Tuesday, February 8, 2022 Unscripted Newsletter & Podcast Notes I don’t have children. I admire those who are striving to raise children. No matter the time in history or a person’s belief system, raising children by all available evidence is an extraordinary task. Some say it never ends. While I do not have children of my own, I was obviously a child. I look back at the 90s now and I am grateful I came of age in that decade as I have discussed in other posts and can discuss further in future posts. Despite my fondness for the decade of my adolescence, my youth, like so many others, was marked by some serious challenges. And like so many victims of childhood abuse, it took me a long time to arrive at a point where I could write about it. I kept the secret from my family. In fact, I still keep the secret. To this very day, only two members of my family have a vague idea of what happened to me. Before I go any further, I want to be clear my parents were and are heroic. I cannot imagine more loving parents and they were doing what they felt was in my best interest. In 1984 I was injured by routine vaccination, at the time in the 80s it was the DTP vaccine that was pulled off the market when lawsuits soared and paved the way for the US National Childhood Vaccine Injury Act in 1986. Without getting into the details (that’s for another post) my development halted and I went from being a precocious toddler who was exceeding milestones to a troubled child with autistic-like features and serious behavioral problems. In my parents’ quest to get me the help I was sent to an in-patient facility at Yale-New Haven Hospital twice for 60 days. The second stay I was nearly 10 years old and remember the terror and the abuse in the deep night. Returning home came with an even mix of elation and fear. My sister, you see, seemed to truly enjoy terrorizing me. But I had my little brother and my parents. There are other siblings but that’s a complicated matter. Ultimately, my sister’s treatment would cement the damage done by my attackers. Of course, she couldn’t have known this. And if she did, I know that despite her actions she would be horrified. In 1995 my parents sent me to a treatment center called The Grove School. It was that treatment center that saved my life. And after graduating college, I would return to Grove to work as a house parent. I didn’t know it at the time because I had buried the experience in a psychological hole so deep it’s a marvel, I was able to unearth it, but I was taking a stand in defense of the young. Because nobody ever did for me. I only had my roommate during those dark days. Fast forward to October 9, 2020. I got laid off from my job as the Direct Care Manager at a treatment center. A job where I could ensure all my residents were safe. It was painful, but also gave me a break and a chance to really look at myself and my demons, as well as our situation. If I was going to help protect the young in our society, I was going to have to get much more involved. And involved from outside the confines of a treatment center or program. So, I began to research. What I discovered through research and collaboration with people like Alison McDowell and others is that the technology of the future, combined with a strong desire by the State to intervene in our lives, poses the gravest danger to our young. It is possible that despite the way these new technologies are being pitched the reality behind what the technology is for does not comport in any way with how they’ll be used. Gamification and augmented reality. The metaverse. These things sound neat and could certainly benefit those with limitations, but what about the potential for exploitation? What about the potential for abuse of a new type? The horrifying reality of child trafficking by the elite is already something people don’t want to hear about, but what if it’s true? Based on my research it seems beyond debate, but we can ta