"I'm running away," he blurted, his chubby face struggling to maintain its cold, hard attitude.
Oh. Oh. Why?
We were driving along home from a busy day at work. I was tired. I was happy. I was hungry; I hadn't eaten since the morning, and the casserole I had put in the oven that morning was looking more and more delicious. I hoped they had saved some for us.
We sailed around The Snake's Back, braking slightly to keep from going off the road. And as we went around the top of the S curve, we saw him. Wearily waving his arms, he plodded despairingly along towards us in the opposite lane.
"Huh. What's he doing?" I asked Mom. "Doesn't he know that he shouldn't walk there, that he might get hit?"
Mom looked in her rearview mirror. "That's odd. Do you think he was waving at us?" She slowed significantly, and turned around in a neighbor's driveway.
"I don't know," I said, a concerned feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Mom rolled down her window as she slowed down by the boy, who had stopped, staring at us, expressionless.
"Can I help you?" Mom asked.
"I'm running away."
We were silent. Shocked. What?
"Okay," Mom said, drawing out the word. "Okay. Why is that?"
"They don't want me there. My grandma hit me with a belt on my face."
"Oh." We were silent. Abuse? Or punishment? Then, "Why did she do that?"
"Oh, she doesn't like me," he replied sullenly.
My stomach was in knots. Oh God, what do we do? I knew that you can't brush things like this of, no matter how many children are simply over-reacting. But, then what? Call the social services? Never! So, what?
"Oh," Mom said again, quietly, seriously. "Why doesn't she like you?"
"I didn't listen to her."
Everyone was silent for a minute.
"Won't your family be worried about you?" Mom asked.
"No. She said I'm not welcome there."
"Oh." Again she drew the word out, thinking. "Where are your parents?"
He said they were in another state. That he was staying with his grandma, and had been staying with her for several years. That she didn't care about him.
What do you do in such a situation? He didn't have any bruises or scratches, and didn't look mistreated.
We talked to him a bit longer and learned that he is homeschooled, ten years old, and that he had
been walking for at least two hours.
We needed to get home - we had things that needed done right away - but we couldn't just leave him there. Mom asked him if she could call his dad, or call his grandma. He didn't know his grandma's number, and refused to give his dad's number. He said that he would walk to the gas station a long way down the road and call his dad there. Mom told him that it looked like it would be raining, was he ready to walk all that way in the rain? And did he bring anything with him? Any clothes, any books? No, nothing. Only his light t-shirt and shorts.
He was tired. We both could tell that. As Mom told me later, it seemed like he just needed someone to tell all his troubles to, and then all his anger would evaporate. It was very clear that he had walked off in the heat of his anger, and not really thought much about it. If it was deliberate running away, he would've packed food and clothes, and probably not walked on the road. Mom asked if she could drive him home, but it was obvious that he had been strictly warned about strangers, for he wouldn't get into our car. There was no other option, then, (or so it seemed) but to just let him go home. He wouldn't let us drive him home, he wouldn't let us call his dad, and we had no proof other than his own words that his home situation was abusive. If I knew that the social services would do him good, and he wouldn't be further hurt by them removing him from his home, I would entertain the idea of calling them. But there were no marks on him that proved abuse.
Still, the empathy in me struggled with just letting him go home, with not being able to do anything to help him. Because most likely there /is/ something wrong in his home. If he was shown proper love, he would not be running off like this. If his home was secure, he would not think he is so unloved and uncared for. Yet, truly, I do not know the situation, and because of that I am sitting here doing nothing for him.
As we drove away, I told him where we lived, and told him to come there if he ever needed anything. Poor guy. If only I could help all these hurting children. I know so well what a child needs (although showing or telling people how to do it would prove difficult), and I so wish I could help every one of them. Because they need it, and parents today are doing such a sorry job.
For example, the lady at the park several weeks back. I was sitting at the jumping pillow, watching my two sweet youngest siblings jump with all their might, and the lady sitting a little behind me and to my left began to yell at her son. This little boy wasn't more than four, probably three, and she was just laying it on him for teasing my brother. You know, the regular game - "Come get me, come get me! Na-na-na-na-boo-boo!" Then, "Help! Help! He's coming to get me!"
At first I thought she was just trying to get him not to tease my brother, and didn't want him running away from where we all were at the jumping pillow. But she seemed to get worse and worse. Eventually it went like this; "Johnny! Sit down right now! And don't get up! You're not getting up till your grandmother gets here! I don't know why you're so bad! SHUT UP! See your sister over there? Why can't you be good like her?" Then to her daughter, approvingly, "That's a girl, Susie. Here, let me take a picture of you." Then to "Johhny" again, "SIT DOWN! I told you not to get up! Look how bad you are! You aren't going to get any sort of treat for your behaviour!" And on and on like this. What's more, she was saying it in a really mean tone, and had such an ugly look on her face.
Now, "Johnny" wasn't a total angel (citing his natural boyishness) but I saw no excuse to be punishing him, especially in such a cruel way, and especially out in public. He was such a cheerful little boy, and I fear how it will be for him as he grows older. I suspect if she keeps up the "Why don't you be more like your sister" act, then he'll resent "Susie" and his mom. And I don't doubt he'll try to break ties as soon as possible.
It almost made me cry. I was almost shaking by the time we left, and I really wanted to talk to her. Unfortunately, by the time I brought up enough bravado to go over to her, Dad was ready to go, and I had to get the children's shoes on. I hope she did notice my disapproval of the situation, though. I kept looking over at her, a frown on my face. It just makes me so angry and about to cry when parents refuse to have patience and kindness when working with their kids. Why have kids if you are going to treat them so wrongly?
It really works me up.
And just yesterday, I saw a mom - twice - just pull her crying little girl up by the arm and give her several whacks on her bottom. Sure, the little girl didn't want to go wherever her mom was taking her, and was making an awful fuss, but in public? Spanking should never be used like that. The parent is not supposed to be hitting them into submission. They are supposed to take their child aside, tell them why they are getting punished, and quietly and lovingly punish them.
But parents will be parents.
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