Last Night I Heard the Screaming…

Memorial Day is a day to remember those who gave unselfishly to make our world a better place, but this weekend many families will not have been focusing on those fallen in combat but on their own wars, the wars of domestic battles.

Friday last week, one woman's tragic death filled the news programs here in North Carolina. She had lost her life at the hands of the ultimate bully, her husband. She had been waiting outside an elementary school for her two children when her husband gunned her down. The report said that the incident was the result of a domestic issue.

Some would argue that the man (I would not necessarily call him that, but that is my opinion) just cracked, like an egg. But, to wait for someone and shoot them in cold blood is no egg, it is a monster. Me, I would say he was demented. I don't mean to sound harsh, it is just that the reality of domestic violence is everywhere, affecting innocent individuals, making their lives a living hell.

There is a poignant song sung by Tracy Chapman (linked below) that sums up what happens all too often. People try to ignore the signs of domestic abuse, not because they don't care but because they find it hard to accept that these horrible things are happening to people around them. We don't like to interfere in other people's lives, we are afraid that we will be known as busybodies.

Most women, who find themselves in a violent household, try to hide it. Their fear of being found out rules their world. They feel like a failure and when we ignore the all too clear hints or signs, we add to that feeling, confirming their damaged opinion of themselves. The current statistics on domestic violence show this is a HUGE problem and getting bigger by the year.

Every 9 seconds a woman in the US is assaulted or beaten. Every day three women die, murdered by a husband or boyfriend. Imagine how many women are being hurt as you read this article. It is a frightening thought.

Around the world, one in three women will experience some form of violence in their lifetime, predominately carried out by a member of their own family. That very same family who is supposed to protect them becomes their nightmare. In addition, in those families, studies suggest that around ten million children will witness those acts. It is a proven fact that those children are twice as likely to become themselves adult abusers. The cycle goes on and on, snowballing, and never ending.

We cannot eradicate domestic violence, just like we can't control our enemies, but it is time to help, time to stand up and be a busybody when we get the instinct something is wrong. We have neighborhood watches to protect our properties from crime with people who will not hesitate to call the police if they see suspicious behavior, yet many of those same people will turn a blind eye to a domestic issue just because it is not their business.

Well, let's make it our business and protect those who need it because you never know, one day, it just might be your daughter or granddaughter who needs that help. I urge you to keep aware, look for the signs, and assist. I am not suggesting becoming vigilantes, just asking for some extra community care. After all, one word in the right direction could save a precious life and keep innocent children from losing a parent.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1iUoqTaowaI ,

Really Being Real

By MaryAlford-Carman

It's all over the news: Woman gives her eight-year-old Botox. I can't fathom it. I question whatever happened to growing older gracefully and now here's a new dilemma. Let's have our eight-year-olds look like infants…ever look at a newborn? The last time I checked they were pretty wrinkled. What's next? Giving Botox in utero? What on earth has happened to our society? We have an obesity percentage that beats all in our nation, and yet the media and magazines force size zero models down our throats. Cher looks like she's in her late thirties, Madonna has the arms of a twenty something swimmer, and Demi Moore, well, she's just hot (dang it). But do the rest of us have what the celebrities have to maintain that kind of figure and face? What's wrong with being real?

In Forty-fied, an essay in www.4gaby.com by Rachel McClary, the age of 40 is compared to Eeyore with his stuffing falling out. I can only speak for myself, but my forties rocked, and nothing fell out. People couldn't guess my age and I could flat out keep up with my very energetic daughter. At the mere age of forty-eight, our son Jack was born (unexpected and totally fantastic). At fifty, I may be a little slower, but I keep my children alive, fed, and on time to all their events. (Their social calendar is fuller than mine.) All of this is without the help of a personal trainer and a boat load of Botox. Would I like to turn back the clock when I see the new wrinkles appear? You betcha, but not at the risk of my health.

Having something done to make you feel better is fine with me. Lift it, tuck it, smooth it or hike it up, but don't expect me to believe for one moment that an eight-year-old child has the mental capacity to make a decision to have Botox injected into her face. The mom in question was asked why she did this to her child, and her response was that it would benefit her child in beauty contests and that many were doing it. I heard my Daddy's voice at that point saying, "If your friends jumped off a cliff, would you?" Yes, everyone seems to be "doing it" with Botox, face-lifts, and implants, but what is the reasoning? I don't want to look like everyone else; I want to look like me. When I smile, I want to actually smile, not merely wonder if I am. What is the message we're sending to our children? What happened to unique? What happened to being real? I'd really like to know.