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All articles are original.© by Rosemarie Ceraso. 

  • Writer's pictureROSEMARIE CERASO


Updated: Feb 6

I was a run-away to Manhattan at the age of 15 for 3 days.

And learned a lifetime of lessons within that short time which pointed me in the direction of my Life's purpose. I write of it in my upcoming book Lessons of Power ©.

At one point a "kind" man offered me a ride as I was wandering Grand Central without a dime after 3 days living off my meager few bucks. I accepted the ride and long story short, he wasn't taking me home as promised because he was "going in that direction". Rather, I discovered during the ride we were headed to some motel in Connecticut where there were other girls whom "I would like" and allegedly all lived happily together. How sweet.

I felt the heat rise to my face as my stomach tightened with caution, but didn't want to show my fear while contemplating a next move. As fate had it already scripted, at one point he pulled his car over to a large secluded lot far off the highway. I watched in the rear view mirror, passenger side, as he opened his trunk. Through the narrow space at the bottom of the trunk door I saw him take out a rife and a bottle of liquor. He was still rummaging around in the trunk when I took the opportunity and opened the door sprinting for the highway in one easy move. As a top sprinter in my high school I ran like the wind not looking back though fearing he would shoot me dead from behind. Reaching the road just before his screeching car caught up from behind, another car pulled over from the highway seeing that I was in distress. I hopped in and the "kind" fellow from Connecticut took off in his car like a bat out of hell. This other man who came to save me? That story you'll need to read in my book coming soon.

Over a 2-year period in my 20's I worked p/t as a volunteer in a state-run drug live-in rehab for minors...

It was called Aurora; for drug-addicted youths selling their bodies for bucks who were arrested off the streets. Their parents or guardian were given a choice; Juvenile Detention or Rehab. At the time I volunteered, the youngest street druggies were 6 year old twins. If I remember correctly this would be their home up until the age of 18 when the state no longer took responsibility and released them. Unless they were deemed rehabilitated and in a good foster home before that and discharged to live a productive life. Or possibility of...

My favorite young man, Micky, was 16 when we met.

A beautiful and intelligent soul, a young GQ potential in looks with sad eyes and years of memories of the street. His family background was a horror story to say the least. He was spending 2 years at Aurora and seemingly was doing wonderfully under their program, working hard on his therapies and responsibilities. As well as helping the younger children such as a set of 6 year old twins whose Mother, a drug-addicted hooker, sent them to the streets for additional bucks. Micky became the Daddy figure they never had. I worked with him as his muse and he did his best to impress.

Somehow still sweet and innocent in nature - he once gifted me a large gray stuffed elephant he had won at a fair the group leaders at Aurora had taken the kids to. I kept that elephant who I named Mickey for many years, even storing it in my Folk's attic. And gave it to my own son when he was a tot. A reminder of Micky, a beautiful young man with his whole life ahead of him.

Mickey was decapitated during a drug hook up on some rat-infested street of Manhattan the first night he was released from Aurora on his 18th birthday.

Who, if any, are to save the children from the evil which walks this earth on two legs and devours all that is innocent? Ravenous wolves in sheep's clothing with bright shining teeth.

They come in all sizes and colors and walks of life, many times under the pretense of someone else. If not thou, then whom will save them from the Beast?

In Memory of Mickey...

© Rosemarie Ceraso

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