The inner city does come with benefits. When we were younger, we spent most of our waking hours if not in school, down at the park as much as we could anyways.Adjustment to the park was the Avery, a beautiful exotic paradise that housed birds from all over the world. When my mother wanted to escape she would take us to this what I called the bird house. She would sit on the bench inside and my youngest sister and I would explore to our hearts content. There was such a peace and calm about the whole thing, very little caging and I loved to watch nature in balance. The turtles, the birds in flight, and koi swimming under the bridge. This magical place was one of my first lessons in respect for nature. How beautiful the sound of the birds singing , it made you never want to leave.

There was this one black bird of some sort that was caged in the walkway, he was a talking bird , every time I stopped to see him, he would squawk “hello and call me by name”. How does he know my name, I thought how does he know my name? I found it all to be a bit creepy.I went back when I was older to ask the caretaker how he always knew my name as a child. He said his wife had the same name and he taught the bird to say hello to her. I laughed when I think how frightened I was in not knowing. Giving to much credit to a talking bird. Looking back at it all now brings a warm smile to my face.

My very favorite bird at the Avery was the Victoria Crown Pigeon, it looked nothing like the pigeons in the park and I was always amazed that such a striking, beautiful bird, large in stature was related to the common pigeon. They were so calm and adjusted easily to people that they allowed you to pet them. I thought that was so cool. I loved the fact that they didn’t need caged, that you could hold them and allow them free.

My mind was reaching out to remember the good times that were so loosely woven into our days. It made me think of all the sounds that I inherently accepted as buffers to block the unwanted sounds from my life. My most favorite was the sound of the train. The magnitude of the shear strength as the metal on metal and clang and hum to the tracks snapped me up and cradled me , as the purr soothed and calmed my spirit and blocked the never ending arguing and fighting and unwanted sounds.

Evenings were especially difficult, as my parents seem to think, that out of sight meant our ears were absent from the sounds as well. I thought to myself how little gets by children.Children are able to interpret and understand so much more then adults give them credit for. I thought of the current times, were children really smarter then the generation before them ? I believe this era is much more open and children are not only seen at earlier ages but heard. Hopefully we are listening more.....

Silent cries, mask as fear,

children lost, are very near.

Violence

When Hell Comes to Visit

To those people who are not instinctively violent, there is a curiosity to what causes a person to step over the line and become the perpetrator of violence. The spawn of evil that is like a wild seed blowing in the wind, spreading dangerously throughout our communities. Unfortunately there is not one cause, and so to annihilate the problem, is complicated. As I have looked into the eyes of violence from early childhood on, I saw that evil was not choosy as to whom it chose to carry out the dark side of humanity.

It could simply be a genetic weakness, drug and alcohol related, or the even more complicated to decipher, mental illness. I have witnessed extreme violence several times through out my life, each came with a very distinctive set of circumstances. The first time it fell under domestic abuse, and I believe alcohol and drugs played a large part in edging on the violent behavior. You never become numb to scenes of violence, I believe you become more aware. The repeated behavior taught children how to live under the control of fear. It also teaches a person how to read others attempted actions through the eyes.
Inner city living came with its own set of rules, fear, lessons, pains and confusion. As violence in the city escalated, I witnessed another type of violence. Stranger upon stranger. Here I was in a city gift shop as I looked into the gunmen's eyes. All I can say is that I knew, he knew, I knew, no humor in that. Our eyes locked and I saw his desperation, I saw his fear, I didn’t necessarily see hatred in his eyes. He allowed me to walk out of that store, as he pulled the gun on the store clerk. I saw that hell walked many a path. It's not that evil goes through stages of morphing that we cannot not always identify it, it's that if effects so many people in so many ways.
Which brings me again to standing at the gates of hell. This time it fell to close to home. I could sense at this moment anger, here we had a situation with no drugs, no alcohol, no evidence of mental illness, yet the breakdown of one human who had inadequate sleep and food and was hell bent on expressing his anger and hatred by wailing a gun through the air, no particular reason, no particular day, just stepping on the edge of insanity.
There are so many ways that evil makes its way into peoples live, that it is impossible to identify them all, who will be the next perpetrator or the next victim? The motives are endless, we have greed, hatred, revenge, sickness, desperation and the list goes on. Can we isolate the gene that might promote violent behavior, the weak gene, or should we? This dark characteristic side of humanity.