As a musician, he built a business on his terms, one small stage at a time, and now plays at least five shows a week. Our niece and nephew run to him, and our chiropractor once called him the nicest man he’d ever met.His shoulders and arms, muscular and tattooed, project strength and confidence.“You’re so lucky,” women tell me after they hear him sing.There is a hum about Trav—Hawaiians call it “big mana”—so much so, people might be shocked to know about the other, darker parts of him. It doesn’t matter anymore, he says, so I suck in my breath and nod. I listen, and I do not laugh when my husband needs to secure the perimeter of our home each night. “I’m just another kid who got molested.” This breaks my heart to hear, but he’s not wrong about his story not being unique: The generally accepted estimate is that one in six men are sexually abused as children. Trav believes his story is too familiar to be interesting.
For all his bold stage presence, he is an extremely private guy.My husband does not want to be a spokesperson for child sex abuse survivors.