My fourth article from www.mentorpatch.com!
She talked of places she wished she had been – places she wished someone would have taken her – the zoo, the museum, the park.
The girl, we’ll call her Becca, recently turned 18 and therefore “aged out of the system,” leaving the safe haven of a school for abused, neglected, and underprivileged teens. When I learned her story last week, she was on the way back into her reality – a home that had been anything but a haven during her childhood years.
She wished for someone to bake cookies with her.
Instead, she was neglected by her mother, hungry, malnourished.
She dreamed of planting a garden outside in the fresh air.
Instead, she hid in a closet, trying to become invisible.
She wanted to learn to make clothes for her doll, maybe a dollhouse.
Instead, she learned that no place was permanent, no place was safe.
Now expecting her own child, she hopes for a new beginning. She believes those that hurt her in the past have changed. She believes she can create a better life for the child within her.
While Becca dreams of her future, I can’t help but think of her past – the little girl she could have been. The little girl she might have been. The little girl she should have been.
Will anyone take the time to teach this young woman how to be a mother? Will she break the cycle of neglect and abuse into which she was born?
As adults, and especially as parents, we are in a position of great power. But as we learned from Spider-Man, with great power comes great responsibility. Circumstances like Becca’s seem hopeless. There are so many who need our attention; there are so few hours in our day. Is there something – anything – we can do?
The world is full of opportunity.
I remember the story about the little boy who spent every morning throwing the starfish that washed up on the beach back into the ocean. A man saw his determination to finish such an endless, thankless task. He said, “You can’t save all of them. How can you possibly make a difference?” As he threw another starfish back into the water to live another day, the little boy said, “I made a difference to that one!”
Maybe we can’t make a difference to everyone. But can we make a difference to just one? Could we change the world for a little girl like Becca? Definitely.
When my 6-year-old asks to bake cookies in the kitchen, I’m inclined to think of the mess, of the chaos that will ensue. What I should think of is the opportunity I have to spend time with her.
When she asks me to dig in the dirt with her outside, I should jump at the chance, not complain about the mess all over the driveway. When she wants to learn to sew, I shouldn’t cringe at the thought of her wielding a needle – I should hold her in my arms and teach her.
These are simple things to us. But as I learned from Becca – not so far removed from the little girl she once was – the simple things might just mean everything.
