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Sept. 28, 2005 For a moment let’s put away prejudice, envy, self-righteousness, and hatred, and imagine that you are the mother of a girl who just graduated from high school. Her whole life is ahead of her. She is where all your hopes and dreams lie. All her friends are going on this trip to Aruba. It’s not the first trip and things have always gone all right for the other students that have gone on this trip in the past. You might hesitate if your daughter was different but she is not some silly teen with only thoughts of boys in her head. In fact she has a very level head, and there will be chaperones on this trip. It’s not like she is going alone. It’s the day your daughter is supposed to return home and you get this frantic call. She didn’t make the plane. What does this mean you wonder? Where were the chaperones? How can this be? Without thinking you are on a plane to Aruba and the authorities there. Where is my daughter? Someone must have done something to her. It’s not like her to run away and why would she? The police arrest some men that three younger men seemed to have implicated. But as more witnesses come foreword you learn that the arrested men weren’t the last to see your daughter. Instead it is the younger men who were the last to be with your daughter, and it has now been 10 days. Ten days for the three of them to have erased all evidence that your daughter ever existed - at least evidence she ever existed in their company. Rumors swirl. One’s father has some highly positioned friends. Stories about what happened that last night when you know your daughter, your blood, your child was last seen change every time the police interrogate one of the suspects. Then comes the day you have been dreading when in Aruba suspects can be released and never bothered again. All go free. It’s as if your daughter didn’t matter there. She was just one girl. How dare she mess up the lives of these fine young men (young men who by all accounts spent hours at this one particular bar and casino - drinking (though one was under age) and flirting with tourist girls)? One of the boys willing gives an interview and tells how he had sex with your daughter - that she was very drunk - barely conscious. Yet when he gets through with her, he leaves on the beach alone. He says she refused to leave the beach. Huh? She was a girl, drunk, but still a girl. What kind of man leaves a defenseless woman alone on the beach? It wasn’t her beach. It wasn’t her home. It was his and if that is how it happened he should have at least called the police and told them to go get her. Under all these circumstances, this is your child that is most likely dead - why wouldn’t you tell the world to boycott Aruba. All of you out there denigrating Beth Holloway Twitty should be ashamed of yourselves. What right do you have to criticize her? What right you have to say she is wrong? How many children have you lost? Most of the ones criticizing her on this very page are male and have no clue as to what it is like to be a mother and lose a child. What would you have her do? The impression I get is that you all would likely nothing better than for her just to go away. It would have suited you fine if Beth had just tucked her tail and admitted defeat - admitted her daughter had run away or something. Time and time again the more I know of some people, maybe most people the more ashamed I am of them. The more ashamed I am to be part of the human race. Some of the articles I have read on this page lately just make me sick at heart for Beth Holloway Twitty and anyone else in her shoes. ------------ About the author Lee Caldwell-Owens: Graduate of #Artbell channel on Efnet IRC. Has a BS in History and English with a minor in Women's Studies and if she had completed her thesis, would have a Graduate Degree in English. Likes to dabble in writing about the paranormal. Email: zommbywu00f@aol.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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