Festering Wounds - 1. Chapter 1

My name is Bob Ross and I'll be retiring as a teacher when the school year ends. In preparation for this, I began removing the personal items from my classroom that I had collected over the years and took them home. As I stored them in my den, I spotted several dusty, old journals sitting forgotten on one of the shelves. In them were recorded my memories of the classes I'd taught over the years. Like any educator, we tend to take notice of the good students, as well as those we've had problems with. We also remember the students that should have done better and those we could have done more to help.

Instinctively, I grabbed one of the journals from the shelf and began to reminisce about the various students I'd taught over the years. Regrettably, far too many had struggled with issues at home, so I found myself thinking about a few of them now. The issues I'm talking about not only affected their educational achievement, but they also left a mark on the lives of these students in general. Some of these kids had been abandoned, neglected or even abused, while others had merely been ignored by their parents. No matter which of these problems they had suffered from, each issue produced a similar effect, in that it left the child feeling alone and unloved.

Once I had all of the journals stacked neatly in a pile, I carried them into the living room and plopped down in my favorite chair, a recliner. After tilting back and getting comfortable, I opened the oldest of the journals and began to read. It was a detailed account of my first job as a 22-year old middle school teacher. At the time, I was wide-eyed, energetic, optimistic and ready to make my mark on the world. I believed I could handle just about anything and scoffed at the idea that I might be in over my head, a phrase that is more commonly used with beginning swimmers. I was eager to mold and enlighten the students in my classes, as I got them started on the road to a better life. It didn't take long, however, before it became clear that this endeavor would be as daunting as any of the Labors of Hercules.

As I perused the pages of the journal, I noticed the name of one particular student. Thinking of him, I suddenly remembered how I had initially been surprised by how many of the eighth graders were my height, with a few being even slightly taller. I was a little over 6-feet tall (185 cm), so I thought I'd tower over those in my classes, and he was one of the students where this had actually been true. Mentally, I was transported back in time to my first encounter with Derrick Hilton.

Derrick was one of the shorter students, at only 5' 3" (160 cm), although he was solidly built. He also had no real friends and managed to remain aloof from the other kids, although I didn't understand why. I felt he had potential and wanted to take him under my wing, but first I would have to find a way to get close to him. As I read the notes I'd made many years ago, I found myself mentally reliving the day this had happened.

"You should try smiling a little more," I challenged, when I ran into Derrick outside of school one day. "Not only would it make you appear better looking, but it would probably also help you gain a few new friends."

I was serious. He already had a rugged, handsome look, with his shaggy brown hair and green eyes. With a little work and adding a smile, he would be quite a looker.

"Oh hi, Mr. Ross. I've tried, but it doesn't really work that way," he reasoned, summarily sloughing off my suggestion.

"Why's that?" I wondered, as I searched his face to see if there were any clues there.

"After a while the other kids just start making fun of my family," he explained. "When that happens, I either end up punching or telling them off.

"But most of the other boys are quite a bit bigger than you," I pointed out, slightly puzzled. "You mean you fight them too?"

"Yeah. Even if they're bigger, I was always told that it isn't the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog," he countered, as he took up a slightly defiant pose. "When they start making fun of my family, there's enough fight in me to stand up to anyone my age or even older."

I wasn't about to argue with him, because the look on his face told me all I needed to know. It indicated that he didn't want me to challenge his claim, or else I might end up losing my chance to get close to him. On the other hand, I had to find a way to connect with him, if I was going to have any chance to help.

"So why do they make fun of your family?" I asked out of curiosity, while at the same time trying to let him know I was only interested and not making fun of anyone. "Maybe I can help, if I know what you're up against."

"I doubt you can, but most of it's in my school records anyway," he conceded, as he shifted his weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other and began staring at the ground. "My dad took off right after I was born and we haven't seen him since. I have two older sisters and he never did anything for any of us after he left my mom. She was forced to work two jobs just so we'd have a place to live, enough food to eat and clothes to wear, but there has never been much left over for anything else. My sisters and I don't complain though, because we understand and try to help out the best we can. Most of the other kids our age make fun of us though, because we don't have a lot of the stuff they have. They also tease us because of the way we dress. They don't understand why we don't wear the really nice clothes like they do and wear things bought at the discount stores instead."

"I can understand what you're going through, because things haven't changed that much since I was your age," I agreed. "It's stupid that the other kids put so much emphasis on what you have and what you wear, not who you are."

"Yeah, they do, but I don't let them get away with it, if I can help it," Derrick replied. "I kinda wish other people were more like you though. Even the other teachers don't understand and only a few of them will do anything to stop the other kids from being so mean. It's like they just don't care."

"Well I do," I assured him. I was tempted to reach out and give him a hug, but resisted the urge. I didn't think he'd take it very well. "If your mother works two jobs, do you get to spend any time together?"

"Not much, but it's not her fault," Derrick responded, as his body stiffened. I could tell he was subconsciously beginning to fear where the conversation was going, so he took up a slightly defensive posture.

"I didn't say it was, but it must be tough on you and your sisters, since you don't get to be with her very much," I pointed out.

"We're used to it," he offered, shaking it off. "When we were younger, my older sister would watch us before and after school. She's three years older than me and a year and a half older than my other sister. She did it because Mom couldn't afford to pay anyone else to stay with us, so that's just the way it was. We knew our mom was doing her best to make sure we were ok, had what we needed and were keeping out of trouble, so we did whatever our sister told us."

I probably would have been shocked by this detail, if I hadn't gone to school with a girl who basically raised her siblings the same way. Since I was familiar with her situation, I felt confident I could continue.

"Yes, it must have been tough on your sister too, having to fill in for your mother like that while she was working," I observed and Derrick merely nodded his head in response.

"Now that we're older, my sister got a job working as a cashier at the grocery store. She does that after school and on the weekend to help out," he explained. "My next sister will do the same thing right after her next birthday and I'll get a job when I'm old enough too."

"Don't any of you want to go on to college?" I asked, without thinking.

"Like that's even possible," Derrick replied, as the sarcasm dripped off his tongue. "We'll be lucky if we manage to get through high school without having to quit so we can work full-time."

I was shocked by his response. As I thought about it a little more, however, I realized how different Derrick's world was from the one I had grown up in.

"I hope each of you is able to at least earn your high school diploma," I offered. "If there is anything I can do to help make that happen, please let me know."

He nodded that he would, but I wasn't so sure he would actually do it. He seemed too proud to ask for help, so I just hoped he didn't make the wrong choices when doing what he thought was necessary to survive. Not having a parent around to guide you when you are growing up, even if the absence was out of necessity and for good reason, it can sometimes cause a child to make bad decisions. I hoped Derrick wouldn't be one of them, but unfortunately I lost track of him after he moved on to high school. Even sadder was the fact that he was just one of several that I had unanswered questions about and wondered how they had made out since I'd last seen them.

After I finished reading about Derrick, I put down that journal and picked up the next one. Almost immediately, I came across the name of another student I wished I could have done more to help - Bonnie Kilgore. I had her in class a few years after Derrick, and although Bonnie's home situation was slightly better, it was far from perfect. I had just read the note I'd written to check with Bonnie to see if her parents were coming in so I could speak with them. That's when I found myself mentally rehashing one of my conversations with her.

"Bonnie, are your parents coming to the open house?" I asked, as she moved toward the door. "I'd really like to meet and speak with them."

She brushed the ebony hair off of her forehead and stared at me with her big, brown eyes before answering.

"My mom says she's going to try to get off work and come in, but I'm not sure if she'll be able to. She works the lunch and dinner hours at the diner, because she says the tips are better than if she worked the breakfast and lunch shifts. Her only day off is Sunday, so it's hard for her to find time to get here."

"If she can't make it, will your father come in instead?" I pressed, although I'd like to meet both of her parents.

"I don't think he'll be able to," Bonnie answered, as she looked around to see if anyone else was listening in on our discussion. "He works nights, from 4:00 to midnight, and doesn't like to take time off just for stuff at school. He'll let Mom deal with it, if she can get off."

"Everyone else's parents will be coming in, so your parents will be the only ones I won't see. If neither one can make it, what if I set up a time to meet with them on Sunday, when your mother isn't working," I offered, as I tried to find a creative solution to the problem, but Bonnie was shaking her head.

"My dad works a second job on the weekends and my mom uses Sunday to catch up on things around the house," she explained, as she glanced at the clock.

"Don't worry about being late," I interjected, when I realized her concern. "I'll write you a pass. So you don't think they'd meet with me then either."

"Not really," she added, looking slightly relieved. "There's a better chance my mom will be able to switch with someone so she can show up, rather than giving up part of her only day off. If she is able to change shifts with someone else, then she'll meet with my teachers and my brother's teachers too."

"How old is your brother?" I wondered, since she'd never mentioned having a brother before.

"He's two years younger than me," Bonnie answered, before sighing. "He's ok, but we don't like many of the same things, so we don't do much together."

Subconsciously I nodded, since it explained why she'd never mentioned her brother previously.

"So your dad works two jobs and doesn't have any time off to meet with me?" I followed, not quite believing what I was hearing.

"Yeah, he works a lot. When he's home, he's either sleeping or trying to take care of the house and yard," Bonnie replied. "He says he's working this hard so we could own the house, so he's not going to let it get run down and become worthless just because he's not taking care of it."

After hearing her say this, I gave up on the idea of meeting with both of Bonnie's parents.

Now, I went back to reading the journal and was pleased to note that Bonnie stopped to speak with me a couple of days later. At that time, she informed me her mother would be coming in, which made my day. I had some questions I wanted to ask her, as well as things I wished to share, so now I'd have a chance to do both.

"I'm glad to meet you, Mrs. Kilgore," I greeted Bonnie's mother, after she announced who she was. She was about an inch taller than her daughter, who stood about 5' 5" (165 cm).

"Please call me Brenda," she offered in return. "Mrs. Kilgore is my mother-in-law and I'd prefer not to be confused with her."

I sensed a little tension there, so I didn't pursue the issue further. I had more important fish to fry.

"I'm glad you came in, Brenda, because I'm concerned about Bonnie," I began. "Since the beginning of the year, her grades have slipped and she has started getting into trouble. Although she hasn't caused any problems in my class, I've heard the other teachers talking about some of the things she's done."

"I've noticed her behavior has changed at home too," Brenda countered. "I also think I know the reason why it's happening. For years, Bonnie has done everything she could to get her father's attention, but Todd is always too busy or just doesn't want to be bothered. The only time he seems to notice Bonnie is when she is getting into mischief, so I'm afraid this might be Bonnie's attempt to get her father to pay attention to her. I know it sounds crazy, but I truly believe that's what is happening."

"It makes perfect sense to me and I'm sure Bonnie isn't the first child to use that approach to gain her father's attention," I confirmed. "Let's see if we can figure out a way to help her get what she wants, without jeopardizing her future."

Brenda and I then came up with a couple of different ideas, which we hoped might work. If not, Bonnie might try getting into even more trouble to get what she wanted, and not just at school either. We were afraid this might lead to criminal behavior in order for Bonnie to achieve her goal, although we both hoped her father would realize what his daughter was doing before it had gone that far. If not, we hoped Bonnie would come to her senses and discover her recent behavior wasn't getting her what she wanted either. Unfortunately, I'd lost track of Bonnie too, so I never discovered if that had happened. I was curious about how she'd turned out.

Once I'd finished reading about Bonnie, I scanned another couple of journals before I came across the name of another student I had tried to help. I had spotted Ralph Tomlin the first day he appeared in my class, for several different reasons. First of all, Ralph was extremely small for his age, at 5' 4" (163 cm), and skinny as a rail. He also had the most spectacular, blue eyes that I'd ever seen on anyone, let alone a boy, and they contrasted nicely with his raven-colored hair.

Besides being small, very slender and having striking features, he was also one of the most socially immature students I'd ever met. He seemed to lack even the most basic concept of how to interact with other children. The final thing that I noticed about him was that he often had visible contusions, which I finally decided to ask him about.

"Ralph, I've noticed that you frequently have bruises on your arms, legs or face and wondered what's causing them," I began, once we were alone. "Are you having problems with another student? If so, who is doing this to you?"

As soon as I finished speaking, I noticed Ralph had a startled expression on his face and he seemed shocked that I was asking this question. After swallowing hard several times, he finally answered.

"I just bump into things and fall down a lot," he answered, in a very meek and halting voice. "My mom's boyfriend says I'm a real klutz. He told me that means I'm clumsy."

"I see," I replied, while eyeing him doubtfully. "What's your mom and dad say about it?"

"Mom agrees with Dick," he replied, as he lowered his gaze and stared at my chest. He also held his arms behind his back, so they were out of my line of vision. "She says I'm a walking disaster."

"I've never noticed you having those kinds of problems here at school," I challenged, to see how he'd respond.

"I guess when I'm here I just bump into the other kids instead and not into things that are harder and leave marks," he countered, although he didn't look me in the eye when he said this.

I remembered thinking at the time that this was possible, even though I'd never seen him bumping into any other students. If he had, it probably would have led to a lot of pushing and shoving, as well as shouting, so it would have immediately come to my attention. Just in case, I decided to check with the school nurse as well, to see if Ralph had ever gone to see her after getting injured.

"What does your dad say about it?" I pressed, since I wasn't ready to let him off the hook just yet.

"I don't know nuttin' about him," Ralph answered. "Mom said he disappeared after she told him she was going to have me, so that's why I got her last name and not his."

I guess that cleared up a few other points and explained why his mother had a live-in boyfriend. I had a feeling there was a great deal more going on here than what he was sharing with me, but I would leave it alone for now. I'd keep an eye on the situation though, but I wouldn't push him to tell me more. Not just yet.

After reading more from the journal, I remembered how that all changed one day, when Ralph came to school with a sore wrist. It was during the winter and someone accidentally bumped into him as he made his way into the classroom. As soon as this happened, Ralph cried out and burst into tears, due to the pain. I knew the collision hadn't been violent enough to cause such a reaction, so I suspected there was more to this story than met the eye. I waited until everyone was seated and then asked one of the aides to watch the class, so I could take Ralph to the nurse's office. As soon as the nurse did a cursory examination of his arm, she announced that she suspected it was fractured.

Since I had a class to get back to, I left Ralph in the nurse's care. She was going to try to contact Ralph's mother, so they could get his arm x-rayed and taken care of. Feeling he was in good hands, I returned to my classroom, where I quickly focused on the other students.

The next day I didn't see Ralph in class and wondered if his injury was more involved than I'd suspected. I didn't think about it again, until my lunch period rolled around later. I was heading toward the faculty lounge when the school nurse confronted me.

"Thank you for leaving me with one hell of a mess yesterday," she stated in an accusing tone. I could see she was upset, so I decided to find out what was wrong.

"Why? What happened?" I wondered, looking confused. "I noticed Ralph wasn't in class today, so it must have been bad."

"It certainly was!" she snapped, in a huff. "The problems started when I couldn't get a hold of his mother. It's also when I started questioning him about how it had happened. As I attempted to clarify some of the details about his injury, I caught him changing his story and became suspicious. After I asked him to remove his shirt, I saw bruises on his arms and neck too. That's when I began to suspect this might be the result of child abuse, so I called the Department of Social Services. They sent over a caseworker and together we took Ralph to the emergency room.

"As soon as we arrived there," she continued, "we told the staff what we suspected. They took Ralph for x-rays and the results were disturbing. The break I detected was not from a fall. It was a spiral fracture, which would only happen if someone had twisted Ralph's arm. The x-ray technician also spotted other fractures that were older and had either mended previously or were partially healed. This convinced us it wasn't a one-time thing. When we confronted Ralph with the evidence, he finally broke down and admitted what had happened. It turned out that he's been abused at home for years!"

I remembered being dumbfounded and didn't know what to say. I guess I didn't want to believe an adult could do this to a child, but at least we'd got to the bottom of the problem, so it wouldn't happen again. Now, I was concerned about what was going to happen to Ralph.

I didn't see him around school after that, but could only guess why. I didn't know if his family had moved or if something else had occurred. After returning to my journal, I discovered that I ran into the nurse a couple of months later and asked if she knew anything more about Ralph. That's when she told me what she had discovered. She stated that she had worked with the same caseworker another time, so the woman was willing to fill her in about what had happened to Ralph. The caseworker told the nurse that Ralph was immediately removed from his home and placed in foster care. Since his new residence was outside of the boundary for our school district, Ralph ultimately ended up attending another school system, which explained why we never saw him again.

The caseworker also told the nurse that the police had been notified about the situation, so the mother and her boyfriend were arrested for child abuse. During their investigation, the detectives discovered that the boyfriend had never wanted kids in the first place and saw the boy as additional expense and a hindrance to his relationship with Ralph's mother. Since the man was upset about the situation, he did everything he could to make Ralph's life miserable and in the process treated him cruelly. Regrettably, Ralph's mother did nothing to protect him either. It seemed she still unconsciously blamed her son for his father running off, since he didn't want a family either.

It seemed that from what Ralph told the investigators, he had been given barely enough food at home to keep him alive, so he would often sneak out to the kitchen at night, after his mom and her boyfriend were asleep. He would then dig out the scraps they had tossed into the garbage earlier and eat them. Ralph also confirmed that Dick often beat him or twisted his arm to 'punish' him for bad behavior, but what the man did was far worse than simple punishment. Ralph also admitted that it didn't seem to matter what he did, because it was always wrong and Dick would use it as an excuse to go after him again.

In the end, Dick and Ralph's mother were both convicted of aggravated child abuse and sent to prison. Hopefully, things got better for Ralph after that and he was able to put those incidents behind him.

After teaching in the same school district for many years, the administration became involved in a huge scandal and many of the principals, along with the Superintendent and Assistant Superintendent, were replaced. After just a few months of working under the new administration, I decided I could no longer put up with the joker they'd hired to run our building. I immediately started applying for other positions and was soon hired by a private school with an excellent reputation and an exclusive student body.

Thinking about the transition, I picked up the next to last journal, which covered the period after I'd switched school systems. Before long, I spotted the name Logan Cassidy, who was one of my first students there. Although Logan tried to put up a good front, I could tell that something wasn't quite right with him either. Hoping to discover what might be the problem, I began reading his school records.

His previous teachers had left several notes in his folder, which proved they had spotted something as well. After reading these documents, I discovered Logan came from a very wealthy family and had every material advantage possible. What he didn't have, it appeared, was parental guidance and supervision. His father was a workaholic and immersed himself in his business. At the same time, Logan's mother spent most of her day involved in one of the many social activities she was involved with.

I soon learned that since his parents were hardly ever around, Logan had basically been raised by the housekeeper, cook and his nanny. Various notes I read led me to believe that the only time Logan was ever around his parents was when they would parade him out for show, especially around the holidays. They would only do this, however, when it suited their purposes or was to their advantage, such as family or social gatherings, and was usually done to impress the others in attendance. The rest of the time, they merely made sure Logan had everything he wanted, along with a substantial allowance. He had everything money could buy, but not much else.

Logan was an attractive young man, with a sharp mind and lots of friends. He stood 6' 1" (185 cm) tall, had blond hair, brown eyes and was an exceptional athlete. Most parents would have been proud to have someone like Logan for a son, but we hardly ever saw his parents around. They usually showed up during parents' weekend, but other than that we hardly ever saw them on campus. Since nearly all of the other parents were very involved in their children's lives, I finally decided to confront Logan about this.

"Logan, I was wondering if your parents ever come to watch your games or other things you're involved in here at school."

"Sometimes, but not very often," he answered, without showing much emotion in his voice. "My 'rents are pretty busy and can't drive out here every time I'm in something or have a game. It's ok. I don't mind."

Even though he claimed this didn't bother him, I suspected it wasn't how he truly felt. It was easy to spot the look of envy on Logan's face whenever he saw one of the other students interacting with his or her parents, when they attended a school function or sporting event. In contrast, Logan's parents were never there, and although I would have liked to change that for him, there was no way I knew of to force his parents to show up and emotionally support their son.

I did happen to see them on a couple of other occasions, but it was only after Logan had gotten into trouble for something, such as sneaking off campus or for an infraction of the code of conduct. No matter how serious the problem, it never seemed as if his parents made any attempt to discover the truth about what had happened or were sincerely concerned about their son. Even at those times, their presence seemed to be more about maintaining a respectable outward appearance and not tarnishing the family's reputation or status. Rather than getting upset about what he had done, his mother and father would do whatever it took to get Logan out of the jam, such as making a substantial contribution to a building or scholarship fund. By doing this, their son never had to take responsibility for anything he did.

I, along with many other faculty and staff members, began to wonder why the Cassidys had decided to have a child in the first place. It was possible they had once wanted a family and didn't realize the work and devotion it would entail, but it was also possible that Logan's birth had been an accident. Either way, Logan was just as deprived emotionally as any of my other former students. Having material possessions could not make up for the lack of parental love, attention and guidance.

Slowly, I closed the last journal and placed it on the stack with the others. Now that I had been reminded of those students, I began to wonder what happened to them and how they'd fared. It's difficult to predict how the emotional and psychological scars produced by years of neglect or abuse were going to affect someone, so I had no idea what effect it might have had on them. Hopefully, each one was able to survive what they endured, without long lasting damage. I also hoped they hadn't repeated the errors their parents or guardians had made when raising them, if they'd started their own families. Too often people repeat the mistakes they had learned as children, but I still hoped these four had done better than that.

Unfortunately, it was also possible that their poor treatment had caused them to hang out with the wrong crowd. If so, I hoped they hadn't been lured into a cycle of self-destructive habits and a life of lawlessness. I sincerely wished there might be a way I could find out what had happened to these students and hoped I would discover they were all doing well.

Although not all parents are like this, I also wished there was a way, as a society, to enlighten every new parent and increase their sensitivity to the needs of their offspring. We should strive to discover ways to show them that their children need their love and require their attention. If we could do that, then chances are it would lessen the number of children that would have to deal with psychological and emotional scars, which would benefit all of society in the long run.

The End.