“Cold drinks make my braces hurt!”
“My cat has a cold!”
“I want you to be my locker partner this year!”
“I’m going to the bathroom! Who’s with me?”
At first I was annoyed. I couldn’t even hear that horrible flute arrangement of Clapton songs Panera insists on playing. I had work to do, and I didn’t care to know how dumb their parents were and which boys were cute. But suddenly the menagerie of failed cosmetic attempts made me smile. What changed my opinion on all the talking, texting, giggling, and wondering aloud if those shorts make them look fat? I realized they were doing exactly what teenagers should be doing, because they weren’t victims of human trafficking.
The statistic I’ve been trying to wrap my head around for the past month is that up to 300,000 girls aged 11 to 17 in the United States are lured into the sex industry. My mind fights the insanity of that reality by simply going numb. Forcing past the enormity of confronting the world’s second-most profitable crime (following drug dealing), I’ve learned that I can help simply by being aware, alert, and active. I won’t turn a blind eye to the reality--I will be aware. I will take note of teens who appear trapped and abused. I will take action and report it to authorities and organizations that can help.
And the next time I see a dozen pink iPhones headed my way, I’ll probably move across the room.
