Sorry no kittens here, just stark cold reality. Child Abuse is not a pretty thing, but please don't look away!
April is National Child Abuse Awareness Month
I really never thought about child abuse until a few years ago. I knew about it, of course. I just neverthought about it.
Coming from a happy home with two parents who spoiled me rotten, I had no reason to think about it. I watched made for TV movies like David, about a boy who was set on fire by his father, and Sybil, a woman who blocked out her atrocious childhood by creating different personalities. Both were true stories, but somehow they didn’t seem real.
And then I met Kennesaw Taylor. Kennesaw is a boisterous guy, always in good spirits, and has a smile on his face. He writes about the south, and life in general. He has several humor books about how crazy is the new normal.
And you would have no idea about the horrors of his past unless you picked up his other book. The one without smiling faces, the one with the dark cover. The true one.
Informally Educated is the story of Kennesaw’s survival. He never has had an easy life, and it just kept getting worse and worse as he grew older. He was only eight years old when true evil entered his world. It would remain for six years until the evil was finally snuffed out.
Kennesaw’s recollections are vivid and horrifying. However, what is really disturbing, is the people who knew. The neighbors, the teachers, the police, and yes even his mother. The adults who knew that he and his siblings were being harmed, and looked the other way.
I was aghast. I was upset. I was mad!
And what does Kennesaw reply when I ask him about it? He just shrugs and says “That’s how it was back then”.
It was. And the sad thing is, that it still happens today. People still look away.
A poem about child abuse
By Kennesaw Taylor
Die Sweet Child
I’ve watched men die, held their hand, heard their final breath.
Men who had proved themselves; men who had passed their test.
I’ve watched men die who needed it, men who had no heart.
I see them in my dreams sometimes, but am glad I did my part.
The words I speak now are so damn true, most will not understand.
Sometimes you wish to die to avoid again, that awful hand.
I hope you cannot understand what it means to wish to die.
I understand oh too well and for those kids I cry.
I’m sad each time I hear the news that a child has lost its fight.
But I know in my heart of hearts that they will sleep in peace for the first time that night.
So die sweet child, one after one until the world does see.
That they must put a stop to what happened to you and me.
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