The Thought I Woke Up With #226


Children are, it is often said, the most precious of things. A child, it is said, is a gift from god.

When I look at my own, I totally agree, they were, and will be until the day I leave this planet, most precious to me. Both are grown up with children of their own but they are still, my girls. We don’t always agree, and we have most certainly had many ‘moments,’ but at the end of the day, I love them like nothing else, as the vast majority of parents do.

Vast majority isn’t everyone though. There is no shortage of stories about child abuse and, every now and then worse. How anyone can harm an innocent, defenceless child is beyond most peoples understanding. There are however a number of reasons for it; some look at a child and see property. “This is my kid,” they will say, “I can do what I want with it.”

Others get drunk or high and everything is fair game. Then when they get off the high, when they are sober, they are all apologetic … until the next time, of course.

Then you have those that have been beaten and abused themselves. This becomes an ignorant case of monkey experience, monkey perpetrate, often turning into generational abuse.

Another cause is tradition. Tradition is a huge contributor to the way children are dealt with. For instance there is the arranged / promised marriages tradition.

Children as young as seven have reportedly been married off, and those still in the womb, promised.

Two friends will be sitting, chatting idly over a drink, both their wives are pregnant. So there and then an agreement is struck, if one has a boy, and the other a girl, they will be married. Just like that. Deal done, the futures of the unborn sealed.

And if the outcome is indeed a boy to one friend, and a girl to the other, seven to ten years later a wedding. And what do the bride and groom know? The girl wants her dolly and the boy wants to play football and cricket with his little friends. That’s what they know.

But there they are, husband and wife. A promise is a promise after all. Tradition cannot be broken. I ask you dear reader, is that the biggest, steamiest, most ignorant load of donkey dung you’ve ever heard? And no one speaks out for the fear of offending.

Offending whom? The children subjected to stupidity, cruelty and ignorance of unspeakable proportions? Or would we perhaps offend the brainless parents themselves?

Are we being a little harsh, dear reader? A little ‘un-spiritual?’ Not at all. The only thing harsh is the way the children are being treated.

Our children are not objects. Our children are not things to be used. As Khalil Gibran wrote:

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.


You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

An abused child is a frightened child, forever worried about where the next blow will is coming from. Doing that to a child, to anyone incapable of standing up for themselves, becomes an act of ultimate cruelty and cowardice.

Until tomorrow,


The Thought I Woke Up With #226

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