Family Seeks Justice After Video Captures Manager Pouring Soda on Child and Striking Him.3003
The summer sun hung low over Greensboro, North Carolina, spreading a heavy warmth across the quiet rows of the Sedgefield Garden Apartments.
Children’s laughter floated across the courtyard, the kind of pure, unfiltered joy that only summertime freedom can bring.
Among them were siblings Jace Lee-Eury, eleven years old, and his little sister—two kids simply trying to cool off on a hot August afternoon.
But beneath that golden sunlight, something darker moved quietly toward them, something that would soon turn an ordinary moment into a story that shook an entire community.
Before the day ended, a child would be slapped.
Soda would be poured over his face.
A frightened sister would cry.
And a country already weary from painful conversations about race, power, and justice would stop to witness yet another wound being opened.
It began near the residents-only pool, a gathering place meant to be a refuge from the heat.
The kids walked there as they had before, their grandmother allowing them to go because the pool was barely two minutes away—a simple path through a field.
Jace held a soda bottle in his hand, chatting, laughing, unaware that his world was about to collide with the anger of a woman entrusted with the responsibility of managing the apartment complex.
Her name was Kim Jennings.
Sixty-two years old.
A manager of the complex.
A woman whose job was to enforce rules, yes, but whose actions on this day would echo far beyond any policy or regulation.
The confrontation escalated quickly.
According to the children and their parents, Jennings had pulled the little girl’s hair—an action that stunned Jace, freezing him for a moment before panic rushed through his chest.
He did the only thing an older brother instinctively does when he sees his sibling hurt.
He tried to protect her.
He threw the bottle—not to injure, but to get the woman to stop, to make her let go.
But what came next would shock not only the family, but the entire nation once the video went viral.
Jennings grabbed the soda.
She poured it over Jace’s face.
Then, with the same bottle she emptied over him, she struck him—right in front of his frightened sister.
The camera captured everything.
The disbelief.
The small, stunned body of an eleven-year-old boy.
The aggression of an adult who should have known better, who later said she simply “reacted.”
In the video, Jace doesn’t fight back.
He doesn’t scream.
He just stands there, confused, shocked, drenched, humiliated.
A child who had gone to a pool for fun—now standing with soda dripping down his face, wondering why an adult had chosen violence over words.
Within hours, the video spread.
Hundreds of comments poured in online.
Parents.
Teachers.
Strangers.
All horrified.
All asking one question: How could this happen to a child?
Police arrived soon after the assault was reported.
They spoke to the children.
They spoke to the parents.
They reviewed the video.
The conclusion was clear.
An assault had taken place.
A warrant was issued.
And on August 3, officers took Kim Jennings into custody.
Two counts of assault on a child under twelve.
Two charges that carried weight—not only in the courtroom but in the hearts of those who saw the footage.
But while Jennings offered a brief apology, saying “I popped him, I admit I did, and it was wrong,” she also insisted that the children were “disrespectful,” claiming she’d told them many times not to return to the pool.
Jace, however, told a different story.
“She never said not to come back before,” he said softly, still trying to make sense of an adult’s anger.
His words reflected the innocence of a child who genuinely believed he was simply following the rules as he understood them.
His parents, Robert and Joella, stood together in their conviction.
They understood that rules are part of life.
They understood that misunderstandings happen.
What they did not understand—and would never accept—was an adult laying her hands on their children.
“This is child abuse,” Joella said firmly, voice trembling but strong.
“You don’t need to put your hands on nobody’s child.”
Robert echoed her.
“There is a different way to go about it.”
From there, the story grew.
Attorney Ben Crump, known for representing victims in civil rights cases, publicly joined the family.
He demanded accountability, writing that Jennings must be “fully held responsible for her attack on these kids.”
Supporters rallied outside the complex.
Dozens stood with signs.
Families showed up.
Neighbors raised their voices.
A community gathered for two children who had simply wanted to swim.
Meanwhile, Jennings claimed that the owners of the apartment complex were backing her.
Some residents, interviewed by local reporters, even defended her, saying the children’s refusal to leave was disrespectful.
But the video showed more than disobedience.
It showed a power imbalance.
A racial imbalance.
A grown woman towering over a crying girl and a boy trying to be brave.
Anger poured into fragile moments where empathy should have been.
And the wound left on the children would not be easy to erase.
Days later, graffiti appeared on a shed at the complex—tension spilling over into vandalism.
Jennings said she planned to file a police report.
But even with new developments, the heart of the story remained unchanged: a child was hurt, a community was shaken, and two young siblings were left trying to understand why someone in a position of authority had treated them with such fury.
In interviews, Jace sat quietly, his voice almost a whisper at times.
He spoke of his sister.
He spoke of the moment her hair was pulled.
He spoke of how fast everything happened.
And he spoke of fear—a fear that shouldn’t belong in the heart of a child visiting a swimming pool.
His mother held him close during interviews, reassuring him, grounding him.
His father stood beside them, determined to protect his family.
The community, too, lifted them up.
Because beyond the shock of the video, beyond the headlines, beyond the legal arguments, this was ultimately the story of a child’s dignity.
A child’s right to safety.
A child’s right to exist in public spaces without violence.
The story spread not because the internet loves drama, but because it struck a deep, painful truth: children of color are too often met with suspicion, hostility, or aggression where other children receive patience and understanding.
People looked at Jace and saw their own sons.
They saw their nephews.
Their students.
Their neighbors’ kids.
They saw a little boy who should never have had his innocence stained by an adult’s cruelty.
As September approaches, Jennings awaits her court date.
The family prepares for legal battles.
And the community remains alert, hopeful that justice—real justice—will be served.
But for Jace and his sister, the path forward is not measured in court documents.
It is measured in healing.
In safety.
In learning to trust again.
In knowing that the world does not always respond with violence.
In remembering that for every person who harms, there are dozens more who will stand beside them, shield them, and lift them up.
And perhaps, one day, when Jace stands under the summer sun again, he’ll feel something his family wants more than anything for him.
Not fear.
Not humiliation.
But peace.
The Day Bristol Charmed His Way Into a Family.763
Bristol had no idea that today would be the day his life changed forever.
When he arrived at the shelter weeks ago, his eyes carried a mix of confusion and hope. He didn’t understand why he was there, or why his bed didn’t smell like home anymore. But he never lost his spark—tail wagging, ears perked, always ready to greet every volunteer who walked by with that wide, eager grin.
Yesterday, he had his meet-and-greet. And let me tell you—he nailed it. From the moment he stepped into the play yard, it was like watching a little politician at work: charming everyone with tail wags, giving soft nose nudges, rolling over for belly rubs, and even offering a few gentle licks like handshakes. He greeted each person with the kind of warm, joyful energy that you just can’t fake.
And then he met her.
She knelt down, and Bristol walked over slowly, almost thoughtfully, before resting his chin on her knee. That was it. No jumping. No chaos. Just a quiet, perfect moment. Her eyes welled up, and she whispered, “You’re exactly what I need.”
That moment told us everything we needed to know.
Today, Bristol officially left the shelter—and left behind the uncertainty that once clung to his every step. He is going home with that amazing woman, and she’s not just giving him a house—she’s giving him a life. A real one. Full of love, safety, and belly rubs galore.
Even better? He’s joining a family that already has three other dogs. That means endless zoomies in the backyard, tug-of-war tournaments, group naps in the sun, and someone to always share treats with. Bristol has always been a social butterfly, and now he gets to spread those wings—metaphorically, of course—all day, every day.
We always say every dog deserves a home, but Bristol? He deserves this home. This kind of home. The one where he’ll be celebrated for who he is—silly, sweet, playful, loyal. The one where he’ll never be left behind again.
So today we send him off not with tears, but with cheers. We’ll miss his goofy face around here. We’ll miss the way he’d sit just a little too close, sneakily trying to climb into your lap. But more than anything, we’re grateful. Because he’s going where he belongs.
Congratulations, sweet boy. Go live your happily ever after. You’ve more than earned it.
