A Shattered Heart

It was just another lunch time at the summer education program. I, wearing my plastic gloves, was feeding Andy, Angel, Ozmar, Yolanda and Princess and attempting to keep up a conversation with Olivia, Princess’s sister and Andy and Angel’s cousin. She was telling me about her family and then casually mentioned, “Sometimes Andy’s mom gets mad and slaps Angel and Andy.” In that instant, with a spoonful of hamburger gravy in my hand, my heart shattered.

I looked at the two smiling four-years old cousins Angel and Andy who were pouring milk all over and singing songs no one else knew the words to. Those boys were a handful; we even joked about how Angel really should have been named Devil. However, I could not imagine someone hitting those beautiful boys, especially someone who was supposed to love them. They didn’t deserve that. It was in that instant that I was outraged about child abuse. I had heard horror stories and read the book A Child Called It, but this time it was my boys’ faces that burned red under someone’s hand. My mom is an elementary education teacher, and when I interviewed her for my sophomore career paper she said the worst part of her job is seeing children she knows have been abused. Abuse takes the light out of a child and can change their personality for the rest of their lives. I still can’t understand what would make an adult hurt a child they love.

Sadly, the thing that outraged me nearly as much as the abuse itself was that I couldn’t do anything. Sure, I could turn Andy’s mom into child services, but they would probably leave for Texas before anything could be done. Besides, would he better off in some foster home away from the family that did love him? That night I drug myself home from work, and just cried. I cried for my boys, for all my students going back to unsafe homes, and for all kids who live in fear under their own roofs. I just didn’t know what to do, and that was infuriating.