Wild Children
Is it possible that a child can be raised by animals, literally? According to a website, http://www.feralchildren.com/en/children.php?tp=0, yes.
Sadly, many of these cases are the result of natural parental neglect and abuse.
It should make one wonder: who gave man the sense that we are the dominate species, capable of ruling over all others?
Does money truly make us SMARTER and more capable, or just more greedy and angry?
Comments
Kitty
While checking up on the feral children website, I came accross the following story that really struck me:
further reading
The following thread from the forum of feral children is very much worth reading: http://www.feralchildren.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=2&t=140
humans can't be trusted
I don't want to trust humans. Why? Because it's when you trust someone, that they are able to hurt you. Am I lonely? Yeah, some times but it's not worth the pain to change it. I've got everything I want out here. Peace of mind… The only times I interact with other humans is twice a month, when I drive in to town to buy groceries. When I'm in town I'm constantly aware of my surroundings. Very hyper alert. Sneak up behind me and say boo and you'll either have to pry my fingernails out from the ceiling, or I'll spin around and deck you. I am also very sensitive to moods in people. I can walk into a room and immediately feel if there is any animosity in the room, meaning if there has been an argument, or if someone is upset or angry, with either me or someone else. I know right away from just looking at someone and their 'body language' what to expect from them. I have not consciously tried to learn how to do it. I think it comes from always standing 'outside' and watching how other people act. I guess it could be called 'self-defense' somehow. Trying to be prepared, if the worst would happen.
We're not "cold", we simply learned at a very early age, it's a cold harsh world out there, and it sucks.
from: feralchildren.com
from: feralchildren.com
The Jacksonville Boy
On 14 January 2005 the Jacksonville Department of Children and Families responded to an anonymous hotline complaint and visited an address in Fallohide Lane, Jacksonville, Florida, USA where they were "disgusted and outraged by the condition of the children" at that address.
Psychosocial dwarfism
One boy of 17 gave the greatest cause for concern. He was found wearing a nappy and appeared to be very developmentally delayed: in fact, according to a later evaluation at the Children's Crisis Centre, he was suffering from psychosocial dwarfism and starvation. He was estimated to be as tall as a nine year old child and, at 22 Kg, the same weight as a six year old.
The 17 year old boy had been in the care of his adoptive parents, Wilson (55) and Brenda Sullivan (48), for 10 years. In the two months following his discovery, he gained 13 Kg and grew over 1 cm in height.
Unable to talk
The police also said that when found "he couldn't talk, he could only grunt".
Kept in a crib
According to the arrest docket for Mrs Sullivan, the investigation revealed that the child "had to sleep in a large crib with a wood framed top locked down with a chain and padlock on one side". For the Jacksonville police department, Lieutenant Susan Bowen said: "At the age of 7 he had a prescription for a special crib bed but it had been modified outside of the prescription."
As is common in such cases, other children of the couple — the family included seven children, one biological and the rest adopted — appeared to have a normal childhood, and neighbours say they regularly played in the street with other children. However, a further two children were also taken into custody.
Charged
On 9 March 2005 the boy's adoptive parents were charged with felony child neglect.
References
Read more in First Coast News. Updated stories appear in the Akron Beacon Journal and in First Coast News.
"Highly Defensive People"
You all oughtta love THIS one...
By Martha Beck from the May 2007 issue of O, The Oprah Magazine
The reason one can't look to defensive people for top-quality relationships is that such relationships require two human beings. But defensive people don't think like humans. They think like reptiles. I mean this literally. Beneath the elaborate neural structures that mediate our subtle social interactions, we all possess what scientists call a reptilian brain. This ancient biological structure, which evolved in reptiles, isn't capable of nuanced emotion or logical thought. Its primary driving force is fear. Two fears, to be specific.
The first worry of all reptile brains (including yours and mine) is "I don't have enough!" Not enough love, money, food, credit, glory—the subject of our deprivation obsessions varies, but the theme "not enough" pounds away like a monotonous drumbeat. The only thing as loud to the reptile ear is its other major concern: "Someone's out to get me!" An HDP perceives threat coming from lots of sources; one day the Enemy may be a coworker, the next a relative, the next an entire nation. But to the reptile brain, someone, somewhere, is always about to attack.
This makes evolutionary sense. Lizards live longer if they obsessively acquire more food, shelter, and mates, and if they expect predators to jump them at any moment. Sadly, however, reptiles are blind to nondefensive emotions; to the glow of love, the tickle of amusement. The only thing playing on their mental screens, all day every day, is The Lack and Attack Show. The same is true of HDPs. When humans are gripped by primal fear, they become their inner lizards—and HDPs are virtually always gripped by primal fear.
So the best relationship you can hope to sustain with a defensive person is the sort you might have with a reptile. As a doctor here in Arizona once explained to a man who was bitten on the lip while kissing his pet rattlesnake (it made the newspapers), you simply cannot expect a loving connection from a reptile, even if you raised it from the egg. Remembering that these people are basically giant talking lizards will keep you from futilely trying to please them, persuade them or explain yourself to them. That's a key step. But a solid defense against defensiveness requires you to go further—to manage the fear that may put you in HDP mode.
It's easy to say that we should stay out of reptile mode, but that's hard advice to follow when some HDP launches an attack—especially if the person has any power over you. When your highly defensive parent, boss, head nurse, or gang leader launches a dinosaur attack, you may not be able to stop yourself from getting upset in return. But if you can't help slithering into reptile mode, there's still one option left: Don't go lizard. Go turtle.
The Shell Game
One reason the Roman Empire conquered most of ancient Europe was a military maneuver called the turtle. In battles a regiment would clump together, the soldiers in the center holding their shields above their heads, while those on the periphery shielded the unit's front, back, and sides. They'd march along that way, pretty much an indestructible human tortoise. You, too, need such tactics for engaging with HDPs who loom above you in the social-power landscape.
"Going turtle" means putting up an emotional shell. This isn't easy, because mirror neurons in your brain fire in resonance with the feelings of people around you. If you and I were talking, part of your brain would organize itself to match part of mine, and vice versa. When you're with a loving person, this is wonderful; with an HDP, it creates wars straight out of the Mesozoic era. To avoid conflagration, you must pull your sensitive social neurons back into a shell.
It isn't all that hard. Try this: Think about an occasion when an HDP blew up at you. Remember the shock, the anger, the urge to lash back. Got it? Good. Now picture your living room painted kumquat orange. Then figure out whether 713 is a prime number. Do you notice how your mind lets go of emotional reactivity as it attacks visual or analytical problems? Artists and scientists are notoriously eccentric because their mental work diverts brainpower from social connection. When I'm listening to an HDP's rant, I am also, almost always, thinking about painting. Desert landscapes, usually. They help my inner turtle feel safe, so that I don't mirror the aggression of the HDP.
Next Step: The High Road
Pulling into an emotional shell is better than engaging in dinosaur warfare, and can allow you to converse with HDPs without being destroyed. An even higher goal than turtling, however, is to remain fearlessly human in the face of hostility. My idol, in this regard, is dear departed Steve Irwin, the crocodile hunter, who loved reptiles unabashedly and unilaterally, even as he grappled and sidestepped to avoid their violent attacks. There are many HDPs in my life I really enjoy, the way Steve Irwin enjoyed his crocs. Joanna, for example, is a good friend and wonderful writer, especially for a lizard.
You can learn a lot about handling HDPs by studying the way Irwin treated his beloved reptiles: firmly but lovingly. "You're all right, sweetheart," he'd croon as a sea snake tried desperately to envenomate him. "Aren't you gorgeous!" he'd exult to a charging one-eyed alligator. And you could tell he meant it. I think HDPs all over the world must have felt strangely happy watching Steve lovingly disarm reptiles like themselves.
If you're feeling brave enough, try the crocodile hunter's techniques on a highly defensive person. See something beautiful in them, and steadfastly mirror that instead of their antagonism. I've used the above Irwinisms—"You're all right, sweetheart" and "Aren't you gorgeous!"—and found them very effective, even in business negotiations. But my favorite reptile-wrangling skill, the one I used with Joanna, consists of three ridiculously simple words: "All is well."
Try saying this, warmly, the next time an HDP lashes out at you. "You attacked my writing!" All is well. "You're implying I'm ugly!" All is well. "Do I look like an alcoholic to you?" All is well. It may sound off-point, but since extreme defensiveness is itself off-point, this actually works better than following your HDP's arguments. When I assured Joanna, "All is well," she instantly relaxed. Keeping "All is well" on the tip of your tongue can disarm bullies, mend marriages, stop fistfights. It's a three-word de-defensivizer.
Say it now, to feel it in your mouth and mind. Repeat the whole classic mantra: "All is well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well." Feel how this soothes your inner lizard. It works so well I don't even care if it's true—though I suspect it may be, in some mystical realm that mortal eyes see only through a glass, darkly. But one thing's for sure, even in the workaday world, where friends may turn into dinosaurs and you're stuck with an exploding coworker: If you have a few reptile-wrangling tricks under your belt, all will be a heck of a lot better.
Martha Beck is the author of The Four-Day Win (Rodale).
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I suppose Child Placement has NOTHING to do with our inner-animal thoughts, actions and reactions, and subsequent human feelings, that may be seen as personally offensive by others, eh?