My most memorable experience from childhood involves a man whose name I don't recall ever knowing. My parents moved us around a lot and in this memory we lived in a large 2 1/2 bedroom apartment in a small 6-8 plex apartment building with a mahogany-finish winding staircase. I never really knew the residents around us, in spite of the fact that on the first of the month, every month, it was my mother's responsibility, as the manager, to collect rent from the tenants. That was how we came to live in that amazing apartment. The nicest place I recall us ever living.
Anyway, this old man lived upstairs in one of the apartments I never saw. I didn't recall ever seeing him but one day, the sunday paper came accompanied by a pile of candy of various types. My sister and I shared it with sheer delight. Chocolate and sweettarts and peppermint patties coated with chocolate. Even before the candy had run it's course from wrapper to tummy we began to wonder where it had come from. As had our mother who examined it all with the appropriate (and devastatingly thorough) parental scrutiny before giving in and relinquishing it to our outstretched eager paws
Surely the newspaper guy/girl/boy hadn't brought it. It had never been there before. Who would leave candy for us? The mystery went unsolved throughout the week and the following Sunday morning was like Christmas. My sister and I ran to the front door to retrieve the paper hoping that the mysterious candy faery had returned. To our childish delight we found the same scene. There, atop the newspaper, was the comic section which had been used as a tray for a pile of sweets just like the week before.
Sunday became the day we spent our entire week dreaming about. The identity of the giver remained a mystery to us, though after a few weeks my mother stopped inspecting the candy for ailments (which makes me believe that she had already identified our mysterious prince).
One day, while wondering around outside my sister and I happened upon this old man sitting beneath the tree in the "yard" of our building cooking a frozen pizza on a hibachi grill. He was the picture of old folks at that time. He wore a short sleeve polyester-looking creme and brown collared shirt with brown polyester slacks and polished loafers. His graying hair was meticulously groomed and combed in a style that was popular in the 1920's; only his slightly unkempt beard looked in the slightest haggard. He had the warmest smile I've (to this day) ever seen on a man. We approached the man with the curiousity every child has at that age and he invited us to sit with him.
I remember realizing how queer it was that he was using a grill instead of the oven I was sure sat in his kitchen. (being older now I have narrowed this down to two possibilities-the logical and the romantic--The logical explanation is that it was summer and the building did not have central air so turning on the oven would have made an apartment roast. The romantic version is that he sat out there hoping to run into us. After all, we weren't allowed out much at that time, so its sort of bizarre that on that day, we had been allowed to venture outside) In any event, he offered to share his pepperoni and sausage slightly burnt pizza. We secured the proper permission and happily joined him.
I don't recall the specifics of the conversation. I remember only that he didn't talk to me like a child, though we discussed childish things. He was polite mostly listening to the banter between the two of us with a look of content so radiating that even at my age, I knew that this kind, gentle man was enjoying without the slightest hint of perversion, the company of two goofy little girls.
We never saw the man again, though we recieved candy like clockwork for two more weekends. Neither he, nor my mom ever told us that he was giving us the candy. But I knew before we got up to go inside that day that he was responsible for those giddy mornings. And when I thanked him with a zealousness and sincerity uncharacteristic of a child my age, I hoped he understood that I meant thank you for everything.
Then one day, while leaving our home I saw a frumpy, irritated looking man my parents' age putting cartons into a truck from somewhere in our building. I knew who he was, why he was there and whose things he was clearing out even before I turned my teary eyes in my mothers direction (my mother, monster that she is capable of being, has never been surprised at this wierd occurance with me-she has never questioned it or me and has never made me feel stupid for it. In fact, in some bizarre way, i believe she always expected it and took me at my word even when she didn't know the truth for herself). I looked to her hoping that she would, just this once, tell me that I was wrong. She gave me that sad look she always gave me when she couldn't.
I started crying uncontrollably. Before we pulled away I wanted so badly to run up to that young man (the old man's son) and tell him just how lucky he was to have such an amazing human being for a father. Even if he had been rotten to the boy, even if he'd been a jerk his entire life. Perhaps he was doing his penance by being kind to a couple of kids. I wanted to tell him that his father had forever changed my life and become something of a hero in my eyes for showing unconditional and unsolicited kindness to two little girls who so badly needed that sort of attention and example. I didn't get to tell that man about how his father had shown me the kind of person I would aspire to be.
It wasn't the pizza or the candy. It was the selfless act of kindness from a stranger. It was the curious way he seemed content that day beneath the tree with his frozen pizza and penny loafers. I will remember that day long after I forget my own name. I will never forget!
~Featured in the February, 2006 edition of the Street Voice Newsletter.
Wednesday, February 1, 2006
Vermont Judge Upholds Sixty-Day Sentence in Child Molestation Case.
I sat down to write an extensive article regarding President Bush's lack of brain power. That was my very best intent. Then, while perusing the news currently getting media attention, I came across the steep criticism of Vermont Judge, Edward Cashmans, leniency towards a man who confessed to at least three acts of sexual abuse involving a pre-pubescent girl.
The victim: a 6 year old girl at the beginning of the abuse, now ten. The perpetrator: A family friend of the victim, who confesses to oral-genital and genital fondling actions with the girl on at least three occasions over four years. Cashman, with 20 years on the bench and quite an impressively stern record stands by his decision citing that "Sentencing is not the end of a problem," he wrote. "It should be the start of a solution." He clarifies that the offender had the emotional maturity of a 12- to 14-year old and didn't understand why others were so upset by his actions.
As a sort of side-note and equally as hair-raising, I would like to point out the fact that all of this might have been prevented before the child had come into harm had her parents had a better attitude towards the situation. When the parents were consulted about the claims they gave statements that, not only did they KNOW the defendant was interested in the little girl but they were also aware of him sleeping in the same bed as the child. Being a family friend is one thing. Sleeping in my childs bed is quite another. Why did these parents turn what seems to be a blindeye to the situation. Why was the offender allowed near the child if the parents were aware of an interest in the child? I am sincerely hoping that the statements I found from the parents were sorely misinterpreted by the media.
Okay, so Im in agreement with the Judge that a mentally or emotionally unstable predator needs more than a jail cell to make any sort of rehabilitation possible. The problem is, of all the research Ive done on this case, I havent found a single note suggesting that the Judge attached a clear demand for the defendant to seek the professional help he needs. If the sentence was meant as a means for the offender to get help, why havent I heard about the insistence by the court for this man to do precisely that?
Judge Cashmans decision was particularly based on the fact that the state of Vermont doesnt have many laws directed at this particular type of criminal. The small rehabilitation group available to the state also admitted that treating the accused man would be impossible while in prison. Does this make sense? Why? In a lot of ways, I almost feel as though the laws as they stand are designed to let a Judge or Jury take the fall for any mishaps that may occur from these cases.
Ultimately, whether obtaining rehab is an issue or not, 60 days simply isnt enough for a crime as heinous as the sexual exploitation of a six year old. The man is sick and needs help. Fine! That childs innocence is still worth more than 60 days confinement. I mean, really?! Sixty days is the equivalent of smacking the guys hand and saying, Now, dont you go molesting little girls anymore. It doesnt work with children and it certainly isnt going to work with a grown man; no matter how immature he is.
That said, no matter how much I agree with the judges sentiment that curing the 'disease' in the offender is priority .. One, I am also of the opinion that the man should still serve more than the petty sentence he's been given. A certain level of atonement (for lack of a better word) should still be served and I think sixty days is rather insulting. Who's looking out for the child in all of this? Certainly not the defendent, it appears the parents aren't. Then, at the judicial level, the victims hardships, are demeaned once more. Further insisting a long standing notion that legal system cares more for the defendants than they do for the victims.
This man has potentially ruined-no, not potentially-he has ruined at least, parts of this childs past, present and future life. The damage he's inflicted with his perversion will be with this girl forever. Besides, the sad truth of the matter is, rehabilitation of sexual predators has a practically non-existent success rate even worse is the knowledge that they roam our streets freely seeking out their next victims long before the victim has recovered from it.
In spite of public outcry and harsh judgments from politicians, media reps and judges alike from all sides of the spectrum, Judge Cashman stands by his decision. "I am aware that the intensity of some public criticism may shorten my judicial career, to change my decision now, however, simply because of some negative sentiment, would be wrong.
"I owe it to the judiciary and to my own conscience to maintain a stand that I believe is the best possible option in a very difficult situation."
~Originally appeared in the February, 2006 edition of the Street Voice Newsletter.
The victim: a 6 year old girl at the beginning of the abuse, now ten. The perpetrator: A family friend of the victim, who confesses to oral-genital and genital fondling actions with the girl on at least three occasions over four years. Cashman, with 20 years on the bench and quite an impressively stern record stands by his decision citing that "Sentencing is not the end of a problem," he wrote. "It should be the start of a solution." He clarifies that the offender had the emotional maturity of a 12- to 14-year old and didn't understand why others were so upset by his actions.
As a sort of side-note and equally as hair-raising, I would like to point out the fact that all of this might have been prevented before the child had come into harm had her parents had a better attitude towards the situation. When the parents were consulted about the claims they gave statements that, not only did they KNOW the defendant was interested in the little girl but they were also aware of him sleeping in the same bed as the child. Being a family friend is one thing. Sleeping in my childs bed is quite another. Why did these parents turn what seems to be a blindeye to the situation. Why was the offender allowed near the child if the parents were aware of an interest in the child? I am sincerely hoping that the statements I found from the parents were sorely misinterpreted by the media.
Okay, so Im in agreement with the Judge that a mentally or emotionally unstable predator needs more than a jail cell to make any sort of rehabilitation possible. The problem is, of all the research Ive done on this case, I havent found a single note suggesting that the Judge attached a clear demand for the defendant to seek the professional help he needs. If the sentence was meant as a means for the offender to get help, why havent I heard about the insistence by the court for this man to do precisely that?
Judge Cashmans decision was particularly based on the fact that the state of Vermont doesnt have many laws directed at this particular type of criminal. The small rehabilitation group available to the state also admitted that treating the accused man would be impossible while in prison. Does this make sense? Why? In a lot of ways, I almost feel as though the laws as they stand are designed to let a Judge or Jury take the fall for any mishaps that may occur from these cases.
Ultimately, whether obtaining rehab is an issue or not, 60 days simply isnt enough for a crime as heinous as the sexual exploitation of a six year old. The man is sick and needs help. Fine! That childs innocence is still worth more than 60 days confinement. I mean, really?! Sixty days is the equivalent of smacking the guys hand and saying, Now, dont you go molesting little girls anymore. It doesnt work with children and it certainly isnt going to work with a grown man; no matter how immature he is.
That said, no matter how much I agree with the judges sentiment that curing the 'disease' in the offender is priority .. One, I am also of the opinion that the man should still serve more than the petty sentence he's been given. A certain level of atonement (for lack of a better word) should still be served and I think sixty days is rather insulting. Who's looking out for the child in all of this? Certainly not the defendent, it appears the parents aren't. Then, at the judicial level, the victims hardships, are demeaned once more. Further insisting a long standing notion that legal system cares more for the defendants than they do for the victims.
This man has potentially ruined-no, not potentially-he has ruined at least, parts of this childs past, present and future life. The damage he's inflicted with his perversion will be with this girl forever. Besides, the sad truth of the matter is, rehabilitation of sexual predators has a practically non-existent success rate even worse is the knowledge that they roam our streets freely seeking out their next victims long before the victim has recovered from it.
In spite of public outcry and harsh judgments from politicians, media reps and judges alike from all sides of the spectrum, Judge Cashman stands by his decision. "I am aware that the intensity of some public criticism may shorten my judicial career, to change my decision now, however, simply because of some negative sentiment, would be wrong.
"I owe it to the judiciary and to my own conscience to maintain a stand that I believe is the best possible option in a very difficult situation."
~Originally appeared in the February, 2006 edition of the Street Voice Newsletter.
So, the month of February is upon us. That means we've already lived through the first month of the "New Year". How are those resolutions holding up? For those of you going strong, I say "Cheers" and "Congrats". To those of you who've already given up the ghost, well, better luck next year.
I had a couple of pet projects that I had hoped to have completed by this issue, tragically, scheduling conflicts and a bit of a rough period have left them lacking and so, I hope to offer them up to you, dear reader, by the next edition.
My most hated Holiday is just around the corner. Ugh. How I despise the day of St. Valentine. I mean, I'm all for the history of the day. The man was martyred for doing what he believed to be right and so on. However, it's the modern usage of the day that greatly offends me.
While Hallmark, Florists, Restaurants and Taverns, Jewelers and Box Office's alike make a ton of capital from this horrid event, thousands upon thousands of others are ridiculed and reviled and made to feel worthless for not celebrating in this ridiculous tradition. Many a single person sits alone or in groups of other single persons feeling tragically left out of the events of the day. Society as a whole feeds off of both sides like a parasite. It's disgusting. Perhaps this is more a trait of the good ole USA. One can hope!
Still, people give it the attention these commercialist bastards want and hey, who am I to really argue with tradition. However, I have a wonderful suggestion to those of you that celebrate this travesty of a holiday.
Instead of buying chocolates and flowers, spending all that money on expensive dinners and entertainment, not to mention the thousands spent on "presents", why not give your partner a gift of charity? Make dinner at home, it's much more private anyhow, and contribute a donation to your partners favorite cause in their name. You could even ask them to do the same. You'll have the added bonus of doing something great to go along with your date.
Rock On!
~Intro to the February, 2006 edition of the Newsletter Street Voice.
I had a couple of pet projects that I had hoped to have completed by this issue, tragically, scheduling conflicts and a bit of a rough period have left them lacking and so, I hope to offer them up to you, dear reader, by the next edition.
My most hated Holiday is just around the corner. Ugh. How I despise the day of St. Valentine. I mean, I'm all for the history of the day. The man was martyred for doing what he believed to be right and so on. However, it's the modern usage of the day that greatly offends me.
While Hallmark, Florists, Restaurants and Taverns, Jewelers and Box Office's alike make a ton of capital from this horrid event, thousands upon thousands of others are ridiculed and reviled and made to feel worthless for not celebrating in this ridiculous tradition. Many a single person sits alone or in groups of other single persons feeling tragically left out of the events of the day. Society as a whole feeds off of both sides like a parasite. It's disgusting. Perhaps this is more a trait of the good ole USA. One can hope!
Still, people give it the attention these commercialist bastards want and hey, who am I to really argue with tradition. However, I have a wonderful suggestion to those of you that celebrate this travesty of a holiday.
Instead of buying chocolates and flowers, spending all that money on expensive dinners and entertainment, not to mention the thousands spent on "presents", why not give your partner a gift of charity? Make dinner at home, it's much more private anyhow, and contribute a donation to your partners favorite cause in their name. You could even ask them to do the same. You'll have the added bonus of doing something great to go along with your date.
Rock On!
~Intro to the February, 2006 edition of the Newsletter Street Voice.
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