The older the child, the more hidden and difficult to prevent. The 18-year-old victim in Chicago thought one of his tormentors was his friend, and his parents dropped him off to meet him at McDonald’s. They reported him missing when he didn’t come home, but not soon enough to keep him from being tortured for five hours.
I became my brother’s guardian in 1991. He took some time before he learned to cling to me the way he had to our parents. I couldn’t be home with him all the time, so he came many places with me. My friends became his friends. But he was hurt when I least expected it. He didn’t know elevator etiquette and made eye contact with people getting on. As he was stepping off one time, a lawyer who worked in my building turned and called him a “weirdo.” I tracked him down, as I did the kid who stole my brother’s spanking-new Mickey Mantle baseball glove many years ago, and confronted him. He pleaded ignorance. The description fit.
I thought I knew my parents’ heartache but didn’t have a glimmer. It’s called politically correct and squishy liberal or nannyish to protect the weak among us — transgender children, minorities, the homeless, old people — but it’s really just human. And as Chicago showed us, oh so necessary.
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