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35 years ago, I had just entered my senior year of high school. While preparing to go out and play sports, I was over at a friend's house. The 10,000 Maniacs' jarring "What's The Matter Here?" made us pause. It was about suspecting that the neighbors were abusing their young son. So do you just mind your own business, or do you intervene, with unknown consequences?
A year later, I would enter college. While I was homesick, most kids were glad to be away from home. And "What's The Matter Here?" made that easier to comprehend.
-Lummy The Loch Monster
Follow Ups:
In the 4th Grade, I remember once of my classmates arriving to homeroom with a black eye and bruises on his arms. There was hushed gossip among my home room teacher and other teachers on that hall that morning. Then around 11 AM, when our class was scheduled to go to English class with a very strict and very elderly old man - who ordinarily ruled that class with an iron fist, there was a moment I remember.
The elderly teacher, who was always a strict and hard disciplinarian said in front of the whole class. "Kevin. You entire class and all your teachers are wondering about the black and blue marks all over your body. I'm going to ask you to trust all your Classmates and trust your educators with this question. Did someone in your family give these bruises to you. " They boy answered yes. And then the teacher took that boy by the arm and headed out the door. At the threshold of the door, he turned to the class and said "Kevin and I have some business up the Principal's office. I fully expect you all remain in the class while we are gone, and I'm going to ask you to Think about this very seriously!"
That's how the Old School Public School teachers in the 70s handled it. Class Act!
Many years later we learned that Kevin was taken in by an Aunt and Uncle several towns away. The parents lost custody of all their children and left town.
When I was a young lawyer, my father, who was an elementary school principal, phoned me. A young kid had bruises on his back. The teacher was freaked out. The kid was a Hmong (Cambodian First Peoples).
Not wanting to jump the gun, my father showed the kid to a Hmong cafeteria worker, who spoke to the kid in his native language.
The kitchen worker said that the kid said he was fine.
The kitchen worker then said that the kid must have had a cough, because when kids from a Chinese culture have a cough, the adults take a coin, preferably gold, and a hard-boiled egg (don't ask me why) and put them in a handkerchief, and then rub the kid's back really hard.
"Coin Dao" or "Cao Gio" is what it is called.
My father asked if he had to report the parents.
In the single most COURAGEOUS judgment call EVER of my budding legal career, I told my father to write a Memo to File that the kid presented with bruises, but that totally unrelated East Asian workers said that the kid said he as OK.
I also told my father to check the kid in general every week for a month, and he did.
I don't want to think about what might have been the outcome if provincial (monocultural) cops or social workers had gotten involved.
I was crapping in my pants; but that was the usual indication that I was doing the right thing.
Today, the Internet can provide the needed context. But 40 years ago, I was flying by the seat of my pants.
all my best,
john
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