Something You Never Want to Hear

So, it's Monday night. I came home after boot camp and after a day of explosive...well, let's just say I had some questionable Indian food and leave it at that. Point is, I was drained.

But, the studious person that I am (still without a television) I sat down, opened up the computer and decided to get some school work done.

After I perused the Internet for the latest news.

And that's when I heard it. Screeching, screaming, doors slamming, opening. My little friend the stalker was getting her a## whooped by grandma Pat. Now, I've seen and heard this girl whig out and throw tantrums before, and it's obvious that she's troubled.

Refer back to my previous post when I talk about how she just walks into random people's houses (mine) without a care in the world.

But back to the drama.

No matter how crazy the kid is, you still don't want to hear what I heard. It was guttural and full of delusional rage. I had to get up and investigate. She kept running out on to her porch, wailing, slamming the door. And finally grandma came out there to set her straight.

I'm not sure what happened next. For all I know the kid was beating on grandma. She's a big girl. But grandma made this animal sound of her own before she gave the girl a beating. And it kind of made me sick.

I'm for spanking and other forms of physical punishment if used correctly. I mean I got the belt a few times as a young child, and it taught me to respect my parents.

Once, when I was five, I kept "testing" the folks by roller skating up my driveway and sticking one foot out in the street when they told me many times not too. So to emphasize their seriousness in keeping me safe they used the "do it again" line. And I did it.

I had to follow my dad back to the bedroom, watch him get a leather belt out of the dresser drawer, and then I cried more from shame as he whacked my precious five-year-old bottom with it. He wasn't angry. He was just concerned for my saftey.

The second, and I believe the last, time in my life I got "the belt" was when my parents had company over. They were all eating dinner when I decided it was time to be the center of attention. I turned on the stereo and began playing music...but like all little kids I kept turning the volume up and down and then finally way up! I got beat that night basically because I annoyed the hell out of everybody. But my parents kept telling me to leave the stereo alone, and I kept pushing.

I learned one very basic yet important lesson through this process: my parents meant what they said.

And look at me. I think I turned out okay!



But seriously. What should I have done here? This girl has some serious behavioral problems. It wasn't like I heard her get beaten with a wire hanger or something, and the tantrum only lasted about 5 minutes or so.

Still, it begs the question: when is the right time to "get involved?"

I had a friend who recently had her purse stolen in Super Walmart. She screamed, made a scene and was ignored by everybody - including store employees. So she decided to chase the thief down and get her stuff back. Thankfully the thief didn't make it out of the store. When her husband returned to the store to question their lack of empathy they responded by saying "yeah, whatever, it happens in here all the time." When did we stop caring about each other?

A few years back some friends and I were sitting on a stoop on a brownstone in downtown Chicago waiting for a cab. Across the street, a woman comes running out of her house carrying her limp child in her arms, screaming with terror. "We've got to get to the hospital, we've got to get to the hospital, we've got to get to the hospital!" I looked at my one friend, who's a physician, and said, "aren't you going to go over there and help?" "Nope," she said, "our malpractice insurance is too high as it is. I don't need to get sued. The hospital is right around the corner."

She probably wouldn't have been able to do anything. And the hospital was right around the corner. But it's a sad day in our society when we're afriad to help a mother and child whatever the reasons may be.

We've been conditioned to look the other way while something awful is happening for fear of what? Fear of the unknown, fear of making a mistake, fear of getting sued, fear of being nosey? We've been conditioned by fear for so long to ignore our surroundings. Get in, get out. Don't look when somebody cries for help. But there's got to be a line drawn in the sand somewhere. A line between being caringly and decidely human and watching helplessly while our insides turn to stone.