Children,..can be cruel to each other! Be a Child advocate!

 

I was reflecting today on how cruel teenagers can be to each other, after I was unexpectedly thrust into the middle of a name-calling incident at McDonald's this morning around the breakfast hour.

At first, I was shocked by the demeaning slurs these young hoodlums hurled at each other (which caused every decent person within earshot to cringe) but then - it struck me - that my own generation often acted the same way when they got caught up in the "mob mentality" in a spontaneous fit of anger in the school yard or after hours in the playground.

In those vulnerable years, it is so important for these insecure young adults to feel a sense of belonging, to be cool.

That's why they copy-cat each other when it comes to fashion trends, rebel against their parents and authority figures, and do battle with their teachers.

For the most part, the immature little brats are totally unaware of the hurt they cause.

Or, at least, not until it is too late to make amends.

Yes, words have power.

Unfortunately, the ugly free-for-all, dredged up a handful of painful memories that weren't too pleasant to re-visit.

In the sixth grade, for example, I was attending Regent Heights High school in Toronto, when a misunderstanding with a neighborhood friend literally rocked my world and plummeted me to the edge of a frightful abyss.

Gordon McKinnon grew up in the house next to mine, and when I moved in, we became fast friends.

Gordon was thin as a rail - crowned with a carrot-top and freckles - and was blessed with an infectious grin.

Uh-huh!

He was quite the rambunctious high-strung kid.

And, blessed with a remarkable gift for tickling the ivories on the old piano, too.

Every day, we trotted off to school together - and oftentimes when class was out - we hung out at his home until his parents arrived back from the office around the dinner hour.

Then, out-of-the-blue one day, a silly misunderstanding caused a rift between us.

I can't recall what triggered the split in our friendship, but once Gordon spitefully dug his heels in, it was all out war.

The situation worsened to epic proportions over a bagged lunch.

Whenever my foster mother was out for the day, she bagged me - a sandwich, snack, and piece of fruit - to chow down on in the cafeteria.

Of course, I was keenly aware that if the other kids found out that Mrs. Collett wouldn't allow me to come home for lunch on my own if she was out, that they would taunt and tease me no end.

So, to avoid that embarrassment, I would sneak home each day that I was forced to pack a lunch - slip into the garage surreptitiously - and wolf down the meal with no one being the wiser (and my cool image would remain intact).

Unfortunately, one day when I was starting to climb in the back window of the garage, I was caught in the act.

Mrs. Collett returned early one day and noticed me walk up the drive with my lunch in tow.

After a brief interrogation, in which I noted that the other boys would make fun of me for having to take a bagged-lunch to school, she thoughtlessly called up Gordon's mother to complain about his inappropriate behaviour.

As you can well imagine, that didn't go over well with Gordon, because he  ended up getting racked over the coals royally by his parents.

Consequently, one day when I was idly chatting with friends at recess, Gordon dashed up from out-of-nowhere and started to rant and rave.

"You don't belong here. You're from a poor part of town. Go back where you belong!"

Of course, he was reacting to the background information his mother relayed to him, about me being a foster child (everyone else thought I was a distant relative of the Collett family).

The disturbing mean-spirited remarks were uttered up to insult and demean me in front of the other kids.

Needless to say, I was deeply hurt, and in shock.

Frankly, I was emotionally scarred by the incident, too.
.
Unfortunately, it is not a memory from my youth that is easy to shake to this day.

But, in a positive light, I have to admit that it was an experience that has made me painfully aware - as an adult - about how important it is to shelter children from these kinds-of-abusive situations in childhood that can haunt an individual for life!

Today, I am an advocate of children's rights, because of it.

And, I know from whence I speak!

http://www.julianarys.com

Disc Jockey's comments about 10 yr. old daughter inappropriate? Child welfare, please...

A couple of DJ's were chatting on a  talk show the other morning and having a big chuckle over delicate matters regarding a Disc Jockey's 10 year-old daughter.

Frankly, I was shocked by his disgusting comments, which - ultimately - took a poke at his daughter's budding sexuality on the airwaves around the Nation.

Some nurturing father!

For instance, the radio host (in-between ads for the Tim Conway Jr. show)  laughed to one of the disc jockeys at his side, that his daughter's "nipples" were just "popping".

What kind of language is that to use in respect to a child's blossoming?

But, it was another remark that really floored me.

The sick radio personality laughed that he strolled into the bathroom on one occasion when his naked daughter was taken a bath - and subsequently - caught her shampooing her "one" hair (in the vagina area).

What a - rude, insensitive, distasteful comment - to utter up about his innocent young child, with the specific aim of entertaining strangers tuned in to the show.

One person I spoke to noted that he thought that one of the Disc Jockey's names mentioned in the broadcast had a  daughter who was younger, so I have to wonder if he was just using her as a spring board for a series of jokes that may have been totally without any substance?

Even still, to project those ideas (fantasies?) over the airwaves (especially in view of the current ongoing "Stiles" case underway in Las Vegas) is morally wrong.

Does a loving father really want his young daughter to grow up and have strangers joke to her at a later date, that they used to listen to her father joke about her public hair and nibbles on the radio?

If the disc jockey in questiion has stole custody of the girl, then I would urge that Child Welfare pay the  household a visit.

Who knows, maybe he's walking around the house with a hard-on or having sex in front of his daughter, without shame or heart-felt concern for her mental (and sexual) health and overall well-being.

Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but in my view, children need to be protected from this kind of senseless (dangerous) conduct by lame parents who don't think about the ramifications of their actions.

Did he never consider the possibility that by talking in such risque way about his child, some letch on the other end of a radio may become titillated by the fantasies, and go after her?

In my mind's eye, he was placing her safety in jeopardy, when he elected to use her as a sexual punchline!

Shame!

William Butler Yeats once wrote:

"The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time."

http://www.julianayrs.com

Gone Baby Gone...a morality tale! Admirably directed by Ben Affleck...

Opening narratives normally turn me off, but in the case of the feature film - "Gone Baby Gone" - the device worked quite effectively.

While the dialogue was a bit preachy as the opening scenes unfolded, undoubtedly, it was Casey Affleck's insightful interpretation of the scripted material that touched a chord.

In sum, his voice evoked a ring of truth which resonated.

One critic noted that Ben Affeck's directing debut on "Baby" was a bit rough around the edges. True.

But, just maybe, he was going for that natural Independent film look without all the slick Hollywood touches.

With a delicate hand and a keen eye, Affleck ushers us into the heart of the story without much fuss or bother.

A young woman's daughter has gone missing.

Without a ransom note - and after a police investigation for three days on a cold trail leads to dead ends - an aunt approaches a young gumshoe (played capably by Casey Affleck) to poke around the neighborhood for clues.

Affleck's character was raised in the area and has inside associations with the locals - so when police leads turn cold - the distraught woman turns to the private dick for help.


With his pretty baby face - and naive demeanor - he appears to be an unlikely candidate for the task. But, when it comes to a crunch, he holds his own admirably.

As he swaggers into the underbelly of the hood, he mixes and mingles with a cast of colorful distasteful characters.

Some individuals would throw up their hands in disgust and retort "white trash".

For sure, casting could have been conducted on the Jerry Springer show.

Actually, Affleck pulled people from the streets to play a handful of small parts in the intense drama.

Hitchcock often cast minor roles with relative unknowns. The legendary directory felt that if an actor's face was less familiar to the audience, it may lend more realism to the film.

It works here!

A lot of the language is pretty foul (raw) with no holds barred.

And - as the story progresses - the bizarre twists and plot turns become a little convoluted!

It's a sordid tale about child abuse, dirty cops, and a slice of life that middle America would prefer to cast a blind eye to.

Some judicious editing would have tightened up the project somewhat.

But, this being Ben's first "baby", he goes all out (what the heck).

When it's determined that the child has not really been "kidnapped" at all, but taken to "save her" from her from a squalid existence, the piece becomes a morality tale.

A question arises.

Should the child be returned to the rightful parent - an immature drug-addicted selfish one - or stay with a family that will provide a loving home and the needs of life?

At this juncture, the floodgates opened for me.

I suppose, I have a confession to make.

When I was seven years old, a strange man came up to me on the street outside my elementary school - addressed me by name - and then asked me one question.

"Are you happy?"

For the life of me - to this day - I can't recall my response.

The next day, he reappeared on a mission.

After my clothes were packed into little bags, he bundled me up into a late model car parked out front.

As we drove off, I stared out the window and caught the distressing image of my mother standing on the stoop, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Although the details are still a little vague, I recall being taken into a small courtroom; then - with little more ado - I was made a ward of the State.

In moments, I was whisked away to a quaint little house in the suburbs, where I was placed in the care of a pleasant elderly couple.

A few days earlier - a couple of my mother's friends had been involved in a drunken brawl - which resulted in a serious injury to one man's head.

In what seemed like seconds, in a nightmarish turn of events, police and medics swirled all around the humble little dwelling, as the authorities tried to resolve the issues.

After an urgent plea from distant relatives and neighbours, child welfare was inclined to release me from my Mother's care, and place me in the custody of the State.

There's a line in the film:

"You are who you are because of where you haven't been."

Over the years, I have reflected on the past, and occasionally it haunts me.

Would I be the same person I am today, if I had not been transplanted from my "roots?"

Although I was nurtured and given the necessities of life - schooled, taken care of physically, mentally, and emotionally - sometimes I long for my youth.

There is no substitute for a Mother's love...