February 11th, 2009

I have such good intentions with this daily journal. I want to share the rewards and trials of writing non-fiction as well as information about the people and places I visit on various signings. I touch on a that bit at times, but I stray far from the topic as a norm. Today will be no exception. I’m putting the finishing touches on the Buffalo Bill Cody book and should be focused solely on meeting the deadline for the material, but local events remind me of my brother and I can’t concentrate. A Nevada County school is under fire because a set of parents claim a male counselor gave their 12-year-old daughter a pregnancy test. As it turns out, it’s not true. The girl did take a pregnancy test, but the school had nothing to do with it. Her parents found the used test at their home. The kid panicked and blamed the counselor. Before this man had a chance to defend himself or speak out, news crews from Sacramento had swarmed his office and house. They broadcast his name numerous times, insinuating that he was a dangerous predator. One lie ruined this man and his family’s life. I can identify with his plight. The church I attend is now taking precautions against such accusations. I was informed last night that everyone at the church who works with children or youth are now subject to a criminal background. I agree in part. I know there are bad people out there. It’s just sad that things have come this far. Should my brother live he’ll have to register as a sex offender. Should he live he’ll stay with me so I can take care of him. I will be discriminated against based on the past of the person (who was wrongfully accused) I am associated. My family and I have already been subject to that more times than I can count. It’s been a nightmare. I guess that’s what my brother’s ex-wife and step-daughter hoped would happen. I wish my brother had never met them and that it could go back to when it was just him and his daughter Nickol. I wish I could see her again. (She was the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen in my life.) I want to wish for compassion all the way around, but I wish for justice. There’s a difference between compassion and justice. Compassion sees a child in a basket floating down the river, rescues them and raises them as their own. Justice seeks out the person who put the child in the basket to find out why they did such a thing. I want to know why. Maybe if I knew why I could think of nothing but the writing project on my desk and never ask for another deadline extension again.