The following is the first post in a new series by Sam Riviera called “Letters to Dad.” You don’t want to miss these …
Dad,
I remember you singing Jesus loves the little children. All the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white, all are precious in his sight.
I loved that song when I was little. I loved hearing you sing it. I felt secure. Jesus loved me and my dad was there to take care of me.
You sang as if you knew him and knew all about him. He would take care of me. I was precious to him and to you.
You gave me a brand new red Schwinn bicycle for my eighth birthday. I had admired that off-brand bicycle in the window of the Western Auto store. But when you came home from work on that hot summer day when I turned eight you unloaded a new Schwinn bicycle from the car and said it was mine. I knew you loved me. I heard you tell your friend that I was your pride and joy.
Every day with Jesus is sweeter than the day before. Every day with Jesus I love him more and more. I remember you singing that song clear and strong. You sang it all the time.
On my sixteenth birthday mom baked my favorite cake. German chocolate. After she finished the frosting, she pounded the pork tenderloins big and flat, dipped them in eggs and cracker crumbs, just the way I like them. When you walked in the door they were sizzling in the frying pan.
“Why don’t you have any girl friends?” you asked me.
“Some of my friends are girls,” I said.
“Why don’t you have a girl friend?”
“Why do I need a girl friend?”
“I’ve been told that friend of yours is a faggot.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You were seen kissing a boy.”
“Who?”
“That kid you hang out with all the time. They say he’s a faggot. Are you a faggot?”
“He’s my friend.”
“He’s a faggot. Now I find out you’re a faggot too. You’re no son of mine.”
My birthday cake was sitting in the middle of the table. The tenderloin that mom was cooking for my birthday dinner was frying in the pan.
You grabbed my arm and walked me to the door and said “Get out. You don’t live here any more. Get out of this house and get out of this town or you’ll regret it. Don’t ever try to come back.”
Mom was crying. You wouldn’t even let me go to my room and get some clothes or my wallet.
Last night I dreamed about you. You were strumming your guitar and singing. Strumming my pain with your fingers. Telling my life with your words. Telling your shame at who I am. Embarrassing me in front of everyone I ever knew. Killing me softly with your song.
You sang as if you knew me in all my dark despair. Then you looked right through me as if I was not there. You just kept on singing clear and strong. I was dying. You were killing me, killing me with your song.
Jesus loves me, this I know. For the Bible tells me so. You told me Jesus loves me when I was a kid. You sang that song to me. Sang it clear and strong. Now you think Jesus hates me. You’re ashamed that I am your son.
You threw me out on my sixteenth birthday. All I had were the clothes on my back. I walked to the edge of town and hitched a ride.
“Where ya’ going?” the guy asked when he pulled over.
“How far are you going?” I asked.
“Cross country.”
“I’m going as far as you’re willing to take me.”
“Traveling light, aren’t ya?”
“This is all I’ve got. I lost everything else.”
You’ll be happy to know I’m nowhere near you any more. You won’t have to be ashamed of me. You can tell people I ran off. Of course we know that’s not true. You ran me off. Ran me off to hide your shame.
You never really believed the words of those songs, did you? You like your guitar and the music, right? Grandma took you to church and you learned those songs. But you never believed that Jesus loves me. I was precious only if I was what you wanted me to be. You loved me only if I was what you wanted.
My ride dropped me off in a big city a long way away from you. I slept in a park the first night. The next day a guy asked where I was from. I told him my story. He offered to let me stay with him.
That night he gave me something that he said would make me feel better. When I was feeling no pain he raped me. Just so you know.
He threw me out of his apartment the next day. I wandered the streets and found some other guys about my age. They said they would hook me up with some good stuff. The good stuff comes with a price.
Jesus paid it all. All to him I owe. You just kept on singing that song, singing clear and strong.
I live in a tent. I owe everything to my supplier. He comes by every night. I don’t have any money. That’s not how I pay. After he takes his turn, he has several other guys lined up for me. He says he has to cover his costs and make a little profit. He says he used to get more for boys than girls, but now the price is about the same.
After I’ve paid, I get what I need, just enough to last me until tomorrow. Then I have to pay again to get more.
“I don’t give you enough ice to get you so high you’ll slit anyone’s throat when you’re tweaking,” he says. “That would be bad for business.”
I’m lucky. He gives me good stuff. There’s lots of fake stuff out there now. They make it out of insecticide. One trip on that and you’re permanently ruined. I guess that would be bad for business and that’s why I get the good stuff.
Sing the wondrous love of Jesus. Sing his mercy and his love.
In my dream last night you sang to me. Sang as if you knew me. But you looked right through me as if I was not there. But you just kept on singing clear and strong. Singing to yourself I guess. Singing to convince yourself that Jesus loves you and hates me.
I doubt you ever loved me. You loved a fantasy you had created in your mind.
Keep on singing dad. Keep on killing me softly with your Jesus songs. Keep on pretending, dad.
I never had sex with anyone until the night that guy raped me. I was there because I needed a place to stay. You threw me out. Remember? Just so you know.
Jason
Thank you for this! Holy reflections!
For a father to do what Sam’s father did proves that his dad knew nothing about the real Jesus. So extremely sad and heartbreaking.
Stephan,
We work with the homeless. The father was Jason’s not mine. Jason’s story was one of many we know. Many people do not know why there are over a million homeless and runaway kids. This is intended to be the first of several letters that tell the kids’ stories, explain why they’re on the street and what happens to them once they are there.
The worst part is that his father gave him a false impression of christianity. He will likely never get a proper introduction to Jesus.
If this father was indeed saved it is obvious that he didn’t have a close relationship with Christ.
That being said…comparing this story ,as heartbreaking as it is , to a Christian that does extend love and grace to others different than ourselves even though we do not condone their sin is like apples and oranges.
None of us are perfect and Christ died for our sins but we do not justify one sin because ALL SIN. Jesus didn’t do that and neither should we.
How many are there like Jason? This story breaks my heart for him and all the people out there who endure what he has.
While each story is unique, there are many similar stories. Prior to working with the homeless we assumed that homeless kids were runaways. Some are, but many are there because their families threw them out. One reason you might never think of are the foster kids who age out of the system. Once the checks stop, some foster parents will not allow them to stay.
Way more than we realize. My friend, Sam Riviera, wrote this post, and he is friends with dozens upon dozens of homeless teens in downtown San Diego. They all have different stories of course, but all are filled with incredible grief and pain.
So sad, thanks for sharing. Father wounds take their toll. If he had just taken a different approach, and just loved his son, and been there for him, instead of thinking of only himself, how different it could be for this boy.
So sad!!
And I hope that I’m not coming across as heartless but I would also like to add that people in Jason’s shoes as tragic as it is will not be able to blame his father or anyone else for that matter for failing to trust Christ when he stands before the judgement bar.
Christians need to be loving and should be but people needs to know that Christ seeks to save the lost.
William, I hope I’m not coming across as heartless but your comment is heartless.
Its heartless to say to know that no matter what another person has done to me no matter their intention or hatred that I am responsible for my own actions before God? So the pedophile who is in prison can blame his pedophile neighbor?
If we continue this series, which is about more than Jason, you will learn more about him. Don’t assume anything.
Every time I read it, I tear up.
But the bold truth is just that…truth. You can change the names for this story goes by many. There are also sequels that may have a different “shame” but the end story is the same. Saddest yet is the sequel where the shamer is also the first raper as in parent of their child. Surely not them….no. Their good upstanding Christians well involved in their community and church. And even so God still loves the person. Know the story before we judge. Or better yet…. Love…be there…help…offer…become a friend…point them to Christ by demonstrating Christ to them.
We know a few of those stories, but I won’t be sharing them here. They are too intense for a forum such as this, and would perhaps come across as unbelievable.
Heartbreaking.
A heartbreaking and thought provoking story. I feel for both the son and the father in this story. The reason I feel for the father is that he seems to have thought that the way he acted was Christian, that he was taking a stand for righteousness. Was what he was taught at church part of the cause of his reaction? The sad thing is similar stories to this are probably commonplace.
What also concerns me is how I would have reacted if one of my sons was involved something that clashed so much with my beliefs? Especially if I belonged to a church that took a strong stand over certain issues.
It’s easy to stand in judgment of the father in this story, but the question is how would we have reacted? Also what can the church do, in terms of teaching, to help parents to deal with situations like this?
Hope this young man comes to know that Jesus really does loves him.
I don’t know the father, and shouldn’t speculate about why he acted as he did. According to Jason, his dad was extremely homophobic and Jason couldn’t really explain it, although he did think there was a religion connection.
My intention in telling a few of these stories is so you will know some of the reasons homeless and runaway teens are on the street, and what happens to them out there. In the instances where they’ve been thrown out of their family home (that is very common), it’s difficult to know what the parents think is going to happen to them. Some of the kids say their parents think they will find a friend to stay with or maybe a homeless shelter, but that frequently doesn’t happen.
The statistics vary from city to city, state to state, but across the USA we have hundreds of thousands of homeless and runaway teens. I know: Can that possibly be correct? Where are all of these kids? We have hundreds here in the San Diego area.
I live in the UK, in a small country town. To be honest I’m not sure if homelessness amongst young people is as bad here as in the US. I guess it may be in our big cities.
A FriendFeed mine visit the US last year. He said he was shocked by the number of homeless people. He said he has never seen it that bad, even in cities like London.
I’m weeping over this story ashamed of how my theology may have contributed to other’s reacting as the father did in this story.
These kids get thrown out and run away for a variety of reasons. If it is because a parent thinks that allowing them to stay will send the kid the message that the parents are “condoning” who the kid is or the kid’s behavior (that the parents object to), then we ask if the parents fully understand the possible consequences to their child in throwing them onto the garbage heap of life. Will doing so cause the child to behave as the parents wish? Do the parents have the expectation that they will ever again be able to influence their child in a positive way? It rarely happens.
A beautifully-written, heart-wrenching story. I sat here the entire time with my hand over my mouth, in shock that a father could be so callus and cold. And what about the mother? I would love to give Jason a hug, to let him know that this Mom would never have deserted him, and that he is loved. I pray that he is able to heal and become whole again.
Jason thought his mother was afraid to stand up to his dad for fear that dad would throw mom out also. Sadly, this story is far from unique.
Unfortunately, I’ve read other stories like this. But none written so beautifully – which seems like an oxymoron in itself – an ugly story told in a beautiful way. Anyway, I understand that the mother was probably scared; it’s just a horrible situation all around.
Well written, hard hitting and thought provoking.
This is heart – wrenchingly sad. Is it a true story? I can’t imagine someone going through that and wish I could help them!!
Yes, it is true (names have been changed). We know numerous “Jasons” whose stories are similar to Jason’s. Once these kids are on the street and have become addicts, helping them out of that mess is difficult for most of us. One of the things we can all do is to educate ourselves as to what happens to homeless and runaway teens and what we can do to help prevent them from running away or being thrown out by their parents. That’s the point of me telling a few of their stories.
We have personally intervened with parents who were planning to throw out their teens. It’s a nasty business, but they usually have no idea what will probably happen to their kids. In Jason’s case, we didn’t know him before he was thrown out. His dad claimed to be doing it for “Scriptural reasons”, but we were very suspicious that was not the full story. Mom didn’t stand up to dad because her church taught her to obey him and because she thought dad would throw her out also if she stood up for Jason (Jason’s opinion).
Heart-rending! I feel helpless. Your story makes me want to do something, somehow, somewhere. I don’t live in the USA but I do know there are kids on our streets too. I want to find out how I can help in anyway.
Jem, Maybe the first thing you can do is learn to see these kids. I don’t know where you live, but I’m guessing you probably have homeless and runaway kids in your country and maybe even near where you live. We live in San Diego, and here these kids are very good at blending in with the general population. Some attend high school or college. Even if they don’t, they dress like many other kids their age and spend lots of time when it’s hot or cold outdoors “studying” (also known as keeping cool in warm weather and warm in cold weather) in the library. They’re difficult for many of us to spot in the library and on the street. (The pimps and drug dealers have this down to a science and can spot most of them in a heartbeat.)
Once you begin “seeing” them, get to know some of them. Volunteer to help out at your local homeless shelter if they have teens. Even better, if there are local programs that provide food, shelter and services to homeless and runaway youth, volunteer there. At first the adults who run the program and the kids themselves will be very cautious about you. The adults want to make sure you’re there to help the kids, not to prey on them. The kids may be even more cautious. Remember, most of them have had adults in their lives, often their parents, who have failed them in significant ways.
Hopefully we will have an opportunity to share additional ways to help, such as supporting at-risk families, the kids as well as the parents. This can take many forms, including building a close relationship with these families so that we can be there when they’re considering throwing out their kid for whatever reason. That rarely turns out well for anyone. Are there options? – Usually there are.