Michael was 8 years old. Feisty, busy and very talkative. He wouldn’t settle down. The staff in the room seemed to have had enough of him. His younger sister interrupted and corrected him… a lot. They both interrupted me, a lot. They were students in an after-school program in the Old First Ward. While trying to get three sentences strung together I noticed the other children getting frustrated with them. At that point I asked for everyone to hold all questions and stories until I was finished. Little Michael held quiet for as long as he could and when he couldn’t anymore he looked at me and said, “My mom’s boyfriend beats me and gave me a black eye.” Before I could organize a response he smoothed his hand across the top of the table and said, “Pretend this is the bed.” He then stood up and started to act out what this man did to him. His sister was very unaffected with her chin resting on her hand and her eyes fixed on him. She didn’t interrupt him or correct him. I will forever wonder what became of these beautiful children.