My family. Always remember that there is nothing worth sharing, like the love that let us share our name. ❤️
Escorted at @pporlando this morning & just finished canvassing for Karen. Safe to say I’m a lot browner then when I started. 😝
Oh to be a tortoise. 🐢 #UCFarboretum (at University of Central Florida)
First stop when I got home: #Bithlo, to catch the end of @ashpkeys #theatre class. ☺️#TransformationTheatre
This morning I dialed 911. Not because I was in trouble, not because I was hurt. But because I was driving to work, and saw at the corner of Long and Rio Grande a fight break out between a mother and daughter.
NPR was on— and loud— but I could still hear the two women screaming at each other. As i slowed down to the stop sign across from the Citrus Bowl (or what’s left of it), I saw the mom grab the daughter’s shirt so she couldn’t move, and hit her in the face. Not once, but twice. Then the daughter reacted and swung back, hard. Within seconds both were on the floor, swinging fists at each other, rolling in the grass, with a young boy not even three feet tall stood, staring at them, in silence.
I was heartbroken. My Mom hit me once when I was a child. It was for a silly reason, one that I can’t even remember. She hit me near the ear and I froze instantly when it happened, ran to the room I shared with my twin sister and cried. She followed me soon after, regret in her eyes, and an apology in her voice.
I didn’t see any apology happen here, and as I saw the first punches come from the mom to daughter my first reaction was to make noise to stop the violence. I pressed hard on my steering wheel but even my obnoxious hocking was no distraction to the moment unfolding in front of me.
So I dialed 911, with a small pang of guilt. Was it really my business to get involved in a family feud? Ultimately teenagers can be stressful for parents. But as I explained to the operator and explained what I saw— abuse in a family, neglect from the little boy who stood still, watching, as if this happened all of the time, I knew I was making the right choice.
I didn’t stay for the police to come, and as I drove away, a young man jumped out of his truck and with careful haste approached the pair. As he came closer they laid on the ground, one pinning the other down, speechless and still.
The cycle of abuse is a terrible thing; and its normalization of abuse is even more perverse. My only hope is that this family’s moment of violence will be their last.