Prior to my mother getting sick, I had never been to a camp. When I was eight, doctors found a spot on my mother’s lung, which had to do with tuberculosis; so, my siblings and I wound up at a state related camp especially for such children. I believe it was named The Prevent Torium–something like that. There were cottages, which housed the children by age groups, and each cottage had lots of beds in one room like a dormitory. In mine, there were two rows of about ten or twelve beds lined up against two walls opposite on another. The row of beds across from my bed was where a frail little girl slept. Unfortunately, she wet the bed, and our house mother (every morning) would beat that child merciless. It broke my heart. First, I never knew that adults ever beat children like that. And I could not imagine anyone having it in his or her heart to want or have the will to beat a child like that. As I reflect back upon it all, why would a person continue to beat a child, knowing that the child could not help wetting the bed–because if she could she would. I was sad; I was hurt; and I was angry, seeing that frail little girl (maybe seven years old) as she screamed and hopped around her boney legs, trying to dodge the house mother’s belt. Today, things are done differently, but still many children suffered in the past and may have suffered throughout their lives from such treatment. May we ALL be ever so mindful of how we treat others, and remember, God sees ALL.