So, as my recent posts are indicating, I'm getting more and more involved in my new(ish) job working with foster kids. I met a girl that responds to my approach very well and who's energy is a lot of fun to try and keep up with. She is easy to get along with, cooperative, accepts limits, and loves fun activities. As I was driving to drop her off, when she turned to me from out of nowhere and without hesitation asked, "Will you adopt me?"
It was touching. Sweet. Something I had previously not run into in my seven years of working with underpriveleged populations. I mean, holy crap, 'will you adopt me'?!
I very calmly and kindly replied with a big smile, that 'no, but I would be happy to continue to be her Case Aide twice a week'. She didn't really respond, but didn't seem crushed either. My guess is I'm not the first person she's asked that question to. She went back to focusing on finding a good song on the radio. I thought about explaining for a moment, the reasons our relationship works as it is because of my current role in her life and the boundaries that pertain to it, but I decided not to and I directed the conversation to things more immediate and in the moment like the traffic, the music, the rain. I reviewed some of the things I had praised her for earlier during our session. We ended on a good note.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
A day in the life: Remember me?
It was a beautiful March morning. The sun was shining and most of the frost had melted off of the grass and trees by the time I pulled into the driveway of the house. A small girl stood off to the side, waiting for my arrival. I was to pick her up and drive her over an hour, to hand her off to another staff who would spend the day with her before returning her to me this evening to take her on the long drive back home.
Her outfit was made of fuzzy material and pink from head to toe. Her hair was tussled and the brown locks hung slightly over her eyes. She smiled as I approached and leaned closely to the woman standing behind her. I noticed she was clutching an enormous stuffed animal, and it appeared to have been decked out in a lot of pink clothes also.
I checked in with the woman, her foster mom, as the girl climbed into the back seat and buckled herself in, making sure to safely buckle the furry, pink wearing doll into the seat next to her. I turned to look at her and her companion, and praised them both for remembering to be so safe and responsible by fastening their seatbelts without having been reminded to.
We had met once before and spent an entire afternoon together, but I still knew relatively nothing about this quiet, little person in the back of my car. I began engaging her in the typical, kid relevant small-talk. "How are you this morning?" "I see you've brought a friend with you, tell me about him." "What have you been up to this week?"
She answered each of my inquiries softly and directly. She was fine, the stuffed animal's name was Ravvy and was a 'she', she had ridden a ferry three times that week. As she answered, I pulled out my GPS and began programing it with the destination to where we were headed.
"Hey, you have one of those?" She asked. "Yep. Sure do.", I answered, not mentioning that she had seen me use it not more than a week ago. "Once", she continued, "A lady had one of those and she let me help her with it.", her voice seemed pleased as though she was remembering something that made her happy. "It was me!", I happily replied.
She stopped talking and appeared to be thinking for a moment. "Oh yeah", she said, "You took me swimming and you dipped your feet in the water and I rescued you from the bubbles." A big smile crossed her face, "I remember."
"Yep, that was me.", I confirmed. I was satisfied that her memory of our time together was all positive and that she seemed happy to recall it. I thought to myself how different these kid's experiences can be from 'average' kids. Where as most kids have the advantage of steady influences in their lives and rarely find themselves handed off to strangers, these kids seem accept it as just a part of life. They move from place to place, sometimes within weeks. They are helped by an agency where the people are nice enough, but they never know which one of us is going to come get them and they meet so many different people, it's hard to keep them straight after a while. Meeting a new person is common and undifferentiated, could be the first and only time they meet us, could be the first of many.
She wasn't the first of these kids to not remember me. I suspect that some of them do remember and it's a protection mechanism to act like they don't, but with some, I wouldn't be surprised if it's true.
Her outfit was made of fuzzy material and pink from head to toe. Her hair was tussled and the brown locks hung slightly over her eyes. She smiled as I approached and leaned closely to the woman standing behind her. I noticed she was clutching an enormous stuffed animal, and it appeared to have been decked out in a lot of pink clothes also.
I checked in with the woman, her foster mom, as the girl climbed into the back seat and buckled herself in, making sure to safely buckle the furry, pink wearing doll into the seat next to her. I turned to look at her and her companion, and praised them both for remembering to be so safe and responsible by fastening their seatbelts without having been reminded to.
We had met once before and spent an entire afternoon together, but I still knew relatively nothing about this quiet, little person in the back of my car. I began engaging her in the typical, kid relevant small-talk. "How are you this morning?" "I see you've brought a friend with you, tell me about him." "What have you been up to this week?"
She answered each of my inquiries softly and directly. She was fine, the stuffed animal's name was Ravvy and was a 'she', she had ridden a ferry three times that week. As she answered, I pulled out my GPS and began programing it with the destination to where we were headed.
"Hey, you have one of those?" She asked. "Yep. Sure do.", I answered, not mentioning that she had seen me use it not more than a week ago. "Once", she continued, "A lady had one of those and she let me help her with it.", her voice seemed pleased as though she was remembering something that made her happy. "It was me!", I happily replied.
She stopped talking and appeared to be thinking for a moment. "Oh yeah", she said, "You took me swimming and you dipped your feet in the water and I rescued you from the bubbles." A big smile crossed her face, "I remember."
"Yep, that was me.", I confirmed. I was satisfied that her memory of our time together was all positive and that she seemed happy to recall it. I thought to myself how different these kid's experiences can be from 'average' kids. Where as most kids have the advantage of steady influences in their lives and rarely find themselves handed off to strangers, these kids seem accept it as just a part of life. They move from place to place, sometimes within weeks. They are helped by an agency where the people are nice enough, but they never know which one of us is going to come get them and they meet so many different people, it's hard to keep them straight after a while. Meeting a new person is common and undifferentiated, could be the first and only time they meet us, could be the first of many.
She wasn't the first of these kids to not remember me. I suspect that some of them do remember and it's a protection mechanism to act like they don't, but with some, I wouldn't be surprised if it's true.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
The proof is in the garbage.
I came home the other day, Artie greeted me at the door as usual, nothing was out of the ordinary. Upon setting my things down, I spotted a note with Bruce's handwriting scratched across the front that read: The evidence is on the camera. This is what I saw.
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