Sexual Abuse and Incest

What are Child Sexual Abuse and Incest?

Child sexual abuse is any sexual act performed with a child by an adult or older child, with or without force or the threat of force. Child sexual abuse is most commonly committed by someone known to the child, including family members. In this case, the act may be considered incest. Incest is overt and/or covert sexual contact or acts between people who are related genetically, by marriage, by living arrangements, or in whom a child perceives a trusting relationship, for example parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, step-parents, foster parents. Incest is one of the most common forms of child sexual abuse. It may start as seemingly innocent touching and progress to more serious acts. It can continue for years. Other individuals who may commit child sexual abuse include neighbors, family friends, baby sitters, religious leaders, youth group leaders, or others with a power advantage of any kind over the child. Child sexual abuse may also be committed by a stranger. The acts can include: touching or non-touching, verbal seduction or abuse, anal or vaginal intercourse, oral sex, sodomy, manual stimulation, direct threats, implied threats, or other forms of abuse.

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National Domestic Violence Registry

Visit  Face Child Abuse

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The National Domestic Violence Registry (NDVR) , http://www.domesticviolencedatabase.org, is a non-profit and the first national database model for domestic violence convictions available to the public. We have the opportunity to provide a major program that will vastly help in the prevention of domestic violence, guide citizens to making more informed decisions about those they date, exponentially raise awareness nationally for domestic violence incidences, and provide the opportunity to influence the history of crime prevention throughout the United States.

The National Domestic Violence Registry provides the conviction records of offenders, both men and women, who have been found guilty of domestic violence and domestic violence related offenses such as physical battering, stalking, criminal confinement, intimidation, strangulation, and domestic violence based sex offenses, etc. We provide this data free of charge and to the general public with records continuously being added daily.

With a motto of “Our Knowledge Helps Save Lives”, NDVR is another tool that informs and empowers the public while acting as an aid in deterring domestic violence related assaults and crimes.

Review Of They Cage The Animals At Night

they cage
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About Jennings Michael Burch

 

By Sandra D. Peters “Seagull Books” (Prince Edward Island, Canada)

This is the story of Jennings Michael Burch and it is not an easy book to read. It tells of a young boy’s determination to survive despite abandonment, physical abuse and humiliation after being left by his ailing mother at an orphanage. He then experiences a variety of foster homes and some of these accounts will bring more than a single tear to your eye.

During his stay at an orphanage, the Sisters would allow the children to choose a stuffed animal to take to bed with them at night as a source of comfort. Goodness only knows, it was their only small comfort – every other aspect was a child’s worst nightmare! However, in the wee hours of the morning before the children awoke, the animals would quickly be gathered up and locked away (caged) and this is the source of the book’s title. David’s only source of acceptance, love and understanding comes from “Doggie”, a tattered stuffed dog. Your heart will cry for this little boy whose only desire is to please, be loved and be wanted. The story does have a happy ending, if such stories ever really do. Despite all odds, Michael does survive, along with “Doggie”. The hurt, rejection and loneliness felt as an abused child never disappear. The wounds heal, the heart forgives, but the mind never forgets. Anyone who has experienced abuse as a child, whether it be physical, sexual, emotional or verbal, will be able to relate only too well to the story of little Jennings Michael Burch. Often, reading the stories of other victims of abuse, help the adult survivor to realize they are not alone. If you have never experienced abuse, you will count your blessings that you have never had to live each and every day in a world of constant fear and rejection. …

I Died On Christmas Day

Audio cover Informally

 

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informally

 

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This story was inspired by an opinion piece about Jorelys Rivera, a seven-year-old girl who will not open gifts this Christmas. If you cannot stomach graphic truth, do not read it, you have been warned.

It was December 25, 1968. A god lived in our old house, a god who didn’t allow his subjects to come from their rooms until he emerged from his. Christmas Day was no exception. He didn’t emerge until after lunch. Four innocent souls stood in doorways trying to get a peek at the tree or the little bundles of heaven wrapped in colored paper and bows.

The day moved on, the egg shells placed carefully to catch unsuspecting little feet were scattered with loving care. Their crunching sounds were barely audible, but screamed in our universe. Step on a crack, break your mothers back, step on a shell go directly to $%^&.

A mistake was made, by whom, unimportant. The face of our god flushed red, gone was the Christmas god. The remnant of presents were scattered throughout the room, the remnants of breakfast was still on the table, the remnants of a fire smoldering in its place and the remnants of sanity swirled, rose and vanished into the air.

It happened quickly, it always did. I turned to see the fist of our god, it had risen and was destined to fall. The first punch took my breath even as I tried to avoid it, a sin in itself. The second busted my lip, the taste of blood its little gift. I knew the taste of blood well. The third to the stomach bent me forward allowing the tooth, already roaming around loose in my mouth to be projected onto the floor at my feet. I concentrated on that unruly tooth as a series of punches came too quick to comprehend and seemingly from all directions at once. The tooth held some importance I could not discern.

My mind raced and screamed into the universe, why, what did I do?

My next gift a broken rib and the sound of my nose exploding. My heart and lungs fought for every moment, but my legs gave up early and I spread across the floor like snow melting in a cozy room. I grasped at consciousness, it being all I had.

Now the time of our god’s foot had arrived: it kicked, something broke, it kicked, something tore, it kicked and reality shattered then scattered across the floor before my eyes. I could feel death breathing on me as my hair was grasped firmly. My heart pounded in my head or maybe it was my head being pounded on the brick hearth in front of the fireplace.

Sickeningly, my mind counted the times it rose and fell on the bricks, one, two, ten and twelve, it counted down the seconds of my life. I saw the fire with such clarity, a message from the real God I couldn’t comprehend, perhaps? Somewhere in it all this, the words, I’ll you kill you little son of a so and so, the last words I’d ever hear, wormed their way in. The fear, the pain and the sick, slimy, sticky, warm taste of blood were the memories that came with them. In the end death has a warm, welcoming embrace.

I awakened to find I was mistaken. What do you do the day after you die? What do you do the rest of your life? No police were called, no hospital was visited and no one explained how a dead child is supposed to act. Some things must be figured out by an eight-year-old, by himself. It only took a couple week of being buried in my room, out of sight of the world, for me to walk this earth again.

Sometimes I am told before, during and after I speak, to GET OVER IT. I have.

I speak because dead children cannot. I speak for children like Jorelys who die at the hands of a monster in a nightmare reality. I speak for the five children in America, each day, average age three, who are cowering in corners as someone they know love and trust beats them into the silence of death.

I speak because I died several times and God allowed me to come back. He DEMANDS  I speak. I speak for the five children who will die each of the twelve days of Christmas.

We will always know who Jorelys was, but everyday five who live will slip into their own Silent Night and no one will know their names.

Kennesaw Taylor

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OE1ttQJq80o

ATHENS PATCH I DIED ON CHRISTMAS DAY

I Died On Christmas Day

Audio cover Informally

Buy The Audio Book

informally

Buy The Book

 

This story was inspired by an opinion piece about Jorelys Rivera, a seven-year-old girl who will not open gifts this Christmas. If you cannot stomach graphic truth, do not read it, you have been warned.

It was December 25, 1968. A god lived in our old house, a god who didn’t allow his subjects to come from their rooms until he emerged from his. Christmas Day was no exception. He didn’t emerge until after lunch. Four innocent souls stood in doorways trying to get a peek at the tree or the little bundles of heaven wrapped in colored paper and bows.

The day moved on, the egg shells placed carefully to catch unsuspecting little feet were scattered with loving care. Their crunching sounds were barely audible, but screamed in our universe. Step on a crack, break your mothers back, step on a shell go directly to $%^&.

A mistake was made, by whom, unimportant. The face of our god flushed red, gone was the Christmas god. The remnant of presents were scattered throughout the room, the remnants of breakfast was still on the table, the remnants of a fire smoldering in its place and the remnants of sanity swirled, rose and vanished into the air.

It happened quickly, it always did. I turned to see the fist of our god, it had risen and was destined to fall. The first punch took my breath even as I tried to avoid it, a sin in itself. The second busted my lip, the taste of blood its little gift. I knew the taste of blood well. The third to the stomach bent me forward allowing the tooth, already roaming around loose in my mouth to be projected onto the floor at my feet. I concentrated on that unruly tooth as a series of punches came too quick to comprehend and seemingly from all directions at once. The tooth held some importance I could not discern.

My mind raced and screamed into the universe, why, what did I do?

My next gift a broken rib and the sound of my nose exploding. My heart and lungs fought for every moment, but my legs gave up early and I spread across the floor like snow melting in a cozy room. I grasped at consciousness, it being all I had.

Now the time of our god’s foot had arrived: it kicked, something broke, it kicked, something tore, it kicked and reality shattered then scattered across the floor before my eyes. I could feel death breathing on me as my hair was grasped firmly. My heart pounded in my head or maybe it was my head being pounded on the brick hearth in front of the fireplace.

Sickeningly, my mind counted the times it rose and fell on the bricks, one, two, ten and twelve, it counted down the seconds of my life. I saw the fire with such clarity, a message from the real God I couldn’t comprehend, perhaps? Somewhere in it all this, the words, I’ll you kill you little son of a so and so, the last words I’d ever hear, wormed their way in. The fear, the pain and the sick, slimy, sticky, warm taste of blood were the memories that came with them. In the end death has a warm, welcoming embrace.

I awakened to find I was mistaken. What do you do the day after you die? What do you do the rest of your life? No police were called, no hospital was visited and no one explained how a dead child is supposed to act. Some things must be figured out by an eight-year-old, by himself. It only took a couple week of being buried in my room, out of sight of the world, for me to walk this earth again.

Sometimes I am told before, during and after I speak, to GET OVER IT. I have.

I speak because dead children cannot. I speak for children like Jorelys who die at the hands of a monster in a nightmare reality. I speak for the five children in America, each day, average age three, who are cowering in corners as someone they know love and trust beats them into the silence of death.

I speak because I died several times and God allowed me to come back. He DEMANDS  I speak. I speak for the five children who will die each of the twelve days of Christmas.

We will always know who Jorelys was, but everyday five who live will slip into their own Silent Night and no one will know their names.

Kennesaw Taylor

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OE1ttQJq80o

ATHENS PATCH I DIED ON CHRISTMAS DAY

 

Tulsa Dad Due In Court In Child Neglect Case

TULSA, Okla. —

A Tulsa man facing a child  neglect charge after police found his 18-month-old daughter locked in a metal  dog cage in November is to have a preliminary hearing.

The Associated Press is  not naming the father, whose hearing is Wednesday, to protect the identity of  the children.

Police also found the  man’s naked 4-year old daughter outside on a cold afternoon and him asleep in a  drug or alcohol “induced stupor” after a neighbor called authorities. A third  child was asleep in another room.

The children were placed  into the custody of the Department of Human Services.

A man by the same name and  the same birth date was given a suspended sentence in August after pleading  guilty to possession of a precursor to manufacture methamphetamine, court  records indicate.

CREDITS: 4029TV.COM

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Former Yankees Manager Joe Torre Wants Focus On Child Abuse

 

WASHINGTON (Reuters) – A government commission co-led by former New York Yankees manager Joe Torre said on Wednesday that the U.S. federal and local governments are not doing enough to identify and treat child victims of abuse and violence.

At a meeting with representatives from major federal departments, the commission of academics, law enforcement officials and others, issued 56 recommendations to help child victims, including expanded training for social workers.

Torre, whose own childhood with an abusive father led him to start a charitable foundation focusing on the issue of child abuse, said many social workers and law-enforcement officials simply did not know how to spot signs of domestic abuse.

“I don’t think society knows how to react, even if they think something’s going on,” said Torre, who won four World Series championships with the Yankees and is now an executive in Major League Baseball.

The failure of Penn State University to report former assistant football coach Jerry Sandusky for child abuse – charges Sandusky was convicted of this year – was one example, Torre said.

The commission, set up by the Justice Department and known as the Task Force on Children Exposed to Violence, has held hearings for the past year. U.S. Attorney General Eric Holder has made the issue a priority.

Banging his fist on a table for emphasis, Holder told the commission its ideas would not sit on a shelf gathering dust, and that he would push the White House for support.

“The Justice Department is a big organization with a lot of tentacles in a lot of places, and my hope is to use the time I have as attorney general to continue the effort,” Holder said at a news conference after the meeting.

President Barack Obama has not said whether he wants Holder to serve into a second term, though Holder is expected to stay on as the chief U.S. law enforcement official at least into early 2013.

Holder said there was a moral imperative for the U.S. government to support child victims – whether they have witnessed violence at home, in gangs or elsewhere – and a financial incentive to do so if those children are kept off a path to crime.

CREDITS:  WSAU.COM

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KENNESAWTAYLOR

Reporting by David Ingram; Editing by David Brunnstrom