Today I look in the eyes of the prepubescent boy who is about to be labelled for life. He knows it. I know it. But neither of us dares to share our anger. He holds the shame in his eyes, in his heart but not his words; telling of how he behaved in school. I see his innocence, his fear. Today he met with an evaluator who is going to decide on a whim whether or not he will be able to be 12. He will decide his label; safe or a danger.
This boy was abused by his paternal grandfather and hid it for six years. Left that hole of stolen innocence to bubble and boil until he continued the cycle. He didn't know that what had been done to him was wrong, he didn't know why he felt shame, he didn't know that what he did to his 4 year old cousin was wrong.
He is going to be locked up, key thrown far away. Labelled at 12 for something he didn't know was wrong. But neither of us say anything. We don't talk about it. We just carry on. He will leave and go on to become a label. Just another label. And a new child will come along and take his place in my heart. The look on his face, the fear in his eyes, that will join the glossary of emotions I have seen on other children's faces. The worst part of my career is seeing the looks and knowing the feelings but not being able to address the problem. Sigh.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment