Not all abuse is at the hands of adults... |
68 Minutes The low hum of the engine, the rocking of the bus, another day for school, another day of broken trust. As we approach his stop, I cringe and pull inside. but no matter how I try I know I cannot hide. He’s just another boy tall and gangly, that’s been labeled “special” 'tho he just seems slow to me. It’s a daily ritual when we’re at his stop. He slowly walks back toward me and I find that my eyes drop. The driver turns a blind eye amidst the jostle and the jeers. Am I the only one to see his eyes fill up with tears? I’ve tried to tell my parents and officials at the school but they don’t ever listen they think that I’m a fool. "Kids will always be kids", at least that’s what they say. But I don’t want to be a kid if this is the price I have to pay. I silently stand by and watch - I learn a lesson straight from hell. I wonder at the cruelty and why a part of me dies as well. And so for 68 minutes as I ride the bus each day I withdraw, protect myself, and silently I pray. “God, help me find the strength to do what I know is right. Let me practice what I’ve been taught to stand for the weak and fight.” But instead, I slide on the seat and don’t offer him a place. He continues to the back where no one shares his space. I know that his small bruises will all heal with time but the wounds that I have witnessed will last OUR whole lifetime. Notes Not all abuse is obvious and not all is committed by adults. Sometimes the worst abuse comes in the form of silence from ourselves and from those around us. “We have met the enemy and he is us” Pogo Thank you for taking the time to read my work. Please take a few extra seconds and comment. Criticism and praise equally accepted Ken |