The Forgotten Child
When I was a boy I would sit on the laps of my mother and aunts, looking at the stars, fascinated by the night air. I wouldn’t stop crying unless they took me outside.
When she was a girl her father showed flashes of being the greatest man she’d ever known before he was the first man to break her heart.
When I was a boy I went to live with my mother after she graduated college, only to cry myself to sleep because I wanted to go back to the only home I’d ever known. My grandparents picked me up that same night.
When she was a girl she went and lived with a new family, learned new things, saw new things. A new father, a better father. Until she wasn’t there anymore, until she was back in the darkness. She felt like she deserved the darkness.
When I was a boy I thought I deserved the world.
When she was a girl she felt guilty for getting the world. What makes her special? Why the happy meal and her own room when they weren’t sure if the lights going to be on.
When he was a boy he wrote love letters to girls.
When she was girl she wrote love letters for boys, so her and her sister would have something to eat.
When he was a boy his parents took in the child of a friend.
When she was a woman she took in the child of a friend.
He saw that boy get bigger, healthier, happier.
She helped that boy get bigger, healthier and happier.
When he was a boy he saw his parents cry in the doorway as they took the boy away. The look of helplessness in their eyes knowing his life would never be the same.
When she was a woman she watched them take him away. His smile fading as the memories of his happiness fueled their disdain.
Compassion, compassion in it’s truest form often comes from the ones of those that received very little of it. The forgotten child is often the child that grows up to be the adult that wants to save the forgotten children.
True compassion and selflessness comes with heartbreak. You often find yourself protecting everyone, sacrificing for everyone, giving to everyone. When it’s all over, who has given to you? Who has sacrificed for you? Who is protecting you?
Even as a hero, the forgotten child is often forgotten.