By the time I was eight years old I did not ever remember being
loved, held or hugged by anyone, not even one single time. But that
is just the way it was when you have been locked away in a
orphanage for the first six of your eight years on this earth. I
guess I thought that being loved or cared about really did not
matter very much because I did not know that such a feeling even
existed.
One day I was playing in the dirt pile, out behind the boys
dormitory, when I heard this strange noise coming from behind me. I
immediately jumped up very quickly and spun around because I
thought I was in trouble again, as usual, with the matron. When I
stood up I saw the most beautiful, kind and loving face looking
directly at me. The eyes of an angel were looking only at me, and
my heart skipped a beat for the first time in my young life. I
placed both of my hands over my cheeks, took in a deep breath, and
with my eyes and mouth open as wide as saucers, I backed up very
slowly against the oak tree and just waited to see what would
happen next. She just stood there, like a statute, looking at me
and she did not say anything at all. My eyes rolled and rolled as I
looked her up and down from head to toe. I noticed the beautiful
brown and white coat that she was wearing. After a minute or so I
reached out and touched it very slowly and she opened her mouth,
but then closed it again without making any sound. I quickly
withdrew my hand because I did not want to get into trouble and I
placed it behind me to show her that I was sorry for touching her
and that I would not do it again. Still she did not say anything at
all, so I sat back down in the dirt pile and never made eye contact
with her again. Finally she came over to where I was sitting and
touched me gently on the face. It was very warm and it felt good to
be touched by something that did not want to hurt me, for a change.
I just kept looking down at the ground because I did not want to
look her directly into the eye. You were not allowed to look anyone
in the eye, at the orphanage, because that was a sign of defying
authority. Finally I could take it no longer and I grabbed her
around the neck and I just hugged her as hard as I could until she
let me know that she really did like me, by licking me on the
face.
That was the first and only dog we ever had at the orphanage and I
had no idea where she came from. Later that day we boys all named
her "Honey." A big old ugly looking bird dog who was brown and
white. We loved that dog and that dog loved all us and it was
absolutely wonderful. About two weeks later one of the boys came
running to my room, crying his little eyes out, and told me that
Honey had been run over by a car, outside the orphanage gate. I ran
downstairs as fast as I could and locked myself in the
telephone-room. I stood there against the locked door, breathing in
and out as fast as I could, and I would not come out not even for
supper. I stayed in the locked telephone-room and cried all night
long. The next day I could not even go out the front gate for fear
of seeing Honey laying dead in the road, so I climbed over the
orphanage fence in order to get to school.
After school, Mrs. Winters, the head matron, called me to the
office and told me to go with old Mack, the black grounds keeper,
to get a wheel-barrow and pick up Honey out of the road. I shall
never forget that sight as long as I live because It was worse than
horrible. Her insides were all over the place and I shall never
forget the look on Honeys face as she lay there dead, with her
tongue hanging out. I knew that beautiful old dog would never ever
love me again. I just stood there and cried and cried the entire
time and I tried not to smell the odor of death. Old Mack, who was
a very kind old man, told me not to look at her. All by himself he
moved her into the wheelbarrow and picked up all the pieces and
then took her some place to bury her. I don't know where he buried
her and I did not want to know where. Mrs. Winters, never did like
me very much and I really don't know why she did this to me. I
always bought her a statue of a horse, every Christmas, with the
two dollars that I got from the Jacksonville Jaycees. But I guess
the presents really did no good.
Those of you who are not orphans will not understand the real
message here. Having to clean up our own dead dog was not the point
at all. The fact that there was no one who gave a damn how we
children felt. That is the real issue. There was never anyone to
hold us or to tell us that everything was going to be al-right.
There was never anyone who really gave a damn if our little hearts
were torn apart. All the orphanage saw was a dead dog in the middle
of the road, and "a bunch of whining little ba----ds".
Just another "thing" in the way....JUST LIKE US KIDS.
Roger Dean Kiser, Sr.
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Roger Dean Kiser, Sr.