I didn't revive this thread to reignite the sh*tstorm. I wanted to draw attention to a beautiful essay. There *was* a line in there that reminded me of my thoughts surrounding the thread, something along the lines of ...
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Luke kicked and screamed. I stood between him and the door to keep him from bolting. His cries were anguished, animal-like. He had never seen a mirror and tried to escape by running through one. I wound my arms around him so he could not hit or kick. After an hour and a half he finally fell asleep, exhausted.
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Which soon transformed into...
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The next day we met orphanage officials to do paperwork. Luke was on my lap as they filed into the room. He looked at them and wrapped my arms tightly around his waist.
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There is an
awesome power in the human touch. Like many things powerful, it can be used for good or ill. In the story of the little girl, I was sad because the fear of being accused of using that power for ill prevented the adults involved from using it for good.
In the second story, the powerful good that can come from using is showcased triumphantly. The stories are very different, but they share an identical core: A totally freaked out little kid, and an adult that has the chance to use that power for good.