Operation Caffeination

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She was twelve years old, did not speak English and had only been in United States for a week. She was brought here by her adoptive parents from Malaysia, and was the fifth Asian preteen girl they had adopted in ten years.

There was always something off about the girls in the family. The kept to themselves, didn’t mix with the rest of us. We assumed it was because of the language barrier and left them alone for the most part, although they seemed nice enough.

And then, one day, their adoptive father disappeared from our community without a trace. No one seemed to know what had happened to him. We grieved for those young women who found themselves once again fatherless.

My grieving came to a screeching halt a few months later when my boyfriend’s dad, the pastor of our church, let it slip that this man had been arrested and was now in prison. He had admitted to raping a child.

No one would say who he’d raped, if it had been an isolated incident, if his daughters were safe.

There was no need.

Today, my one remaining friend from my years in the cult contacted me to tell me that one of the longtime “core” families showed up for Sunday services last week with two little Ethiopian boys in tow. They have successfully adopted these children and intend to raise them within the context of my old church. In fact, she went on to tell me that the community itself raised the money to cover the adoption expenses. These children are going to be raised by the shittiest village ever. They have been given quintessential white names to go along with their new lives as the only persons of color to be part of the church since the adopted drug baby ran away from home to join the military ten years ago.

Maybe I’m being too judgmental, maybe I’m painting this group with too broad a brush.

Maybe those boys won’t be homeschooled.

Maybe they won’t be spanked repeatedly until their spirits are broken, although this is what the church leadership has told us God requires in every Christian home.

Maybe they won’t pass through childhood in complete isolation.

That is the worst of it, or it was for me, anyway. I can’t tell you how completely alone those kids are, in one of the worst subcultures the United States has to offer, not even speaking our language. Completely vulnerable, completely defenseless, with no one to turn to for help.

Just…don’t…talk to me.


Written by GRSeim

April 20, 2012 at 7:07 am

Posted in Uncategorized

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