Head injuries

The pictures are often similar–tiny faces surrounded by tubes, bruised little faces and bodies.

Shaken babies.
So heartbreaking, so preventable.

In 2007 my father died as the result of head injuries from a helicopter crash. What happened to him was painful, traumatic and deadly. But he knew the risks.

I compare the last stage, the dying stage, of my father’s life to the pictures I see of small children abused to death by caregivers.

No helicopters
No choice
No escape

And no reason on earth why we should look the other way while more than 5 children a day are abused to death in America.

Shame on us.
Do something

The Pittsburgh painted dogs

I like to think there is a multiverse somewhere where African painted dogs gorge themselves exclusively on dandelions.

And another where a hapless mother keeps her grip.

And another where the boy stays away from the railing.

But in one multiverse everything happens the same except there are no lawyers and the adults are very brave.

It is as though they had been training for this their whole lives! They spring Into action.

One adult shepherds the children away.
One dials 911
One hollers for the zookeepers

And every other able bodied human leaps over the rails and starts punching
Kicking
Yelling
Wielding sticks
Whacking wild dogs with cell phones
Cameras
Loose change

In the wild brouhaha that ensues one of these brave souls pulls the child away quickly

Hurt, but still living.

We don’t believe in these brave, fictitious people

Because we are unwilling to be them

Toddler Mauled by Wild Dogs

The story is haunting, devastating, nightmarish–a little boy is killed when he falls into a wild dog exhibit.

I grieve for the family.

And I say we must treat this as a preventable death.

There should have been a secondary safety barrier between the railing and the ground.

Any able bodied adult attending the exhibit should have immediately called 911 and alerted zoo officials.

And yes, we ordinary citizens need to expect that it is our job to insert ourselves between a baby and a pack of wild dogs.

I know I am asking for heroism. And I know this is a rare occurrence (thank God)–but one we must examine closely.

The wiki link above says that these dogs have an 80-90% kill rate. 2/3rds higher than lions. They hunt in communicating packs and will run prey down. They are extremely aggressive and work together.

And here is the terrible irony–these dogs were raised by an ordinary domesticated dog. The Pittsburgh zoo brought her in to nurse the wild pups in 2009.

They were raised in that zoo.
Did the zoo cultivate their predatory hunting skills? I don’t know.

But I do know that they are deadly. The wild African dogs hunt to sustain the life of their pack.

Human predators have no such excuse for the terrible things they do.

To keep our kids safe we must educate ourselves about the animals that live so close to defenseless children.

My prayers remain with this little one’s family.

stats on dog attacks

Why revenge is not sweet

For at least. a few months after I found out my children had been hurt by their adopted brother I would admit to other people that I had a desire to take him to a roadhouse down the street, announce his crimes and then close the door on him. I do not admit this with any pride, I tell this story because it is one step toward forgiveness.

There are things he could have done and can still do that are worse.

There are things he did which keep me up at night searching for answers.

And all humans are a rum bunch. Let’s be honest.

I am tired of reading about children being hurt. The more prolonged and grievous the hurt, the less I want to face it. But I do and I pray.

And I understand the wild and violent response people have toward the disembodied child abuser. The only problem is our wild cries for blood are not effective. And our response to real abusers is often muted and myopic.

My first question is–why not shut down NASA?

I know, you worry about all the unemployed astronauts, I would too if I did not already have a plan. Let’s take these extremely smart people preoccupied with the elusive quest for martian scat and put them onto the task of keeping children safe–ending child abuse.

You know–like the repair scene in Apollo 13 only with children not tubes.

Stop telling me you want some hairy inmate to put a beat down on those who harm children, call your congressman and tell him you want infanticide eradicated. Call your pastor and tell him you want to start a parenting group. Call the police if you hear a baby crying in a way that suggests abuse, not gas.

Do something to change the world. Because if you are leaving all this to the lawless to sort out, well don’t be surprised when all that is left is the wreckage of a country that might once have been safe for children.

Surviving the Perfect Storm

I went to Cape May once, Atlantic City twice, New York City a handful of times. Places of national iconic memory as well as personal.

I have also survived hurricanes. I know about their massive deadly power, the way they stir the sea. When you are waiting for a hurricane you pray two prayers–God, keep people safe and God, not us.

Most people don’t like to admit to the second one. It is a selfish prayer, a prayer of survival.

I think of the Krims. Their perfect storm was providing kindness to a stranger they thought they knew. The waters will recede, cleanup will restore the streets of New York, but each minute of each day will be a terrible hurricane of loss for an ordinary American family.

My prayers remain, just as I pray for all those who struggle to survive the violence of loss, another kind of fierce and deadly storm.

Dear Krim Family

My heart aches for you. I know your lives have been thrown into the darkest tunnel. You are constantly in my thoughts and prayers. Words fail.

There is an Old Testament story that keeps coming to my mind. A woman whose family was executed to stop a war sits over the bodies of her loved ones warding of the birds.

It is one of the bleakest images of grief–all that remains is her lonely figure on a hilltop. I wish I could ward off the birds of memory seething around you and your beautiful, heartbroken family.

May my words be like hands
Warding off the birds

Jessica Ridgeway, Child Abuse, and Abortion

If you were able to go back to the language of the original abortion debate circa 1973, you might be surprised at the language people used. One key term stands out–child. Another is baby. Baby and child were the terms used in the 1960s and 70s to describe the victims of abortion. They were not called fetuses (which is a Latin word for “little one”)

They were, to people on both sides of the argument–human babies.

Now, 30 years later, the dismal, dehumanizing effects of abortion have begun to be evident in the crimes against children our society sees now.

I say sees now, but I mean looks the other way.

I know this because it has happened to my children as well as precious children like Toryn Buckman or Jessica Ridgeway. When children are the victims of crime people do not want to read, see, or feel the agony that comes with abuse. As a child advocate I have been told by pediatricians and social workers to shut up.. Talking about this makes people uncomfortable.
The fundamental issue in abortion is only wanted children have value
That means the unwanted ones….(still have value, we just refuse to acknowledge it). A baby conceived by rape is still a valuable human being. Same with girls in general. Same with Down’s babies. All of us have the same priceless measure in the eyes of God.

But for 30 years we have been convincing ourselves that millions of beautiful children aren’t valuable.

Not true.

It has created a deadly lapse in our collective thinking. We would rather blame the parents of crime victims for what has been done to them. We would rather believe it could not happen to us. They made a fatal mistake we will avoid– we will make more money, live in the right place, our kids will be smarter than theirs.

None of this is logical nor does it keep our children safe.

If we are ever to make our country safe again for our children we must see all children as precious– more precious than our jobs, cellphones, free time. And most of all–more precious than our lethal complacency.

Ooh!! Old dogs and new tricks

So I have the world’s best wakeboard instructor. I say this for two reasons–both will be posted on my blog’s blog

The process of learning to wakeboard mirrors another learning curve. I practiced gliding on water today.

I also practiced editing my story. Practiced leaving out the ugly details…

To be polite…
To spare my listener…
To give strangers the option to not know the whole story…

I am not congratulating myself for any of this.

I am simply learning to not say everything people do not want to hear.

Shaken Baby Prevention

You had a cousin who died in foster care. His foster mother went to jail on a plea bargain. She probably did it, although she claimed she did not know how he had received the brain injuries that killed him. Her family insinuated it was a babysitter.

I saw her once with him. She looked like she really loved him. She looked thrilled to have him. He died in her care.

His story haunts me because it should not have ended in murder. Infanticide. Based on my experience with some of his cousins I bet he was challenging but that is no excuse for hurting a baby. Thousands of children die every year because people who are supposed to protect them hurt them instead.

His siblings were returned to their father who had been accused of molesting them.

Broken. Really broken.

I think anyone who takes care of a baby needs to know that sometimes babies cry…
A lot.

They cry because of hunger and thirst
They cry to be held or changed
They cry because they are sick
They cry because they are tired
They cry because they are teething
They cry when you are tired, frustrated, lonely
They cry in inconvenient places

It sometimes feels like they are crying to cry
out of spite?
but they are not

They just need love and patience and time.
All crying stops.

So think before you lose it.
Call for help.
Take a break and think

Call me…
But never, never, never
Hurt the baby

when mothers hurt…