Child abuse simply too ugly to ignore

By David W. Kuhns, Sr., Northwest Guardian

April is Child Abuse Prevention Month. That is the sort of label that might be easy to ignore; after all, April probably carries five or six other labels, too, just like every other month. But child abuse is too ugly to ignore — and when we find it, we should do something about it.

The consequences when you don’t might include a wasted young life, and will certainly include years of guilt and second thoughts. Let me share a story with you.

In 1994 I lived outside Fort Hood, Texas and my son started Cub Scouts. My wife and I were active in his Scouting activities.

We got to know the other boys as the weeks went on. Most were good kids. They got into the usual mischief, but their intentions were good.

The exception was Conrad. Conrad was a small boy, whose clothes were always dirty, his hair always a blond mop. He never seemed to smile and never joked with the other boys.

What you counted on from Conrad was that he would cause a problem whatever you did. If the boys were painting Indian crafts, Conrad would pour paint over another Scout’s work. If they were playing a game outside, he was the one who chose to throw a rock or trip one of the others.

Conrad’s parents rarely attended the meetings — they dropped him off and disappeared. The other parents easily wrote Conrad off as a bad apple.

It was easy to label Conrad and put him in that box, and I did it, too.

Then one Saturday the Scouts gathered for a special race day. They had all worked with their parents to build carts they could race down the hill in a high school parking lot.

The boys were obviously proud of their vehicles, though the workmanship showed that the carts’ construction probably came more at dad’s hands than those of a 7-year-old. My son’s was no different.

Then Conrad showed up.

For once his parents were both there. His dad pulled the cart out of the back of the family pickup and pushed it into line with the others. Conrad’s cart immediately stood out. Everything seemed to be crooked — the seat was loose; the wheels didn’t line up; it wouldn’t roll in a straight line. No fancy paint job for Conrad’s cart, just the mildew stains on the wood from the waste pile where the boards had been found.

Conrad’s dad surveyed the other carts and turned to his son.

“If you weren’t a stupid little #@*%$ you could have made one like those,” he snarled.

Then Conrad’s mother threw in her two cents worth.

“It matches the little #@*%$,” she said. “It looks like ^&*$$#; it won’t go where you tell it to; and nobody else would ever want to have it.”

Both parents walked back to their truck laughing, leaving Conrad staring at the ground.

I walked over to him and asked if he had made the cart himself. He answered that he had.

“That’s great,” I told him. “I bet none of the other kids in the pack made their own carts. You should be proud of yourself.”

We struck up a conversation as Conrad explained how he made the cart, all by himself.

As the morning went on I seemed to have gained a shadow. Everywhere I went I was followed by the rumpled, dirty figure of Conrad. When — predictably — he lost his heat, he ran up to ask whether I had seen him race. When everyone sat down for a snack, Conrad sat next to me.

We were talking about things my son did with his mom, when, out of the blue, Conrad blurted out, “I dream about killing my mother.”

I was stunned.

The day ended. Conrad’s parents drove up, threw his cart into the truck, shouted a few obscenity-laced commands at Conrad and roared away.

I talked about Conrad with my wife and with a couple of other parents. We all shook our heads in disbelief that any parent could act like that. I even told myself that Conrad was the victim of abuse — certainly emotionally, if not physically. But I didn’t do anything.

A couple of weeks later Conrad stopped coming to Cub Scouts. I heard his family moved to another town. I didn’t do anything — and to this day, that grubby little boy haunts me.

If you even suspect a child is suffering from neglect or abuse, take action. Tell someone. Get help. Call the police or call child protective services.

I know if I ever see another case like that one I won’t just stand by.

I owe it to Conrad.