He was 12, a small framed little boy with dark skin and a beaming wide heart, and a bright smile. His short life started in turmoil. His dad in prison and a mom who left him at a very early age. However the love of his life was his grandmother. A grandmother who cherished him and tried to teach him right from wrong. A grandmother who sent him to school each day thinking, assuming he was safe. His name Tre Juan Figures (Trey) a relatively happy child who rode a bike, played basketball like many other young kids in his community. That happiness faded each day as he went to school. Each day as he left home and knew that he would be embarrassed, bullied, and made to feel worthless. Day after day this continued and a little boy who wanted to be happy began a downhill spiral. A spiral which ended in a bedroom decorated with little boy things, Harry Potter Books, baseball cards, basketballs and such. A room in bitter silence as a little boy hung there lifeless no longer able to endure the pain of this world. His family had notified the school repeatedly of the abuse. of the bullying of the sadness endured at the hands of classmates. Tre Juan did have troubles yet he did not deserve this. What can be done? I guess only time will tell. The investigation continues. ( Sad but true. The info I obtained from the local paper and gossip of course. No matter , it sickens me to my gut. How many children endure abuse at the hands of their peers. I myself was not popular as a child and I am sure things in my life were very much affected by this. My youngest child just this week after hearing of this sad tragedy told me that she endured harassment in the 5th grade. Why? How can we make this stop? Let's do something, anything. Let's make a difference. Please comment.)
A few weeks ago I decided it was time for me to visit a gynecologist for a routine PAP. I had not had a check up in maybe I don't know 10 years or so. Is that smart? Probley not. Anyway I went and after filling out mounds of paperwork and answering questions which I may not have been totally honest about I was taken to a room and told to undress. Oh Yeah!. You can just hang your clothes there I was told. I looked over to a small rack behind the door. Then I hoist my oversize body up to this table to sit. I am given a flimsy sheet of paper maybe 14x24" to cover my breast. another a little larger meant to cover from waist to knees. And I sit. I look at my watch and the minutes drag by. I look around the dingy little room. Clean yet not like the ones portrayed in popular magazines. I wonder if this is how it has felt for many women who find themselves in a little back office awaiting an abortion they would rather the world not know about. I am alone. Naked, on a little table waiting for someone I have never met before. Naked for a total of 35 minutes. Alone. I thought about getting dressed and just walking out. I feel ok. I don't really need this. But I stay and then he enters. A man with salt and pepper hair. A crooked yet pleasant smile. Mid 60's I would say as he peers over the top rim of his glasses. And then as he talked gently and calmly and I realized that he is actually just as wonderful as the women who had been to him before have told me that he is. The women I work with , nurses ,women who have also visited this office and who have also sat here naked on this same little table. And wanted to leave yet stayed and then invited someone like me to endure the same. Then just as quickly I am dressed and walk out into the world with a cloudy sky and the brisk cool air of November and I wonder to myself will I come back next year or will it be ten. Oh well, time will tell.