Another innocence lost
When you look into the eyes of a young girl who has just been raped, it's like someone just slammed their fist into your chest. Your heart aches, you feel shocked and angry. You want to cry.
Pear is an affection-starved childlike 13 with a gregarious personality. Her figure is not yet fully developed, and her curly hair usually hangs unkempt. Pear won our hearts the first day she showed up at The Well with one of our other teen students who had invited her.
She had quit school during sixth grade, and before she arrived had been working at a karaoke bar, making a bit of money to sit and talk with older men. Pear's mom claims that she was uncontrollable, but we have observed no particular behavior disorder other than the normal result of lack of parental attention.
Last night Gai, our new housemom at what is now essentially our teen home, called at about 9:30 to say that Pear had not returned home. Gai and other students spent the next 3 hours or so hunting for her, because someone reported that she had gone with one or more guys.
Pear returned early in the morning in tears. They had locked her up and taken advantage for hours. The main perpetrator, whom she knew, told her to come back on Saturday and bring a friend.
She stayed upstairs for a long time, consoled by Gai and Nute, a student intern. Later she came down and asked to talk to me. We sat down with Nute in the office, and Pear simply leaned over, formed her hands into a wai, whimpered, “Dad, I'm sorry,” and put her head on my knee.
Today Judy and Nute took her to the hospital and police station. It's a gang situation so could get messy. I saw them eating at the police station, and Pear was already cheering up, showing me the bandage on her arm where blood had been drawn to get some extra sympathy.
We need to move the teen center to a remote neighborhood that is not so accessible to trouble--even within days if funds are available. We are also working on starting outreach to working-class young guys. They come by the thousands from the countryside into the city with no education, skills or direction, and often end up in addicted lifestyles.
Before going to the police station, I picked up Nute's tiny 3 year-old daughter for her at school. She doesn't know me well so was a bit frightened but trusting. I picked her up and she put her head on my shoulder, obviously too tired to worry. Carrying her down a narrow street from the school to the main road, holding her close almost like a body guard fending off cars passing inches away, I pondered on what the world does to such little ones.
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Reply #10 on : Mon December 31, 2007, 20:26:11