If you wish to know what justice is, let injustice pursue you.
~Eugenio Maria De Hostos
Life in the orphanage was a time that I’ve come to appreciate the older that I have become. I realize that I have gained some perspectives about certain things that may or may not have happened through a normal family setting.
Life in the orphanage was routine in many aspects, and our days were like the days of children in homes with their parents. We made our beds every morning, and had to clean our rooms before going downstairs to eat breakfast as a group. Only on rare occasions did someone straggle downstairs late. After school, we ate lunch together, and those who had kitchen duties would tend to their chores. The rest of us would all go to the learning room to do our homework. After that, we were allowed to go outside and play. We spent our afternoons playing outside, going on bike rides, or going for walks. On rainy days, we would be huddled inside playing board games, cards, reading, rough housing, painting, or working on arts and crafts. Evening meals were at six o’clock, and chores were done either before or afterwards.
On occasion, our routine was broken by squabbles, some of which were ordinary and some of which were not. Sometimes a fight would break out and it would have to be broken up by the social workers. I remember only a few times where an older child actually got into a physical fight with a social worker, though. The jealousy, back biting, and group gang-ups that one would experience in school were also a part of daily life. Sometimes, a strong personality would come to the forefront to exert power and position. The weaker kids would often follow this personality. These squabbles that were difficult to endure were the kind that were not readily visible because they were emotional. Though we had good and caring social workers, we could not turn to them always as a child turns to a loving parent for direction. When such squabbles broke out, I felt very alone and vulnerable.
When I was about 12 years old, there was one such occasion that became a big upheaval for me. I had returned to the orphanage after spending a week with Geli and Herman. As I walked through the door, I saw everyone was sitting around the table eating dinner. I said hello and hello and went upstairs to put my things away and then joined the group downstairs. When I opened my armoire, I noticed a sweater that belonged to one of the girls with whom I shared the bedroom. It was her favorite sweater and I wondered what it was doing in my armoire. As I picked the sweater up to lay it on her bed, I noticed it was all cut up. I became afraid, and for a moment did not know what I should do.
I took the sweater and mustered the courage to go downstairs with it. All the kids stared at me as I had this cut-up sweater in my hand to show the social worker. Simone was not there that weekend and it made dealing with this situation even more difficult. Simone always seemed to handle situations with fairness and with perspective. I showed the sweater to one of the other social workers but I have little recollection of what the actual response was. I do remember that I was overwhelmed with feelings of rejection and injustice. I noticed the kids started to whisper among themselves and looked at me suspiciously. After dinner, no one would speak to me. I knew that everyone thought that I had cut up the sweater and I also knew that this girl had already been badmouthing me to the group. This girl had been in our orphanage only a few years. She was a few years older than I, but we had become good friends. Her sister also was in our orphanage also, but she had been put into a different group. My roommate was very competitive about our social worker, Simone’s attention. Everyone loved Simone, and my friend became obsessed with winning her praise. (You may read, “The Laughter of Simone” on this blog to find out about this young woman and why we all were so fond of her). Her entire personality changed to fit what she thought Simone wanted. She became very jealous of my relationship with Simone, and tensions had risen between us.
I felt completely overwhelmed with my feelings of betrayal and isolation. I went to my room and cried wishing that Simone was there so I could talk with her about it. She was good at putting things in perspective and lessening what we would perceive to be dramas. I decided to run away to Geli and Herman, and I waited for the opportune time to go. I left after dinner time when everyone was busy playing and other’s were doing their chores. We had a white wall around our orphanage and when I snug out of the house, I went to the least conspicuous area by the wall and crawled over it. I ran as quickly as I could until the orphanage became a distant silhouette. I caught my breath and then walked the rest of the way. It was the first and last time I took such extreme measures while living in the orphanage, but it was the only solution that I could come up with at the time.
Normally, I would take that trip by bus and trolley. However, this particular trip was not planned, and I did not have my allowance money to buy the tickets I needed. So, I walked the entire way taking over 2 hours to arrive at Geli and Herman’s house. As I walked, I just cried because I could not believe that someone could cut this sweater up and put it in my armoire, make it look like I had done it. It seemed all so unfair and so vicious. I felt very alone.
As I walked, I came to a bridge: though it was familiar to me, I hesitated for a moment. I had no other choice but to walk under it because I certainly did not have any intentions to go back. As I proceeded, a man began to walk alongside me. I can’t remember a single word that we exchanged. I do remember thinking that I must stay alert and very clever should he want to harm me in some way. I felt afraid, but I tried very hard to be matter-of- fact and confident. After a little while, he turned away and went a different direction. I was relieved.
When I arrived at the young couple’s house and rang their door bell, I started to cry all over again. Geli opened the door. Her surprise showed as she invited me in and I proceeded to tell them the entire story. They were very kind and listened carefully as I talked through my tears. I have often told Geli stories about the upheavels between the girls in the orphanage, something I simply never could adjust to. Geli and Herman were very tender towards me and understood the hard situation that I found myself in when I arrived at the orphanage earlier that evening. However, they explained to me that they needed to call the director of the orphanage to let them know my whereabouts. They did not want to find themselves in some legal difficulties by keeping me there without their knowing. Although I did not want to go back, I was glad that I had the chance to talk to someone about this. They drove me back in their car and I just kept on crying.
When we arrived back at the orphanage, we sat down and talked with the director. I explained that I had just returned from a weekend away and found this cut up sweater in my armoire. I swore that I did not cut it up and would never have done such a thing. They knew that I never had any kind of behavioral problems in school or at the orphanage. Somehow, the issue seemed to simply dissolve away with little concern. I was glad because I felt that the suspicion was at least taken away by the adults. However, this was a hurt that went deep and stayed with me for a long time. I felt betrayed and attacked by my friends and peers. Life in the orphanage had changed for me and the remainder of my time there became even lonelier.
After I found Simone again over 25 years later, we discussed this event and the drama this was for me. No one ever admitted to cutting the sweater up and placing it in my armoire. Simone, however, knew that I did not do it and she wished she could have been there for me. It did my heart good to be able to talk about this with her again.
All there is left to do is move on and believe that in time the truth is made clear in some way, even if only to ourselves. This is not easy. Yet, as we get older and begin to understand that there are higher purposes, and a living Being that extends mercy and kindnesses untold, the pain of our dramas lessen and is somehow changed into lessons so valuable that we would never want to trade the wisdom we gave gained to be free of the experience.
To this day, I am hypersensitive to injustice. However, I don’t want to be a fighter. As I have gotten older, I’ve learned to deal with injustice differently. Turning recognized anger and pain over as an exchange for insight and wisdom has proven to bring greater peace into my heart. It allows me to feel compassion instead of anger and hate. It allows me to continue on my search for greater spiritual awareness and my desire to learn to love. This, I believe is the purpose of our existence here on earth: many lessons bring greater awareness to those things that matter most in life. Looking deep into our own hearts, each of us will learn what is of utmost importance to us.
I hear a call of integrity -
of love and peace of mind.
It matters not what we might think
of injustices that can’t be made right.
Our purpose here is so much greater
then what our finite mind can comprehend.
I trust this call - that I hear so clear,
I trust it with all my heart.
~Viola Jaynes
