I have vivid memories from childhood about consequences. I was a kid that liked to test my limits, see how far I could go just to make people laugh. But what I also remember is my mom telling me no matter the wrong you do, you always attempt to make it right. I can remember being mean to the neighbor kid and my mom making me go over there and apologize to both him and his parents. It wasn't that the act of being mean was going to destroy this kids world but it was just the right thing to do. This lesson followed me through my entire childhood and adolescence as I attempted to define my life. No matter what obstacle or roadblock I have been met with I always try to make it right.
I'm a kind hearted, fun, passionate and giving person. I'm not one to take life to seriously, so when the word courage or bravery comes up, its not typically under my name. But on the flop side, when someone does something I don't agree with I cant help but say something. Brave people save people from burning buildings, serve our country and swim with sharks. I wish to do none of those things and commend the people who choose to. I'm scared of the dark, can't stand pain, cry when sad movies come on and bruise easily. But when someone stands up for what they believe in, something they don't agree with, is that being brave? Or is it simply doing what your parents taught you from a young age....the right thing.
She walks into class with a frown on her face. Her hair is unbrushed with no required bow. Her shirt has yesterdays lunch on it, but you'd never know she hasn't ate in over 24 hours. Her dad recently went to prison, leaving the family with no income. She has 6 brothers....the only girl. No one talks about how her dad landed in prison but we all know its for selling his only daughter to the village men. They took their turns on her until she cried so loud the neighbors complained. She is 6 years old. Every time I see this child I hold her in my arms as if it were the last time I will ever get to. Her life is shattered and has barely started.
Her eye is swollen shut. Her head presents gashes the size of the island. She has been beat repeatedly with a hammer by a man she claims to love. She cant leave is what she says. Four kids with a fifth on the way. How will she support her kids through school when he controls the money? She says she deserved it. She said that last time he put her in the hospital. The father still walks the streets as if he didn't just put his lover in the hospital. He says she deserved it for not listening and she should learn better next time. She dies two days later. I attend her funeral with tears running down my face, knowing she could of got out with the right support system in place to assist her.
She is the shining light of the classroom. Never one to complain and always goes the extra mile to ensure her work makes her teachers proud. She lost her parents to AIDS a year ago, just one week apart. You could never tell she lives in a shelter for girls by the way her clothes are pressed nicely, not a wrinkle in sight. Her hair is always braided and you wont see a speck of dirt on her. She loves to read, choosing to spend her time reading in the corner over playing jump rope outside. She told me she wants to study in America, become a doctor and research AIDS until she finds a cure. She has more potential then any of the well off children in class, but will she ever get to use it? I look at her with such inspiration, hoping this world helps her out.
His favorite color is pink. But he would never tell his friends that, so its blue. He spends his time researching famous gay people of the U.S. like Ricky Martin, Ellen Degeneres and Lance Bass. He went on a date with a girl this week but explained to me he had a terrible time. She made him do things he had no interest in while his friends cheered him on. He has become an introvert because he feels he cant share his emotions with anyone. Secretly at night he cries to himself in pain that one day he will be able to be himself. He is gay, but not in this society. He sneaks out of class to my room to talk to me just so he can vent his feelings. He feels safe with me. My heart shatters everyday he tells me how much he is hurting inside. I wish I could take it all away.
Issues like above are true stories that I wish I could say I made up, but I didn't. These aren't news stories that get overlooked and brushed to the side with talk of wars and economic stability. This is the reality here, one that makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck, my heart break and my nights sleepless. For the first time in my life I'm experiencing something I cant research and find the answers to (I tried), or even begin to conquer myself. My mother reminds me I cant do this alone and need the help of everyone around me. She tells me to relax and remember how blessed I am and where I came from, but that isn't solving these immediate problems. I want to help these kids more then I want to do anything in this world, so I must believe what she tells me and do exactly what I have been trained to do: Doing the best I can with what I have.
Some people see the worlds problems and say "that's sad", others stand up, take responsibility and do something about it....
