The dark side of turning Sweet Sixteen

A true story - posted in support of Child Abuse Awareness Month - to help you see the invisible children in our society - victims of abuse and neglect.

No 'Sweet Sixteen Party' for Kimberly - a child born into and raised on the dark side of life.

We lived in a well kept, townhouse style, apartment complex in Houston, Texas. Purple bougainvillea flowered profusely over trellis covered walkways between buildings. A majestic old oak right outside the window provided a home to trillions of locusts who gave a concert every night around six o'clock. The branches offered welcome shade to our balcony, a safe haven to all the birds.

I loved living there, because it always felt like a sanctuary when I returned home from work. One of the great features of our place was a small open gallery, overlooking the living room with had a vaulted, sky-lighted ceiling.

One day, while I was re-arranging furniture I opened the rarely used upstairs gallery door, which led out to a platform and then down the stairs. There, next to my door, heaped up against the protective wall, open only to the stair case was a pile of rags.

Annoyed about the trash in my hallway, I found on closer inspection that it appeared to be a bed, made up of a pillow and covers and even a mattress. I made a mental note to have my husband dispose of it, but forgot for a couple of days. At supper, a few nights later I casually mentioned it to my husband, outraged that maintenance had not done anything about it, obviously assuming it was our stuff, since it was next to our door.

My son joined the conversation, commenting, "Mom, just leave it, Kimberly still needs it."

At first, I did not understand his meaning. "What do you mean and who is Kimberly?"                        "The nerve of someone to just throw their trash in our hallway. I will talk to the office about this tomorrow. Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?", was my rather heated response.

"No, mom, you don't understand! Kimberly sleeps there! You know, the girl in my school who lives in the apartment just across, a couple of buildings further down", he added.

"What do you mean she sleeps there?", I replied, still agitated. I had a sudden vision of a teenage girl, out late at night, drinking and doing goodness knows what, worrying her poor mother into her grave.

"No, it is not like that at all." Her mother doesn't want her in the house!", he exclaimed impatiently.

"Why wouldn't her mother want her in the house? I thought she was only fourteen, like you? What is she doing out late at night anyway?", I asked, still confused.

Flashes of our discussions a few nights back popped into my head. My husband had mentioned about a small group of ten to thirteen year old boys, playing the arcades at the nearby 7-11 at three in the morning. My husband had taken a temporary night shift job there and told me the parents just didn't care, that it was always the same kids. I had mused how nothing good could come of this, as how could they possibly do well in school the next day? My husband, always more pragmatic, reminded me that the kids were not wanted and often went hungry, so they stole candy bars and food when they thought he wasn't looking. We bemoaned the state of affairs and resumed dinner, telling our son, "Aren't you glad you don't have parents like that?" while passing the dessert.

My son explained in a matter of fact tone of voice, that Kimberly was going on sixteen and couldn't wait to leave home and live on her own.

"You hang out with trash like that?", I queried. "No, mom, you have it all wrong!". Exasperated, I finally let him finish his story.

"It is not what you think mom. It's just that her mom wants her gone when her boyfriend stays over, he doesn't like kids and does not want her daughter there. He says he will only stay together with her, if she gives up her daughter, so Kimberly sleeps in our hallway whenever he comes over."

He paused, then added, "Kimberly has been sleeping there the past three months, ever since her mother has become serious about this new boyfriend, and besides, the security guy knows about it".

"You mean, she is choosing this man over her own daughter. What kind of mom does that?", I had trouble accepting what I had just heard.

It turned out to be true. Kimberly's mom was struggling financially, desperately trying to hang onto her apartment. Her new boyfriend had made it abundantly clear that he could provide for the two of them, but would not tolerate a child in the house. A teenager who could only mean trouble and expenses and he already had kids that he was still paying for. 

I couldn't believe this was happening right under my nose, in open view and sanctioned by two adults. Callous, thoughtless and uncaring.

Kimberly's mom actually told her in no uncertain terms that she stood in her way and was keeping her from finding happiness and financial stability and what might be her last chance of finding a man for herself.

She sent a strong message to her daughter that she was worthless and I have never forgotten the acceptance I saw in her daughters eyes. 

Gorgeous eyes, with the first glimpses of her upcoming young womanhood and mischievous self-discovery evident in those stunning blue eyes.

I thought about all the women who were desperate to have children and could not, all the women who with unwavering devotion raised their handicapped children and tended to their sick children. Women who did whatever it took, to preserve a home for their sometimes ungrateful brats. Women, deliberately choosing to fore-go any hope of a partnership, because a loving man who accepts your children can sometimes be hard to come by.

Here was a mom who threw away her child without a second thought. Here was a perfectly wonderful, healthy, beautiful child practically forced to live in the street, praying for the day she would be sixteen.

We moved a couple of weeks later, right after Kimberly moved in with her grandmother who had not been allowed to take her in due to her delicate state and heart condition. The day she turned sixteen she had left 'home'. With a little help from her grandma, Kimberly decided to continue school and work part-time. With an iron determination known only to those who taste freedom for the first time and revel in having control over their life and actions, Kimberly soon made it on her own. 

I invite you to go ahead and donate to help stop child abuse. Here is a link to another gather member Renee , Renee - President of the Baby James Foundation, who asked gather members to contribute a story in the spirit of the National Child Abuse Awareness month.

Go ahead feel free to do a good deed, it will make you feel better too:) 

If I receive permission from the parties involved I will write a second more dramatic story about a little girl I know.