Eugene's Rabbit Hole

Have you ever met a child who didn't wonder what it would be like to go through the looking glass? I wonder if they realize that Alice's life was not all magical singing flowers, talking rabbits and purple cats that faded, leaving nothing behind but a smile.

Mad hatters celebrated birthdays that didn't exist; you could shrink and blend into a world where no one could see you, or you can grow so large that you are scarier than every other person you know.

There are kids in the Eugene area who have a Looking Glass they can go to and know that they will be safe. There will be no Queens shouting off with their heads. There will be no dark and scary places, for at the Looking Glass in Eugene it is a safe haven especially for them. There are no mommy's on meth, no daddy's that use their fists. No brothers, uncles, step parents that molest. No families that leave them behind or throw them away.

The only adults at Looking Glass Station 7 are the few staff members who take them under their protective wing, love and nurture them back to health and teach them to fly. The Looking Glass, takes their tattered chaotic lives and give them stability, self-esteem and most importantly love.

"Runaway and homeless youth exposed to perilous situations on the "streets" find safety and assistance through crisis counseling and emergency shelter. These services help youth get their lives back on track and provide the chance to reunite with their families. Older homeless youth without families can prepare to live on their own. Services offered include housing assistance, education and basic life skills training."

More than one million six hundred thousand children under the age of 18 are homeless in any given year. That is triple the population of the capital of our great country itself. Of those 784,000 have been physically abused and 275,000 have been sexually abused. Of those, more than one third find themselves without beds because shelter space is limited.

The Looking Glass can only do so much, and they need help to perform the miracles they do. To find out more, please click on any "Looking Glass" word and help make a better wonderland for child who has fallen into a hole he or she can not get out of.

For more information on runaway and "throw away" youth please click on the word youth.

A Story Behind Every Face

KATRINA WAS NO LADY:

We lost everything in hurricane Katrina. Everything that meant anything. I don't care about things. Someday we'll get them back, but now my daughter and I are homeless. My son; my husband. They perished along with everything else. Nothing can give them back to us.

ALONE AND PREGNANT:

I tried to tell my mom what was going on but she wouldn't believe me. Her new boyfriend wouldn't stop hitting on me. Then I got pregnant. She told me it was my fault. She chose him over me, her own daughter. She kicked me out. I'm only 15. I have no place to go. Where do I go. What do I do now? What's going to happen to me and my baby.

RECUPERATING IN THE STREETS:

My wife's been pretty sick. We don't have insurance, so I took a second job just to pay the medical bills. Then I lost the better paying of the two. I found another job but they each just pay minimum wage. It was enough to put food on the table and buy the medicine my wife needed, but it wasn't enough to keep the house from being foreclosed on. Now the four of us sleep in our car. My wife isn't going to get better here. The kids don't get to be kids. I don't get to be hero and save the day.

BUILDING A NEW LIFE:

My story's an easy one. I had my own construction company. It was small but it kept me going. Kept a rood over my head. Had a nice truck. Money in the bank. Then I fell off a ladder and broke my back. The cost of insurance when you are self-employed was through the roof, so I never bought any. When you own the company you don't take out workers comp on yourself either. But without it, I had no income coming in at all. My savings, house, car. They all went to pay the medical bills. I wish I had spent the $400 a month on insurance now.

Now I have nothing and disability doesn't even get me a studio apartment, so I'm out here waiting in line for bed every night.

LOVE ISN'T ALWAYS ENOUGH:

He was kid and loving. A good father. A good provider. Every woman's dream. But when he had a few, he was...well he wasn't so much fun anymore. I got a restraining order, but it's just a piece of paper. So I left. I went to a shelter for a while. hey found me a place to stay. A sort of witness protection program, but he found me anyway.

He promised he'd change. I gave him a second chance. It was pretty good for a little while. Then he started going out with his buddies again. He beat me so bad I couldn't open my right eye for the longest time. Lost some of the vision in it too.

I had no place to go. The shelters were all full. Witness protection had a list. I stayed with a few friends but when he came and beat down the door, they told me I had to leave. I couldn't blame them. That's how I ended up here. I've been here for about 3 years now. It's actually better than living with him. At least here, they kind of take you in and you become one big happy family after a while. We take care of each other.

I'll take frozen toes over broken ribs any day.

WICKED STEP FATHER

My dad left when I was just three. Mom and I went to live with her brother in Phillie. Mom left one day for milk and never came back. Things were okay for a while, but when I was 12, things changed. I had a baby when I was almost 13. I named her Hope. Uncle Doug made me give her away. Said he didn't want a bastard living under his roof. Even without Hope, there was still a bastard living under his roof.

I couldn't stay. I'd rather be out here than to keep being his bitch so I left when I was 14. I've been out here for 5 years now. I steal a lot. Only bread and peanut butter. A girls gotta eat. Sometimes I take Tampax, but that's it. I turn tricks now and then but I hate it so I only do it when I'm really down and out. I found out when I was 16 that you could get paid for blood, but you had to be 18. Got a fake ID.

Never got into the drugs. Sometimes I wish I had, but I never had the nerve. I figure I'm screwed up enough already and drugs would just make it worse.

Someday I'd like a house, but I probably won't ever get it. Who'd want somebody like me anyway?

MY COUNTRY TIS OF THEE AND THEE ALONE:

Know how old I am? 54. I look a lot older don't I? War'll do that to you ya know. Age you before your time. Liquor'll do it too. I didn't start drinkin cuz I like the stuff. I can't stand it, but it helps you forget. At least for a little while.

I was just a kid in Vietnam. Thought it would get me a lot of girls if I wore a uniform. All it got me was pain. I saw more sh** than any kid ever had a right to see. I wasn't the same when I came home. They knew that. Everybody knew, but they sent me out again.

27 years I served in the Marines. Was proud to do it. I ain't the only one who's change though. America's changed. There's a lot more hate than when I was a kid. Lot more stupid people trying to run the country. They make all these grand speeches about how much they care and how much they want to change things for us. For all of us they say, not just the Vets. They's just a bunch of liars. I ain't so proud no more.

truth is, I want to be out here. Nobody bothers me out here. They all think I'm nuts so why not let em keep on thinkin it? I ain't nuts though. Just tired a all the bull sh**. Everybody should be tired a bullsh**, but nobody wants to do nothing about it. So I keep to myself and life is grand. And if you believe that darlin' I got me a rusty colored bridge to sell you out at Tony Bennett's place to sell ya.

The Eyes Have It

Paul Newman eyes. That's what I call them. An intense, penetrating blue that could pierce your very soul. Sometimes as with Shawnee, you could actually look into those eyes and see nothing. No life, no emotion, and seemingly no essence. It was those eyes that caught my attention, not the waist length emerald, sapphire and amethyst strands of hair. Nor was it the multiple facial piercings; nor the pair of hands that were tattooed in a choke hold around her. It was her Paul Newman eyes.

Although kids have always been part of my life, first mine and for the last 18 years, kids of others, I knew from experience that I was "The Company." In my day we called it "the Establishment." Either way I would be deemed suspicious. Shawnee would be on her guard around me until trust could be earned, if ever. Therefore I wanted to see her in her element; to see her be herself, the way she acted around her peers. I needed to see her while her invisible protective force field was down.

My maternal heart quivered with compassion for this adolescent which gave me this overwhelming desire to know what was behind those eyes. Why were they so empty? Did they mirror her life? From what I could already recognize, they held horror, fear, an awfulness that few of us could ever perceive.

She was petite, no more than five feet tall. The boy's pants she wore hung low on her hips, making them sag in places that were meant for tautness. The too small tank top exposed more violent in nature tattoos on her biceps, neckline and wrists. Her attire also revealed a paunch that could only be achieved through motherhood, telling me without words, that her maternal heart had been wounded deeply. Her masculine mannerism opened to the elements one who trusted no one; who needed no one; who loved no one, including herself.

After only a few days of observation, I knew many of her likes and dislikes. What made her angry and what made her smile. She had an awkward smile; one that was given rarely and when it was, always through clenched jaws that matched the fists that were always at the ready. She chain smoked with a vengeance, sometimes tossing a joint into the mix, never caring what people thought. Or did she? Was she wanting to get caught, perhaps even needing to be caught?

When she accompanied one of her friends who had been accosted to the emergency room, she looked like she would rather be anywhere else but there, but to her credit, she waited albeit nervously. I made it a point to introduce myself and asked if I could buy her a cup of coffee. While the friend was in surgery, she and I had a chance to talk. I was taken aback when what started out to be a casual chat turned out to be a gushing of self-restricted, fury and fear.

I hadn't yet met a kid that gave his or her right name. It seemed to be not only a way of hiding from their past but a new identity as well. Blue eyes called herself Badger as I would find out in time, the name was apropos as were most self-proclaimed titles.

It turned out Badger was 25 years old and had more battle scars than most people acquire in a lifetime. Badger was born a Native American, abandoned to her 39 year old abusive grandmother in Oklahoma. She was raped by grandmother's boyfriend at the age of fourteen.

"I don't want no damned liar living under my roof," the grandmother drunkenly stated, after Badgers confession of what had been done to her. Seven weeks after the declaration, her grandmother married her off to the highest bidder. The going price for a child bearing fourteen-year old was $239 and a 1969 Cadillac convertible that wasn't running.

Six months later, Badger gave birth to a little girl which was promptly taken away from her and given to the boyfriend, even though it supposedly wasn't his. During Badger's 6 year marriage, she survived extreme verbal abuse, multiple broken bones, and even a gunshot wound to the chest which left her heart a bit weaker than normal. Badger gave birth to two more children, both products of spousal rape.

She loved her children as best she could and through the abuse and violence she did what she could to protect them from their father's daily rants. But the courts declared her an unfit mother when her husband broke the arm and collar bone of their 10 month old boy. She left Oklahoma an empty shell when her children were taken from her and given to the grandmother that never treated her as anything more than a slave.

Badger has seen it all, done it all and at 26 is worn out and tired. Although she has never spoken the words out loud, I believe that if she could lay down and go to sleep, never to awaken, she would be content for the first time in her short life. She went back to Oklahoma two years ago to begin the battle of regaining custody of her children. Although my time with Badger came to an end, her story hasn't. I see it in the faces of the new Badgers. The Badgers that have been abandoned, battered, raped and worse.

Named after a character in CATS, Mungojerrie/Chloe is a pick pocket who insists that all the pockets she has stolen from were deserving. Zelda chose Pariah after her parents labeled her as a social outcast and sent her out into the world to fend for herself at 15. Pregnant 17 year old Lisa calls herself Gypsy. She never stays in one place for very long, for fear of her step-father, also the man who impregnated her, will find her.

There will always be "Badgers," but maybe we can reach out just a little and offer a bit of hope. As I walk these 1863 miles I beg of you, if you have a heart for kids, especially the one and one half million kids who have never had anyone give them their hearts, then please donate 1 penny for every mile to your nearest teen shelter.

Be the Change

Taking in Strays

I felt sorry for myself because I had no shoes, and then I met a man who had no feet."

We were new to the area, having only been here for a month when my oldest son met his best friend. They were in the same class at Hill High. Being typical teens, beyond the idolization of the female anatomy, the biggest commonality they had was the fact that they both hated school and didn't see the point in going.

They were emblematic teens, wearing droopy drawers, strange haircuts, earrings that no one else would even consider wearing. Everything about them shouted "Look at me. I am somebody and I want you to notice."

Everybody noticed Tim. There was no way not to. At 16, he was 6'2" browned skinned, husky and was carrying a brick on his shoulder that just dared you to knock it off. Trust me when I say, my family noticed him a bit more than most.

Tim came to stay with us one weekend back in 1992. The boys had a great time getting into the type of trouble that was more amusing than punishable; torturing Dominick's little brother; taunting his older sister; devouring freshly baked cookies that scorched the roves of their mouths due to lack of patience and always hungry bellies.

Saturday afternoon, the boys were helping me carry the laundry up to our apartment and half way up the stairs, I heard peals of laughter coming from Tim as Dominick requested my assistance. I turned and could not help but snicker myself. With arms full of basket, his pants had slithered slowly down and were now in a pool around his ankles.

They talked about all the girls they were drooling over; which car they wanted to refurbish and how they wanted to start their own rock band, although neither of them could play an instrument nor carry a tune. Apparently however if they were musicians, they could have all the girls they wanted. When Sunday evening came, we were all a bit sad to see the good times end, even if only temporarily.

I drove Tim home and the boys milked their weekend to the very end, laughing the whole way. When we pulled up in front of Tim's family's house, the windows were dark. There were no cars parked in the driveway; no sign of anything. Tim told me to go home, that he had a key. Being an old fashioned mom, I told him I would wait until I saw him safely inside. As he entered the house and flipped the light switch on, we all saw through the window, the horror that waited this already troubled teenager.

Tim's family had taken what should have been an excellent weekend and turned it into something that would haunt him forever. While he was having a grand time visiting with us, his parents had moved, lock, stock and barrel. Nothing was left behind. No note, no instructions to meet them somewhere else; no hint that they had ever existed. With that single act of abandonment, they left behind more than an empty house. They left behind an empty life, an empty soul and now an empty heart.

He stood in the living room that was once filled with his sisters, his mom and dad, furniture, even a dog. His shoulder slumped,but not a tear was shed. He was a man now, whether he wanted to be or not. A man alone. He turned and left the house, not bothering to close the door behind him. He walked back to the car where Dominick and I now stood in dismay of what had been done to him.

Tim very bravely came to us and asked, "Can I stay with you for a few days until I find someplace to live?"

"You can stay with us for as long as you'd like sweetie." I knew a hug would be meaningless to him, but I touched his arm, letting him know someone cared.

His voice cracked, but he still withheld tears. "Thanks Mom." It was the first time he called me that and although I knew I hadn't yet earned the title, my mothers heart broke for him just the same.

Over the last 17 years, I have taken in many young men and women whose family lives have been destroyed one way or another. Most of them were street kids whose lives had been torn apart by violence, abandonment or other such tragedy and had no place else to go. Some came because to stay home would be unsafe. Some parents gave them willingly, because they couldn't understand their children or couldn't handle the teenage years. All of them were at first weary of the crazy lady that everybody calls mom. Eventually they would settle in and call me the same endearing name.

I have been Tim's "mom" for 17 years now. He is married with a 3 year old son who calls me Grandma. That brick on his shoulder is still there,but I think some of it chipped off with the birth of his son. I hope that as his son grows and he become the father he was meant to be, the brick will erode enough for the pieces to fall one by one, and be gone permanently. Until then, although I don't see him too often anymore, this "Mom" is still here for him.

Tim went on a business trip to Texas once. He was to take his family with him. When he asked me if I would object to taking care of his dog, his wife asked what if I minded. Tim didn't bat an eyelash, but gave me a big Teddy bear hug and said...

"Don't worry. Mom's been taking in strays for years. I was her first one."