Hairdryers buzz and laughter echoes as finishing touches are added to makeup, costumes, and cocktails.
It’s an annual affair where the doctor dances in front of the patient, teachers tap in front of students, and that quiet, reserved neighbor shakes their moneymaker. The air is thick with nervous excitement, hairspray, and conversations with God.
Dancing on stage in a small town means the dancer faces everyone they know, from fellow church members to that one guy they dated in high school. Anonymity doesn’t exist. What would inspire the average person to shimmy, shake and shock the front row of a small town?
Dancing With Our Stars is seen by many as the most meaningful fundraiser of the year. Child abuse prevention is atop everyone’s mind among charitable priorities. The mere mention of child abuse can cause even the most stoic to shudder. Defending the most vulnerable among us unites friend and foe shoulder-to-shoulder. There is a reason pockets are empty; pride falls to the floor; and everyone concentrates on one objective for three whole hours.
Child abuse stirs notions of dark alleys, addict moms, drunken dads, and strangers lurking in the shadows. It occurs in less fortunate neighborhoods, big cities, estranged families, and at the fault of incurious supervision. Abuse is darkness, physical injury, and noticeable cuts. Attentive parents, devoted guardians, and addresses garnished with white picket fences are less susceptible to the underbelly of society. This assumption leads us to complacency.
Child abuse also prospers in plain view. It flourishes because someone desires not to rock the boat. It lives and breathes in apathy.
Children with no scars or bruises suffer through gaping wounds, shattering everyone who loves them. It is the battering of the soul, not just the bones. It is a devastating storm with far-reaching destruction leaving the debris of lost innocence, time, and faith. Like a hurricane ripping a roof from a rafter, abuse doesn’t ask for credentials; it cares not for kin or title as it bears down, leaving nothing left to bloom.
I have seen the effects of bruiseless abuse, worked alongside warriors, and fought to rebuild shattered dreams. Abuse does not care what you do, who you know, or your standing in the community. Predators don’t have a name tag signaling intent. It is cancer that grows as it goes undetected. It seeks to control, intimidate and conquer.
Be vigilant. Ask questions about the child whose laughter has lessened and parents who have withdrawn from daily life. Continue to write checks in support, but don’t hesitate to write letters when something is amiss. Do something, be someone willing to stand up.
Please get involved in the schools, churches, communities, and anywhere our most precious gather. If you suspect physical, mental, or emotional harm, prioritize seeking the truth. Look in the eyes of our children, be a part of their worlds, and fight the darkness with the passion we all felt in an auditorium filled with light.
Cherimie Crane Weatherford is a business owner, a long-time real estate broker and a lover of the obscurities of Southern culture.
