaries of comedy can hit too close to home.
For more resources on home insemination and parenting, check out this article on intracervical insemination and learn about the CDC’s recommendations for pregnancy.