A New Kind of Hero: John's Story

A New Kind of Hero: John's Story

By Nonjabulo Mlangeni

In our latest blog, we profile John Crespo, a corrections officer in New York City. John shares how his Klinefelter's diagnosis challenged his identity as a man, and how he fought his way back to confidence. A powerful story on positive masculinity, emotional healing, and choosing to be your own hero.

When I ask John Crespo how Klinefelter Syndrome has played out in his life, he talks about a childlike innocence. To use his own words, he was "very naïve," and not alert to the true motives and natures of people around him. This issue would continue well into adulthood, when he finally learned how to protect himself.

Many people with XXY have some trouble processing social cues. But beyond that, some find it hard to understand the darker parts of human nature. How to tell a real friend from a fake one ... who's with them for the right reasons and who's in it for themselves.

When these questions are hard to answer, the world can feel like a maze. Confusing, isolating, and a whole lot of work to figure out. But John also worked hard in other areas. In school, he remembers studying more than his peers, just to pass by the skin of his teeth.

Some boys with XXY have language-related challenges, particularly in the area of reading. While John did find it hard to retain what he read, his primary challenge was expression. Though he had plenty of ideas and opinions, he didn't always know how to articulate them. This feels like knowing the point you want to make but struggling to find the right words.

"When people speak to me, I know a lot," he says. "But I don't always know how to place my words correctly."

Although John noticed this issue, it didn't set off major alarms. It was actually on the sports field that he started to wonder if he was different. Though he was a solid athlete, and had no problem gaining muscle, he struggled to recall football plays that his teammates remembered just fine.

At first it was just frustrating. Later, it was more: a sinking feeling that something wasn't quite right.

"I started to wonder what was going on with me, and to isolate myself ... I played lots of video games as a way to escape, because I knew something was going on with me, but I wasn't sure what."

At home, his parents didn't know either. They were a Caribbean family trying to make it in no-nonsense New York. For many immigrant families in that hard city, the bootstrap mentality rules. If you want something, you can have it; if you lose, you didn't work hard enough.

This belief system has helped generations of people to make something out of nothing. But the bootstrap mentality makes it hard to see that not all failure is for lack of trying. In the home, it can blind parents to the fact that a child is legitimately struggling and can't just work harder.

"My parents didn't know I needed more help," John reflects. "My mother didn't know what was going on and my father, being a strict dad, I think he thought I was just being lazy."

Looking back, John sees that he didn't seek help because he had low self-esteem. To young men in the same position today, he suggests you reach out to a school counsellor, or another adult with the ability (or education) to see things that those around you cannot. They can advocate for you or even help you find the language to express what you're going through.

Heroic Dreams

Though there were challenges, John always learned. Even negative experiences helped him indirectly. By highlighting what didn't work, they brought him closer to what could.

The first thing he discovered is that he does better with practical learning. "I'm more of a hands-on person," he says. "With reading, it's harder to comprehend—but if you show me a couple times, I can do it."

He was also learning who he wanted to be, though even that wisdom came through pain. His parents had a difficult relationship that brought emotional trauma into his life. But it also gave him compassion.

On a deep—even guttural—level, he knew he was called to help vulnerable people. Those trapped in toxic cycles, hard places, and pits that seemed to swallow them whole. In truth, John dreamed of becoming the hero that he himself once needed.

"I always wanted to be a police officer," he recalls. "Because of my own past and my own vulnerability at a young age, I wanted to protect people who couldn't protect themselves."

To Protect and Serve

At 28, John took the written state exam to join the police force. It took a year for them to reach back out, but the call finally came. In 2017, he started a rigorous three-month training that took everything in him to complete. The physical and academic requirements drove his anxiety through the roof. But he'd promised himself to finish what he started.

"A lot of people didn't make it past the first week, but I needed to prove to myself that I could and that I wanted to. That made me feel strong. I also had support from my loved ones, which grounded me."

Soon, John was officially a corrections officer. Though he didn't know he had XXY at the time, he can see how it shaped him. Being more sensitive than other men, he had higher emotional intelligence, which actually gave him an edge in the workplace.

I listen as he describes how XXY has positioned him as something of a middleman. Because he easily empathizes with both men and women, he understands the emotions and thought patterns that drive human behavior. It's a much-needed skill in most corrections systems.

"I call it my superpower, because I can understand both genders. [As a result] I can deescalate situations on the job without getting physical."

He's also able to humanize those he serves. "I try to understand where people came from. Not everyone was born with a silver spoon or had the childhood they deserve. I'm able to understand, like 'I grew up where you grew up; I get it.'"

Diagnosed at 36

In late 2021, John was a newlywed and eager to start a family. He went to the doctor to check if he was able to conceive.

"That's when I got hit with a curveball," he says.

Not only was he not able to conceive, the doctor believed it may be the result of a pulmonary tumor. When John's CAT scan showed he was cancer-free, additional bloodwork revealed it was XXY.

"The way I found out was crazy. I didn't have a doctor call me or anything. I just got an email. My wife was away on a travel nursing contract, so I was also alone when I got the news."

He felt broken. The infertility hit especially hard. Partly due to the expectations of those around him, partly because of cultural expectations of what it means to be a 'real' man. That odd list of standards society holds men to: (1) be stoic, (2) be dominant, (3) reproduce.

John had never conformed to items one and two, and now he'd learned that number three may be a pipe dream.

"I'm the oldest son in my family and the only one without kids," he says. "When you're my age and don't have any, people assume it's 'cause you're selfish. Then when you tell them you can't, they get nosy about why."

On the home front, the fertility issue put strain on his marriage. This deepened John's devastation and ultimately led to a year-long depression. In that season, he completely stepped away from work to process the news and stabilize his relationship.

This time helped him heal, not just from the XXY news, but also things that hurt him long before. He took time to rebuild: travelling, educating himself about Klinefelter's, and getting intentional about his mental health.

Through therapy and XXY support groups, he learned the importance of boundaries. For the first time in his life, he created some. Of course, this caused some backlash in his social circle, but he doesn't regret it. In learning to say no, he disrupted a lifelong cycle of being taken advantage of.

At the same time, testosterone therapy was doing a transformative work. Admittedly, the adjustment period was tricky, as the first few months were an emotional rollercoaster.

"I felt like I was 16 again," he says. "You're getting hit with all these hormones, so it feels like puberty all over again. The mood swings, the anger, the sexual appetite ... [even] feeling like you know better than everybody, like teenagers do."

But it was worth it. Today, he has more emotional control. When things go wrong, it doesn't feel overwhelming or seem like the end of the world. He's also become more confident across the board, which has helped him show up differently.

"I've always been sporty and worked out, but the testosterone helped me get my body to change in the ways I want it to. But the change was more so emotional. I'm more confident with my words and have more courage to stand up for myself. I just said, 'enough is enough,' and started to change my ways."

The Last Word

Today, John's still involved in corrections, though he has a bigger future in mind. A year ago, he started the process to become a federal Amtrak officer. But it wasn't the hope of promotion that inspired him; he simply felt capable and called to do more.

"I want to serve my community on a higher level," he says.

And it certainly rings true. He was already serving in ways that he may not have even recognized, just by being his authentic self. Doing the 'manliest' job there is, with none of the hardness that the world expects. In defying stereotypes, John pushes back on our culture's distortion of what it means to be a man.

In reminding men that there are many ways to show up in this world, he represents a new kind of hero. Not like those heroes of old, who set standards that none of us could live up to.

"When I was growing up, a man who was sensitive or cried was considered weak," John says. "But you don't have to be a certain way. You don't need to be barbaric."

"I grew up holding so many grudges because I was never able to express myself in this narcissistic culture. Now, I accept myself as I am. You don't need to hold your feelings in and be this stone-cold person. All that does is bring damage to yourself."