I Cry For the Children (1992) words and music by Melinda Maxwell-Smith
I cry for the children whose terrors come in the night
Who tremble through ‘til the morning and walk the day without light
I cry for the children who forget what they mustn’t know
Who bravely smile at a stranger to hide what they mustn’t show
I cry for all the ones whose secret’s never been told
I cry for those of us who kept it ‘til we were old
I cry for the young ones whose eyes stare blind into space
Whose smiles seem so disconnected from tears that once stained their face
I cry for the power that was stripped but not really lost
The first time ever they were touched, too young that boundary was crossed
I cry for all the ones who’re struggling hard now like me
To heal the ancient wounds and taste what it means to be free
We’re all little children with nightmares yearning for light
The deeper we dare into darkness, the more we’re given true sight
So we toddle like children, small steps and small victories
Freshly facing the old situations, re-writing our own histories
I cry for all the love we needed when we were small
I cry and with the tears, begin dissolving the wall
Someday, I’ll fly………
I wrote these lyrics in 1992... heartfelt lyrics about child abuse, which too many children endure. This song flowed through me - virtually intact - lyrics and melody co-arising. I couldn’t tell if I'd channeled it or where it came from. It was a spontaneous occurrence in my car as I drove away from the Healing Light Center, where I’d just handed over an article entitled Composting Incest: A Progress Report, which got published in their newsletter. Revealing the secret of my past on paper seemed to lift a veil off my creativity - freeing me to tell the truth also about other things in my life.
In my family of origin, being visible (and audible) led to being found and hurt by my father, who just couldn’t help himself. He was a sick man and alcoholic. I don’t believe it occurred to him that he was hurting my brother and me - separately, never together. It was always one at a time.
My mom couldn’t figure out why I would stand on the front seat of the old Hudson Sedan while she drove us toward home and I would just scream an unending scream staring into middle space. She said she had to pull to the side of the road and quiet me and hold me close to her, there on the front seat. This was in the early 1950's, before cars had seat belts. I was two or three years old.
Mom couldn’t figure out why her son left home when he was sixteen. She didn’t know that he’d begun to drink when he was ten years old. Mom couldn’t understand why I became promiscuous and involved in the drug culture of the ’60’s. She couldn’t believe it, when I told her, in 1991, when my memories surfaced, that our father had used us for his sexual gratification.
I want the secret to be told around the world that children left alone with addicted, imbalanced adults are not safe. I want the cycle of abuse to stop.
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Recently, when visiting the Galápagos Islands, my husband and I learned that there is a phenomenon, relatively newly observed among the Nasca Booby birds, which the naturalists call “NAV.” Non-parental Adult Visitation. While a parent is out of the nest hunting for food for its babies, a parent from another nest pays a visit and plucks out all the neighbor baby’s neck feathers. Yuck, right?! We saw one forlorn little one with a raw naked pink neck. So sad.
The thing is, these picked on birds grow up to act out on other young birds. The picked on become the perpetrators. From a single incident, who knows what possessed that first bird to go awol from its own nest and pick on another bird’s offspring, there is now an epidemic of NAV and bald neck Nasca Boobies in the Galápagos! They speculate it has to do with overpopulation. The point is, hurt that doesn't get healed gets acted out.
What ever possessed the first human to act out against her / his own offspring? We don’t know. We DO know that child abuse is an epidemic - a silent epidemic.
I want to sing my heart out about this deep dark American secret; this UN-American, anti-life, counter-productive, and world wide problem of subjecting our most precious young ones to horrors they ought not be exposed to in the place (home) where they are supposed to be nurtured.
I’m on a mission to reclaim my voice, damn the thought of being hurt... Dad is dead! Even if I sing off-key, I want hope to be conveyed to young ones everywhere that there is a way out of the nightmare. There are people watching and wanting to protect them (us) from NAV and parental abuse too - which is actually much more common.
With the help of two wonderfully talented and generous friends, I’m in process of recording the song.
May it be of use.
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