Bryan M. Likins

This peaked me more than any other single incident. The man pictured, “Gabrielle” Darone, spent 9 months simulating a pregnancy, including feigned morning sickness and the wearing of a fake belly, with the intention of play-acting the loss of the imaginary baby. He also joined a support group for grieving mothers who had lost children, seeking validation and “support” for his planned “stillbirth.” He even went so far as to rent a machine that simulated contractions, and bought a plastic “baby” which he inserted into his rectum and then “gave birth to.” Afterwards, he took two weeks off from work to “grieve.” Women who objected to his presence in the group - women who had actually lost children - were kicked out so that this man could feel supported in his game of ‘let’s pretend.’ Their very real grief was considered less important than this man’s sexual fantasies. To top it all off, he did all of this in the house he still shared with his unconsenting soon-to-be-ex-wife and their minor children. He even roped his 7 year old into taking “maternity pictures.” Mr. Darone also convinced his doctors to provide him with drugs to induce lactation. He asked the members of an online breastfeeding group he’d joined if any of them would be willing to let him “breastfeed” - that is, sexually assault - their babies, and attempted to donate the chemical-laced sludge he pumped out of his moobs to “other mothers.” These men have proven over and over again that there is no aspect of women’s pain that they will not twist into a prop for their sickening deviancy, from rape to oppression to sexual objectification. Even the loss of a child in the womb is fair game to them: a perverted, selfish, hyper-sexualized game of make-believe that must always take priority over the real pain and real needs of real women.

In the autumn of 1942, a slight, 32-year-old Polish social worker named Irena Sendler passed through the gates of the Warsaw Ghetto with a carpenter’s toolbox in her arms. Beneath the hammers and nails lay a drugged six-month-old infant, breathing softly, utterly silent. One cry would have meant instant death for both of them. Irena smiled at the guards; they waved her through. They never suspected that this quiet woman would repeat the journey 2,499 more times. The ghetto was a slow-motion extermination. Starvation, disease, and random murder stalked every street. Jewish parents faced a choice no human being should ever have to make: keep their child and watch them waste away, or hand them to a stranger who promised a chance—however thin—at life. Irena came officially to inspect for typhus. In reality, she came to steal children from death. Babies left in toolboxes or ambulances under false bottoms. Toddlers sedated and tucked into potato sacks. Older children led by the hand through the stinking, lightless sewers while German boots marched overhead. “Not a sound,” she whispered as rats scurried past their feet. She knew that the rescued children would be given new names, new religions, new families. Their pasts would vanish unless someone remembered. So, on fragile scraps of tissue paper, Irena wrote each child’s real name, their parents’ names, and their new hiding place. She rolled the papers tight, slipped them into glass jars, and buried them beneath an apple tree in a neighbor’s garden. If she were caught and killed, the truth might still survive. She was caught. On October 20, 1943, the Gestapo kicked in her door. They took her to Pawiak Prison and demanded the list. When she refused, they smashed both her legs with iron bars. Then her feet. Then her arms. For weeks the beatings continued. She never spoke. They scheduled her execution. On the appointed morning, guards dragged the broken woman from her cell. Instead of a firing squad, she found herself outside the prison walls—alive. The Polish underground council Żegota had bribed a guard to mark her file “shot while trying to escape.” Officially dead, Irena Sendler limped back into the shadows to keep working.When the war finally ended, the first thing she did was dig up the jars under the apple tree. She spent years trying to return the children—now scattered across convents, farms, and foster homes—to whatever family might remain. Almost no parents had survived. But the children had. Because of her, 2,500 Jewish boys and girls lived to grow up, to marry, to have children and grandchildren of their own—an entire secret branch of the human family tree that the Nazis never managed to cut down.For decades her story stayed buried deeper than the jars themselves. Then, in 1999, four high-school girls in rural Kansas stumbled across a brief mention of her name. They found the old woman still living quietly in Warsaw and brought her courage back into the light. Journalists called her the greatest rescuer of the Holocaust. Irena only shook her head.“I could have saved more,” she said. “That regret follows me to the grave.”Irena Sendler—armed with nothing but a ghetto work permit, a toolbox, and a refusal to look away—proved that even in the heart of the worst evil humanity has ever devised, one determined person can still keep the darkness from winning completely.

Coach Kelsey giving the referees an ear full.