The quiet trauma of child abuse

Like any young kid, he had an innocent face with eyes that glow with promises of the future. The first time I saw him as a toddler, there was a sense of confidence that with discipline from both mom and dad, the kid would someday be very successful in any field he chooses.

Somehow, there must have been a hollowness as he struggled to make sense of what lies ahead of him. Dazed, he couldn’t figure it out. Then, the solid earth upon which he walks started crumbling. He tried to reach for mom and dad. They were too busy to listen to his needs. When he reached adolescence, both his folks no longer have time for him. He broke out on his own seeking peer comradeship. His first test was a murder case that landed him in prison.

I passed by the jail compound in Susupe connected to the main building. There he was, alone, in a corner facing the fence he’d see for a good portion of his young adult life. I felt for him knowing both his parents. I pulled over on the shoulder of the road and waved at him. He came to the fence where I was standing with a pack of cigarettes for him. I quizzed what must be going through his mind oblivious to the inmates smoking and passing time.

Said he: “Wasted, Mr. DelRosario, wasted and how I wish we could turn the hands of time”. His eyes were moist because we both knew that he could have done better with his young life. I told him how I wished he could come with me with the promise that he’d listen to my advice and discipline. He remarked: “I don’t that with my crime they’d let me out under such an arrangement. Not for murder anyway”. He walked back to his chair as I left depressed at such wasted talent.

Driving back to work that afternoon, I knew that the kid wanted to unload what he’s been harboring in his chest of all that had gone wrong. Perhaps someday I will return and ask to talk to him just to let him open-up and release what he’s kept for several years now. I’m convinced that as soon as he opens-up he’d be able to gradually exit the quiet trauma and shadows of neglect he had to endure as a young boy. So what’s my point? Devote quality time with your kids!

Battered Women

Our community has been in self-denial about battered women many of whom have been intimidated by their spouses of more beatings if they contacted authorities for assistance. These women have been forced into an environment of fear and often pray for answers (any answer) in their quiet moments sobbing silently through a long night quizzing if the physical beating is done for the day.

This is the mother of our children whom we’ve apparently taken for granted. She handles house chores that would drive any man up the walls. Perhaps the notion that she’s a house wife seems to establish the wrong attitude that her role are easy to fulfill. Not only does she handle the family budget in the most prudent manner, but walks the extra mile at night to ensure that the kids complete their homework before retiring. And her task isn’t done either and not when there’s a toddler who needs his milk during the wee hours of the morning. All these while good old dad rests peacefully in his sleep.

I often wonder what would provoke physical beating. I mean, you know that a woman’s best weapon is her mouth, a totally harmless weapon that is usually washed down in tears. She knows you’re physically more powerful so she wouldn’t even dare lift a finger. Thus, the automatic weapon that fires off steam not that she wants to get even but unload her own share of frustrations. Why then use your fists? Why not sit down and talk things over? Or do you have problems communicating in your own native language? Think about it. She too deserves respect from your side of the street, eh?