Sometimes one of my kids gives me the great big bambi-eyed look
because I’m going downstairs to my office instead of staying and
playing with them, or some similarly microscopic tragedy. And I can
barely stand it.
giving someone the same look because their daddy only beats them, or
because they don’t have a daddy or a mommy at all, or because their
only toys are now buried in a pile of rubble that used to be their
house, or, or, or… And it just disassembles me. I want to collapse in a heap and bawl my eyes out.
This right here is why I work with kids. Because so many of them go through that – and while I may not be able to start a revolution on Wall Street, or save the whales, or rid Africa of AIDS, I can give a kid hope and attention that he would otherwise miss out on.
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