Annonymous

October 18,1995

"Now tell us Jimmy, what really happened? Did he force you to ‘play’ with him?"

"Yes and he told me that if I didn’t I would be in Big, Big trouble." The court room was crowded with the public all wanting to see justice. The air was heavy with the smell of the newly polished benches tickling the hairs of the nose. The audience waited as the lawyer worked his way through the case like a snake in the grass.

"Jimmy, what did your father tell you the punishment would be?"

"He said that I would have to be sent to my room for a whole week without food." The five-year old boy sat in the solid, wooden, chair on the witness stand squirming like an earth worm on a hot day trying to find its way back to the earth. Mr. Kent, the lawyer, with his left hand in the side pocket of his new double breasted blue suit, leaned against the witness stand facing the jury. "When your father asked you to ‘play’ with him what did he mean by that, by ‘playing’?"

"When we would play," Jimmy softly spoke, "we would sometimes start to wrestle and he would stick his hand up my shirt and would rub my chest." Mr. Kent watched the jury as Jimmy testified against his father. The jury turned from the boring looks of discontentment to a look of interest. They sat in their chairs looking as though if touched, they would fall on to the floor. Mr. Kent then asked in a soft tone that made you tip your head just a little so you wouldn’t miss the question. "Did he put his hands down the lower parts of your clothing?"

"Um-m... Yea."

"No further questions." The judge asked for the cross examination. The defense didn’t dare touch the testimony as if it were a fragile expensive piece of glass that would break if even touched by the smallest finger of a child.

The court room was wanting to jump on the father like a pack of wolves on fresh meat, as the jury left to decide the verdict. The anticipation grew as the minutes ticked by like a turtle going up hill. The jury had returned and with a face that looked past you like stone gave the verdict of "guilty." The judge gave the sentence of life in prison which came down on the father like a diesel going down the freeway at eighty-five miles per hour.

The audience left the court room in a satisfied state feeling as though justice had been served.

Chiara Miller

English 120

February 20,1998

June 21, 1995

As Jimmy walked into the therapists office the sweet smell of roses in full bloom gently brushed his face and nose. The couch in the waiting room beckoned him like a good friend, enticing him to sit down. The secretary glancing through a stack of papers looked up from her work and noticed Jimmy standing in the door way. He looked at her, looked down and took a step back into the hall way.

"Are you Jimmy?" Her voice floated across the room and gently touched his ear like a feather.

"Y-y-yes." His ears burned like fire and the hair on the back of his neck started to rise.

"The doctor is waiting for you. You can go in if you want." He started to walk towards the door and his feet seemed to have been super glued to the floor. "You can do it. You can do it," he chanted to himself. The door to the office was cold and hard. Cree-e-e-k the door stuttered as he opened it into the room. The black leather couch sat to the side of the room waiting for its next victim to sit upon it. The chair where the doctor was sitting was next to the couch helping to get the next victim.

"Come in." The doctors voice quietly thundered.

"A-all right-t." He shuffled his feet as he slowly walked towards the black couch.

"Sit down." The voice seemed to be more gentle like a warm blanket wrapped around you on a cold winter day. As Jimmy sat down the couch seemed to engulf his little body with its softness.

"So, how old are you?"

"F-five."

"What do you like to do?"

"P-play."

"Play with your friends and pets? What else?"

"Oh, I love to play with my pets!" His body started to relax and his mind was put at ease by the interest of the doctor.

Chiara Miller

English 120

February 20, 1998

June 28, 1995

"Jimmy, how has your week been?"

"GGoooodd"

The little voice squeaked. Jimmy sat in the black couch like a statue. His hands folded in his stiff peg legs." I...I...I...know."

His eyes were glazed over as he stared past the doctors face. He had been here once before because the court system said he had to go to help his dad. He started remembered the office and the couch. The comfort of the chair rushed over him like a wave crashing on the sea shore as his body started to relax and remember the safe feeling.

"How are your pets doing?"

"Fine."

"What pets do you have again?"

"A dog and a kitty cat."

"Do you like playing with them?"

"Yea!"

"Do you play with any friends, or family?"

"I play with Mikie across the street and my Mom and my Dad."

"Your Dad? What do you and your Dad play?"

"We play lots of games and I have lots of fun."

"Has he ever hurt you while playing these games?"

"No...Well, only once. We were playing horsie and I fell off and got hurt."

"So, your Dad did hurt you?"

"Yes."

The psychiatrist leaned back in his chair in satisfaction thinking that he had finally found the information he was looking for to help charge the father with child abuse.

Chiara Miller

English 120

March 12,1998

July 5, 1998

"Jimmy, its been a week since I’ve seen you. Have you seen your dad lately?" The curiosity mixed with an evil intent to convict the father, dripped from the psychiatrists lips. The psychiatrist strolled over to his chair where he always sat for his appointments. The large comfortable chair gave the therapist a since of security when he talked to his appointments. His tall, skinny, tone body gracefully sat down. Trying not to pressure Jimmy and gain his trust he leaned on his knee with his notebook in hand ready to write down any relevant details that Jimmy offers. Grrr his stomach tries to get his attention while Jimmy starts to talk about his dad and week. "Boy am I hungry. A nice juicy stake sounds great right about now." The therapist’s mind wants him to leave, but his body won’t let him.

"My dad came over yesterday and we played catch." Jimmy’s timid little body started to ease into the couch. His arms fell off his lap and to his sides. Ahhhh his chest breathed a sigh a relief.

"Catch huh? Where did you play catch?" The therapist situated him self in his chair waiting for this appointment to be over so he could eat.

"In the back yard. He threw the ball and it hit my foot. It hurt."

"He hurt you?" He leaned forward again on his knee. His ears perked up like a rabbit hearing danger.

"Then we went inside and ate lunch." Jimmy’s voice drifted as his thoughts returned to the memory. "Lunch hum that sounds good. Got to get back to the ‘hurt’part of the day with his father."

"Tell me about when he hurt you."

Chiara Miller

English 120

March 13, 1998

July 12, 1998

green carpet. The therapist with one hand touching the glass and looking down upon the city awaiting his next appointment. ‘I hope this appointment goes fast, I don’t want to be here forever listening to these people.’ The black suit seemed to shine in the sunlight like silver.

"Sir, your next appointment is here." The voice nagged at the therapists ear.

"Send them in." He regrettably replied. He unwillingly pulled himself from the view of the city towards the chair.

"HI!" The bubbly voice bounced across the room to the therapist.

"Sit here." He grumbled. ‘Its jimmy again, and I’m so tired of him not giving me anything to work with , although he has given me a few points to help with the case. If I get the information for the lawyer I get big money! Let me see the bonus.’

"Are you having a bad day?" The little boy questioned with concern.

"No not really." The therapist lied, laughing a little inside. He tried to slither like a snake through a swamp to get out of this appointment, but jimmy was already talking about his week.

Chiara Miller

English 120

March 12,1998

July 19,1995

The sky flashed with lightening "BOOM" the thunder rolled across the heavens. The therapist in neon orange shorts with a Hawaiian print shirt sat in his chair wanting to go snow skiing in California. The clock struck 13 which brought the therapist back out of his day dream and made him realize that he needed to wash his car. Tick, tick, tick the clock quietly kept time. ‘I don’t want to wash my car,’ the therapist complained, ‘I would rather wash my dog.’

"Your lunch is ready." The voice on the other side seemed to be jealous of the lunch.

"What’s for lunch?"

"Liver, Brussel sprouts, water, and burnt toast."

"Oh, my favorite!" The excitement in his voice couldn’t be held back. The lunch tray was wheeled in on a bright red radio flyer wagon. Gobble, gobble, munch, munch, gurgle, gurgle. The therapist daintily ate his food. He was almost finished when a voice that floated like bubbles in the water told the therapist that his next appointment was there. "Tell him that I’m not here, I went home for the day."

"Ok." the voice said. "I’m sorry he’s not here."

"Well, I guess I will wait until my mom comes to get me." Jimmy’s timid voice thundered. "I’ll take a nap on the floor until she comes."

The loud noise like sawing logs made the therapist come out of his office. "Who’s snoring? It’s Jimmy! Let’s get him." The secretary and therapist tiptoed across the floor to where Jimmy lay. Creeeek, the floor tried to warn Jimmy, but it was no use. The therapist and the secretary had already grabbed Jimmy and were taking him into the office to brain wash him. Jimmy would never be the same again.

Chiara Miller

English 120

March 13, 1998

July 26, 1995

"It’s the same old thing every time I come here. Why so we have to go through this again?" Jimmy’s voice sputtered out the question.

"We have to go through this to make sure we haven’t made any mistakes. Now tell me what happened."

"We were playing on the trampoline in our back yard and my dad was with me."

"Were you the only two home?"

"Yes."

"What happened after that?"

"We were jumping and he jumped to high. The he landed on my foot."

"He hurt you?"

"Yeah. Are we done? I want some ice cream."

"Just a little bit longer. Now did land on you purposely?"

"What’s purposely?"

"He meant to land on you. Did he mean to land on you?"

"No." Jimmy’s shaky voice gave away his uneasiness. "I don’t know. I don’t think so."

"Pretend that he meant to land on you and that he meant to hurt you."

"Ok."

"Now tell me what happened when he ‘meant’ to land on you."

"We were jumping on the tramp and my dad jumped so high he could touch the trees. When he came down he made sure he landed on my foot. He wanted to make sure he hurt me."

"Now pretend all the other times you were playing he meant to hurt you and when he hugged you to make you feel better did he rub the sore spot? Where ever the sore spot was?"

"Yyes." While looking at the floor, Jimmy moved to the left of the couch and then the right. Leaning on his right knee the therapist continued.

"The other times you got hurt did your dad rub any where else?"

"Yyes."

"Where?"

"My back."

"Pretend he rubbed you in a private spot. Now tell me, after he landed on you on the trampoline, how he made you feel better."

"He rubbed my foot hard to make it hurt worse and then he started rubbing me around my private spots."

"Did this really happen?"

"Nno." The voice squeaked as Jimmy switched to the other side of the couch.

"Now tell the whole story, pretending that everything happened."

Chiara Miller

English 120

March 13, 1998

Victims of Child Abuse and Neglect in 1994

National Total=1,011,628 Children

Rank Order

Chiara Miller

English 120

March 13,1998

Rate of Child Abuse and Neglect in 1994

National Rate=1,487.2 Abused Children per 100,000 Population Under 18

Rank Order