"They could be made to accept the most flagrant violations of reality, and were not sufficiently interested in public events to notice what was happening"
- George Orwell - 1984

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Emily Haddock Laid to Rest

We're told by the media that Emily was in the wrong place, at the wrong time when 3 nigger boys broke into her family home and shot her in the head, while she was home sick with strep throat.

Emily Elizabeth Haddock was your typical little girl.

Her dark eyes danced.

Her brown locks were soft and long.

She was 12.

“She was a ‘Daddy’s Girl,’” says Kenny Decker, a family friend who choked back tears.

She had such fun just 10 days ago at the local speedway, watching the cars go round, and just being with her daddy.

It hasn’t been so long ago that Jeff Haddock, her father, built a deck on the family home in Moore County.

She was daddy’s little helper.

She was a “Daddy’s Girl.”

She was 12.

“She was just a pure angel,” Decker says. “Everybody would love to have a daughter like her.”

On Tuesday, Jeff Haddock, 44, said goodbye to his little girl — the apple of his eye. Joy Scott, 43, said goodbye to a daughter — the light of her life.

Nearly 400 mourners — from Mount Pleasant to Hope Mills — filed into the First Baptist Church sanctuary and its adjacent fellowship hall in Hope Mills to be by this family’s side.

A child’s dreams

Emily Elizabeth Haddock was full of life.

She always had a smile.

Once she came to know you, she was quick to smile that smile like only she could, then throws her arms tightly around your neck.

She was 12.

She didn’t have a favorite color.

She loved every hue.

She liked the red flip-flops as much as the green sandals and the blue ones near the foot of her bed.

She didn’t have a favorite teddy bear that adorned her bedroom. She loved ’em all.

She was 12.

She liked making new friends at New Century Middle School, where the flag flew at half staff Tuesday for this classmate who looked so forward to the volleyball season.

She liked playing basketball, and it took both hands to show off the trophies as testimony of her skills.

She was crazy about Ginger, her brown dachshund. She loved Pooch, her pit bull, just as much.

She liked to swim.

She liked to sing karaoke.

She liked to wear her hair in a ponytail.

She was 12.

She loved attending First Baptist Church in Hope Mills and throwing her arms around the neck of the Rev. Mike Sowers, her “Preacher Mike.”

“She came into my office one day and wanted to know the story behind everything on my bookshelf,” a tearful Sowers told the congregation. “I say Emily knew more about me than anyone in this church. She not only loved people. She wanted to know people.”

She liked Sunday school.

She liked vacation Bible school.

“She had so much energy,” Nancy Jackson, a Sunday school teacher, says. “She was like a little butterfly.”

She was 12.

She had dreams.

She looked forward to being a teenager and having sleep-overs with her girlfriends and talking about the dreamiest boy in school.

She would one day look forward to high school, her first date, her first prom, a class ring, graduation, college years, marriage ... and someday children of her own.

She was your typical girl.

She was 12.
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