I was 10 when I found out who Jesus was. He was among the hundreds of kids that were becoming less and less in number as the weeks passed by. They were all waiting as was I. We were all lined up and waiting early in the morning in different rows and segments on the black top of the school's yard; we were waiting for the flag salute to begin.

“They took my mom and some of my neighbors....... My name is Jesus and that boy crying, in the next line is my brother, David. I know that I am not supposed to be in this line. Please. Don’t say anything. Please. They won’t know. The systems are down. They still don’t know all of us.”

I didn't say anything. He didn't have to ask. In that moment I finally realized that we lived in the same neighborhood and that unlike him I didn't know what the silence and compliance meant. It had nothing to do with cause and effect-it had everything to do with the appearance of a threat.

"Who took your mom and what does that symbolize?

Are they after you?"

What? What are you.....I'm sorry doctor I was just telling you a story about a past experience to clarify what I meant when I said that I knew Jesus. He was taken along with his brother. I don't know where. It was eight years ago that I started to hear his voice and I am grateful that I can still hear it. I am beginning to understand some of the patterns that I see.

"That will be all for today. We have to stop. You're not telling me what I want to hear. You are not telling me the true story. Take him out for recreation-take him out."