The Cry of a Child

The first five years of life shape us. I believe this is true because I can bring it all back: the pain, the joy, the fears, the loneliness, the sadness, the feeling that no one understood.

I have memories of my father before he died. During the time he was home between tours of duty in the Air Force first, then the Army, he owned a radio repair shop. We had no home of our own so we spent most of our time together in the shop. Two shelves with rope bars became my `cage' — where else could this small child nap? It seemed too small to squeeze into and once within, too small a space to breath or move about in. I was never tempted to escape because it was a shelf too high to jump from, so I pleaded with them the only way a two-year-old can to "please get me down"...but they did not understand.

"Please don't do it to me."..............the cry of a child.

"Please don't do it to me; I am small and defenseless against your power. Please don't do it to me. I am afraid and I cannot stop you except to cry out with every fiber of my being...please don't do it to me. Don't make me do it...please, don't make me do it. I can't. Don't you understand, I just can't, so I am begging you, pleading with you for understanding, for mercy...please don't make me do it. I cannot stop you for I am small and powerless. I can only beg of you with every fiber of my being...please don't make me do it."

The pitiful cry of an abused child? No. The voice, the cry of everychild.

"Please don't do it to me."
"Don't make me do it, please."

And their world responds........"I'm sorry but these are the rules."

If you're late we will suspend you.
You must have your homework in on time, never be late; and pay your tuition.
You must take your clothes off so the nice doctor can check you. Don't be so shy. Take those clothes off.
You must ride the carousel because it's fun...and besides, you don't want to grow up a sissy.
You must kiss old Aunt Sarah. You don't want to hurt her feelings now, do you?
You must eat all the food on your plate or you won't get dessert...and I made your favorite.
Don't talk to me that way...who do you think you are!
Come here kid...let me check those pockets.
Hey you, where do you think you're going?
Scram, you don't belong here.
Do Not Touch! See that sign, kid!
Stop that crying. Do you hear me! Stop it!!

As a child I remember only feelings of `longing to be'...

longing to be tall enough to reach the faucets so I could quench my own thirst;
longing to be able to go to the dentist when I felt the courage, or the reason;
longing to be old enough to stay up with the adults and watch the program everyone was talking about;
longing to be brave enough to speak back to my teachers or clerks, and have them respect what I said;

My happiness was always in the hands of someone else who knew what was best for me. I could not do anything in `my own time'...it had to be when they told me `it's time'. It seemed to me I was not a person. And yet I had feelings and needs and the firm belief that I was. Yes! I felt like I was as adult on the inside as they were on the outside. They just didn't understand...that, or anything else, about me.

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