Years ago, I used to go once a week to the Children's Home In Tampa, Florida. I'd go with a couple others to introduce Christianity to our 8-9 year old charges. At the last stage, I was pleased that I'd actually drawn a map of generations between Christ and now, clouds, angels and all! I thought it was right, but - tsk! - the kids cared not!
But initially, I found this exceedingly hard. It was less to do with the kids or what we were doing, and more to do with me 'working with others.' Not something I do well (unless they're convicts (my job))....certainly under the auspices of a church! That said, I grew to it: to the children mainly. They were busted-up kids suffering from excessive need, terrifying withdrawal and probably the worst aspect: hope. One kid used to sidle to another 'teacher' of my ilk...she would recite 'Song of Songs' from the bible...it royally pissed me off. Why? It seemed somehow inappropriate. As it turned out, this wee fella had been taught that encouraging sexual pleasure from an adult was the way to 'happiness'. Truly, it was a way to survive. Mercifully, she left - a hair appointment or five.
Over the three years I went, it came with certainty, and more dread. Naturally, I put this down to me. But during that time, I saw the upshot of prospective parents or 'reformed' parents who came, took home their newly beloved child, and then promptly returned him/her. These dumped kids made me see that the 'boy-who-pleased' I mentioned before, has been shown the 'need-to-last-chance.' Kids dumped back had less and less spirit. They sorta shut down. Can't blame them. I dreaded the times I visited just after prospective parents showed up; moreso, the I mourned at the weeks following.
Those kids were Kudzu-laden trees. They stood little chance in hell.They grew from umbilical to umbrageous. Their roots were phantoms. Just before I, and my most steadfast partner (whom I grew to love dearly: she was not like me but she honestly understood & her empathy was vast!) left our session, we herded our 20-so kids into the kitchen for the staff to give them their last snack of the evening: we brought the snack; they brought the drugs. EVERY KID had to take the drugs. I'm sure some were tailored, but sedatives must have been part of that programme. How in hell do you run a 500+ children's home - in barracks - without the absolute need for control? There were every age, in different barracks, spread across a hectare or so of land.
I'm not damning the 'staff' at all. But, sure as shit, I'm damning the need.
Why do we cast off our spawn...like spent sperm?We talk of our planet dying, of polar bears and ice-shelves. Yet, we rid ourselves of the very thing that [apparently] defines us. I am appalled to hear today of a case I've been following: Manchester
Funny that, at the age of 50, my sister asked me the name of our parish priest back when we were nippers - before the great atlantic trip, and I came up with it!
Monsignore Thomas Thomas J Finney was our priest and manager during our rather tumultuous upbringing when I was a child (up to near 7). Funnily enough, that name plucked out of me to my sister's calling - I was 50 then! So far as I know, no one had ever mentioned him, but he came out faster that a magician's bunny. Strange what you remember, yet it was not until then that we could really 'see.'
We worry about our planet. We think 'polar bear.' Shouldn't we wonder about what we've discarded?