daily emancipation
between hope and despair, we exist.
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The problem with Monsters
Monster and I have had our share of ups and downs. Many times, I turned a blind eye to things I knew weren’t exactly correct, because I saw the best in this young person, and wanted to practice being strength- based in my apporach to a severely damaged young person.
Lord knows I tried.
But when 416 dollars worth of bus passes came up missing 3 weeks ago, and I found evidence that he was the culprit, I ran out of compassion. He has succeeded in getting to me, and I, to him in a way that I have not experienced in a long time.
I am dissapointed that he could shit where he eats, that what we went through last summer was not enough to give him a reason to respect this group home.
that he would steal, endure the uncomfort that he caused his peers, lie, and then have the audacity to pretend that he’s been wrongly accused, and call his GAL…I’m personally offended.
For the first time since begining here at JP, I feel hopeless.
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a search, no hits.
so where are the other people on Tumblr who are thinking about child welfare?
few and far between it seems.
a search for “DCFS” brought up a lot of links to “DCF” posts ( not related at all)
a search for “child welfare” brought up posts from around the country, mostly reposting updates on legislative changes
a search for ” north lawndale” brought up my posts. and some random other stuff.
and last night, at an improv show, when we were asked to throw out suggestions for themes, i was tempted to yell out things like “group home” and “social worker” but didn’t, because my mom was there, and I didn’t want to make her feel bad.
its funny how much this means to me, and how little it means to the rest of the world, proportionately.
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check it…
so…there’s this kid, we can call him Oak. His affluent suburban foster family got rid of him when he started smoking weed, and “stealing” the minivan. they were so uncomfortable with him that he was sent from his gold leafed nest and into this rats nest. He struggled to finish his schooling, got huge tattoos, began dabbling in drug trade, and other black market hobbies.
He smashed his foster parents’ van, blinded the foster family to his moral failings, and delinquency, and developed a shiny silver tongue.
Now, 6 moths later than expected, he finished his schooling, and is ready to leave here. And his “supporters” keep calling to let us know how eager they are to welcome him back. Pressuring us to expedite the process, of returning the prodigal son back to his rightful place- the place THEY ousted him from. They are concerned for his saftey this summer…
“well ma’am, he was here last summer, and he did just fine”
they played him the old “Our way of the highway, kiddo” approach. As long as you do as we say, you are welcome- when you are in your darkest hours, we will reject you, remove our love and support. We will make sure that you understand that love is conditional, and that you will always have to watch your steps if you want to be our stepson.
is it any wonder that he’s such a mercurial ass? an arrogant, self-important snake? he must cheer when no one else is. his real family left him, and those who have accepted him into their life did so with conditions.
what troubles me is- if you sent him out because he was misbehaving, and told him to come back when he gets it together- then you, dear supporters of Oak, are totally off base. Oak competed a online high school diploma, that’s it. he still uses drugs, sells sex, and stomps around like a little prince. his diploma is a mask for his new, worse behaviors.
you are not welcoming home a reformed young man, but a spurned one with no better options. when you sent him away, you took his confidence, and his ability to fly. there are no small wings growing out of this young back. he will survive, and he will do fine, and he will be pressed on by the nagging feeling that if he doesn’t, the love will be taken away again.
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sunk.
as predicted, the GH is over. 60 days to find new homes for the kids, and then, they’re done. Not a suprise, at all. Heartbreaking; totally.
What does this mean for the TLP? nothing until we fail to pay our expenses. Theres just no way that we’re gonna have the cash on hand to deal with this.
honestly? i’m ready to call it a day. too much harm, and i cant help but wonder if it can ever be healed, or even restored. people are strong, and resilient, and sometimes, too smart to continue on.
but as i look elsewhere, ill also be paying close attention to the slow sinking of a multi- million dollar ship.
ahoy.
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Author Walter Dean Myers talks with Public School Insights on his new book: "Dope Sick".
“I have enormous faith in young people.”
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Tuesday
This weekend, I finished a painting titled “Tuesday”. Named after a little girl that used to come over to my house and paint beside me. when i needed a new board to work on, it was the middle of winter, and the one that she had been practicing abstract expresionism on was lying abandoned in the storage space. I took it in from the cold, and went to work. 8 months later, the piece if done, and underneath half a dozen layers of acrylic paint, run thick yellow keloids of poster paints mixed with too little water. i feel like being forced to work with this element pushed me to loosen up my normally ridig painting style to include these thick raised lines that betrayed the perfectly flat aesthetic im accustomed to. so thanks to you, Tuesday, for teaching me how to roll with the punches, and for reminding me how to keep my heart tender, but strong.
Early this morning, the case manager called and asked that I stop by court at 26th and California- the Cook County Court House and Jail. There were few concrete details about exactly why Tram was in jail with no bond set, and the only to get the whole story was to appear in court. It was not unusual that I was unable to find the correct court room, or a knowledgable person to help me figure out where to find my kid- and I patiently went through the process of getting lost and re-directed 5 times before finally getting a straight answer.
I stood in line on the 5th floor- and waited for the clerk to call my number, and when he did, he brusquely asked me to wrtie down the name and borthdate of the person. 5 minutes, and millions of huffy little signs later, the man informed me that this person was not in the system. After many more sighs, it turns out that he had spelled the name wrong. this time he raises his eyebrows and asks loudly;
” oh yeah, I found him- aggravated criminal sexual assault- thats him, right?”
stunned, wide- eyed and slack- jawed- I stutter that it must be…he smiles, and tells me
” well miss, his bond has been set for 750,000 dollars- and you’ll need 7500 dollars to get your boyfriend out.”
” um…ok… thanks…but i’m not bailing anyone out. and hes not my boyfriend- he’s one of the kids i work with at the group home that i run. thanks again.”
with nothing left to say, I walk down 5 flights of stairs, and into the bright early afternoon sun. wondering what it would be like to be the girlfriend of a sexual perpertrator. and wondering how many women do bail these men out- because they’re better than nothing- because they need them- because they want them- because they dont see the problem- or simply can’t do without- because they just aren’t that many good men these days…because our society is matriarchical and we give love and take care of the family no matter what…because men are not expected or needed to do more or better- or because they aren’t allowed to- and one day, you wake up, stretch, and then remember that last night you sexually assaulted a woman before stumbling to the bodega for an early- morning Black n’ Mild and a quarter water. and you leave out quietly, so you don’t wake up the woman lying next to you- sleeping soundly- feeing safe with you there- so happy to have a man that comes home to her and loves her- and having no idea that in 2 days time, you’ll be in jail with a felony charge.
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5/6 = 83% chance
Anha is one of the smartest kids to have ever walked through the JP’s doors. I met him when he was still in kiddie jail- a chubby faced teenager, who had earned his GED while in kiddie prison. We’ve known each other for over a year now, and seem to be able to connect on a more personal level that is generally possible with 18 year old men. I’ll be the first to admit that Anha is what he calls “low- key spoiled”, and suffering from a serious case of smart man’s laziness.
Over the past year, Anha has not done a lot. well, he hasn’t done a lot of what I think he should be doing. But he has matured- and grown into a more adult version of himself. I remember a night in early spring where he lost his temper with another resident- and he and I spent until 4AM in my car- talking about his plans, hopes for his family and self, and sometimes his questions and feelings about being abandoned by his mom.
He is the kid who comes to me when he has heard about some problem or another, and thinks i might need a pep- talk.
He is a kid who knows people think hes smart, friendly, and has potential, but doesnt internalize any of it.
He walks a line between being who he believes he should be ( street life), and what he knows he wants to be ( successful). He has never had to work for anything, and doesnt really know how to use self- dicipline.
eitherway, i came into work on tuesday just in time to hear that he had been arrested in Dolton over the weekend. Apaprently, accoridng to the report, he had assaulted an old man.
when he came downstairs, to sheepishly show me his black eye and scraped face, he also showed me his trophy- the hat of a foe. He stood uncomfortabley in my office, ad we entered into a tenatative coversation about his injury, and subsequently, the story of how he got arrested.
to me, it sounded like a classic case of too much booze, mixed with too much heat, and too much ego. And possibly a dash of neighborhood rivalry. What began with a simple spat over where one yard begins and the other ends, turned into an all out brawl in the street. families and friends became invovled- and at some point, the man with the red cap leaped over his very tall friend, and hit my kid in the face with brass knuckles.
Anha was furious that this man had played so unfasilry in a fight that was not even his to fight. And when the police came and took Anha, and not Red cap, he feel distinctly picked on. and when he was i-bonded out hours later- the scrap had mushroomed into a full- on hunt.
the point I want to get to is this:
“i took my friends magnum, you know the one, miss rhea; the one with the 6 shots in it, and he was yellin at me not to play, and i didnt care- i just wanted that motherfucker done with, so i just took it and i fired it at [red cap].”
at this point, i am furious, terrified, and mostly deeply dissapointed; here he is- my sweet, cute, smart Anha- moments from a murder charge. my mouth is hanging open, and i am patiently waiting to hear whats next…
” but i got the empty chamber, rhea. there were only 5 bullets, and i got the empty chamber.”
he stops, andlooks at me. ” yo ulok like you want to say something rhea”
” i don’t Anha. Not a lot anywyas. I’m glad you’re home. And you can’t have it both ways- mijo- soon, you will have to choose. you can not have both. and i hope that you choose carefully, because you have a lot to loose.”
I could tell he was waiting to see if i was going to cry over this. He just sat and watched me, waiting for the lecture that never came.
“doesn’t mijo mean “son” in spanish?”
“yes.”
“thanks rhea.”
and he walked out. This man- who pulled a weapon in anger, with the intention to kill- had an 83% chance of wounding or killlng a peer- but got lucky.
since then, his eye has healed for the most part, and he is anxiously waiting his move into his own apartment next week- and somehow this young man will move forward. and eventually have to choose.
