Sunday, November 8, 2015
Friday, November 6, 2015
Employee of the Month
So there I was, on the 14th tee of the Mountain Meadows Community Golf Course, preparing to tee off. It was a short, 125 yard shot over a murky, man-made lake. Not too difficult. It was Saturday, my day off, and my playing partner was Manny Duckworth, the dynamic and intensely competitive teammate from the group home.
In a couple of hours, I would be attending Short-Attention Span Rudy’s 12th birthday party. In fact, I would be hosting it. His own special counselor, Mellow Bill, decided to schedule his vacation this week without thinking to check on his special kid’s needs. So, I volunteered to be Rudy’s Temporary Special Counselor and put on the party, which basically means take care of everything: the cake, the presents, the decorations, the meal, the party games. I was more than happy to do it, I had known Rudy since he arrived at the Agency 3 ½ years ago and we have gotten along really well in his time here.
Each kid gets a fifty dollar birthday allowance from the house as well as a gift certificate to the store of his choice. Rudy had requested that I take the gift certificate and get him an MP3 player.
So there I was, on the 14th tee, lining up my shot. I selected a pitching wedge.
As I drew the club back, I thought: Let’s see, it’s almost noon now, the party starts at 2. I’ll be done with golf in about an hour, so that gives me about a half hour to get to Best Buy with Rudy’s gift certificate and pick up the MP3 player he wants. Then about fifteen minutes to pick up the sodas , prizes for games, and the cake I ordered from the grocery store, I’ll call the pizza place and order the pizzas during the fifteen minutes it takes to get to the house, put the kids in transition, get the staff to quickly get the decorations up and we’ll do the party. No problem.
Manny was casually leaning on a club and said, “You know Jenny’s going to be there. You going all out for her client.”
I said, “My concentration is impenetrable. Your sorry attempts have no effect on me.” I addressed the ball.
Fuck. I forgot about Jenny, Rudy’s therapist. She and I have had some spats over the years, the most recently over Rudy, in fact. During a tantrum, Rudy ripped his special blankie to shreds. This was the special blankie which his dead grandmother had made for him when he was born. It already had plenty of holes in it, so when he shredded it to pieces in anger and tied some of the shreds around his neck, I just threw it away. Jenny was livid!
Jenny has been a therapist there for about 15 years, about 5 years longer than I’ve been there. Over the years, you hear things about people and we’ve heard plenty about her. Her husband apparently had left her very abruptly to fly off with his Italian floozy girlfriend. In the mean time, Jenny has taken it upon herself to transfer all her feelings of abandonment on to her charges. For all I know, her husband is living happily in Italy with his floozy girlfriend.
So there I was, on the 14th tee, taking my backswing, thinking about Jenny and the party. As I started my downstroke, I thought: Let’s see, who’s working this afternoon… It’s going to be Toby the militant, plus three relatively new staff who I haven’t gotten the chance to work with. Toby tends to try to take over for inexperienced staff in an effort to help, but usually winds up making the house feel more tense with all his yelling. No matter, I’m just doing a guest appearance. When an experienced staff like me shows up when it’s not his usual shift, the kids are happily surprised, and usually respond positively, whether they love you or hate you on your regular shifts.
I struck the center of the ball with the edge of the blade. The ball was a low line drive that skipped over the water three times and sunk somewhere near the center of the lake.
Manny said, “You really just playing the best you can right now.”
I said, “You know, I’m thinking I should just get a head start on that party right now.”
Manny said, “I think that’s best. I don’t want anyone to get hurt out here. You got my five bucks?”
I knew I owed him the money we bet on the round, but instead I said, “What? I’m five strokes ahead!”
“Just think of it as a quitter’s fee,” he said. “You pay me five bucks for quitting, I don’t tell no one how I penetrated your concentration with my superior mental skills.”
I reached into my pocket and paid him. “Oh yeah, like you can keep your mouth shut. See you at work tomorrow morning.”
Manny exaggeratedly waved, “Bye-bye! Say ‘hi’ to Jenny for me!”
I got in the car and shot down to the grocery store where I ordered the cake. I took my cart up and down the aisles throwing in candy, soda, balloons and small, junky toys for prizes and treats. I got to the bakery and asked to pick up the cake.
The bakery lady shook her head. “That the one that say ‘Happy Birthday Rudy?’ That one ain’t done.”
I was pissed. “What the fff…. Fine. When’s it going to be done? I ordered it on Thursday, you know.”
“Should be done in about half and hour or so. You can wait if you want.” She had the far-away gaze of someone who couldn’t give a shit.
I said, “I’ll tell you what. I have to go over to Best Buy and get some other stuff. Can you just keep my cart here and I’ll be back in a half hour?”
“Fine with me,” she said.
The Best Buy was at the other end of the parking lot. I ran over there to pick up the MP3 player. When I asked at the counter, the dude said, “We ain’t got no more. Sold out.”
I got into my car and thought: Fuck. Now what? Well, let’s see… I did leave the golf course earlier than I planned, so I still have some time. There’s that other Best Buy about 20 minutes away, I’ll just go there, get the fucking MP3, come back, get the cake, toys, soda and shit and still be at the house in time.
I hopped on the freeway and got to the other Best Buy only to find out that they were sold out of the MP3 player too! I wouldn’t say I was panicked, but I was definitely worried. I looked around the electronics section for other things to get Rudy. All the other MP3’s cost too much for his gift certificate, plus he told me he wanted a specific one.
As I walked out to the car, I thought: Fuck.
Then I thought: Hey, there’s a Sears right across the freeway! I’ll just shoot over there, maybe they’ll have the fucking MP3, I’ll pick it up, shoot back up to the grocery store, pick up the cake and the cart full of shit, and be on my way. I’ll just be a little late.
It was fifteen minutes before the party was supposed to start. I called the house and Toby answered.
“Hey Toby, I’m running a little late cuz all the fucking Best Buys are sold out of the fucking MP3 player. Looks like I’ll be about 30 minutes late.”
Toby said, “OK, cool Stokie, we’re not doing much and the house is calm. I’ll tell everybody. See ya.”
Sure enough, Sears came through with the MP3 player. I had to use my own money to buy it, so I thought I’d ask the house supervisor, Yolanda, if I could just keep the gift certificate for myself. I also bought a gift bag and some tissue paper since I wouldn’t have time to wrap it. I shot up to the grocery store and ran to the bakery counter.
“Is the cake ready?”
The bakery lady looked at me. “I didn’t think you was coming back. Yup, the cake is ready, but your cart gone.”
“Goddammit! I said I’d be back in a half an hour!”
She said, “That was 45 minutes ago.”
I grabbed another cart and refilled it with the bullshit I put in it before. It cost more than the allotted fifty dollar allowance, but I thought, what the hell, I’m making overtime by doing this party anyway. On my way out to the car, I called the pizza place and ordered the pizza. I arrived at the house exactly 30 minutes late.
The first thing I noticed as I entered was Jenny glaring at me. Ignoring her, I called for a community group. All the boys sat down and I told them that we were about to have a birthday party, there would be games and prizes and treats and if they wanted to participate in the games and prizes and treats, they would have to go to their rooms quietly for a 15 minute transition while the staff set up the house. And that’s exactly what they did.
One of the new staff, Kristen, walked up to me and said, “I’ve never seen the kids go and do a transition so easily. Why do they do it for you and not for me?”
I said, “You’ve been here what, 3 months? The kids don’t know you and assume you’re going to leave any minute now. Give it another year or so. I’ve been here forever, they know what to expect from me. Here, stick one of these jawbreakers in ten balloons and blow them up. We’re gonna need them for a game.”
As she did this, I heard her muttering to herself, “Another fucking year….”
The party was really fun. I organized a couple of relay races, one where each kid from two teams ran around the outside of the house and sat on a balloon to pop it and eat the jawbreaker. There was a field-goal kicking contest with a paper football. I had promised that there would be a sportsmanship prize for the kid who was the best behaved, and when all ten behaved well, they all got a package of gummi-bears. The rest of the staff didn’t really have to do anything as the kids were so engaged.
Just then the pizza arrived. I called another community group and all the kids sat down.
I said, “Now, we’re about to have a nice pizza for Rudy’s birthday, but I wanted to be sure we give Rudy his due. Come on up here and sit in the Special Seat, Rudy.” He came and sat in the empty seat next to me.
I led the boys in a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday” and said to Short Attention Span Rudy, “I got something special for you, buddy.” I handed him the gift bag and he pulled out the MP3 player.
He was thrilled! “Wow, YES! Thank you Stokie! It’s just what I wanted, how did you know?”
I said, “You told me last week and you wrote it down for me three times, remember?”
“Oh yeah! I just didn’t think you would remember. Thanks!”
All the kids sat down to eat pizza, drink soda and generally gorge themselves. Looking up, I noticed JD, the chubby kid who looks exactly like Pumba from the Lion King, wolfing down heaps of pizza at a time. I was about to give a little speech about eating like a normal human being when JD suddenly looked up, eyes wide with panic. He stood up, threw his chair into the wall and ran out the back door. I had no idea what was going on, and I ran after him. I caught up to him and grabbed his shirt to stop him. When he turned around, I saw that his lips were blue!
I said, “Can you breathe?” He shook his head violently, eyes tearing up in a panic.
I said, “Are you choking?” He nodded.
I quickly turned him around, lifted his arms and put my arms around his fat little tummy. I balled my fists together and drove them upward into his stomach, the classic Heimlich Maneuver. Sure enough, he instantly blew out a huge, unchewed piece of pizza, along with some gobbed up gummy bears. I was astounded! The Heimlich actually works!
He coughed and struggled to catch his breath. He said, “Jesus! I couldn’t breed! I thought I was gonna die!”
“You would have if you kept running, JD. Now let’s be sure to chew our food before we swallow, what do you say?” I was shaking with adrenaline, the seriousness of the situation sinking in.
“Fuck yeah,” he said. “I don’t ever want that to happen again.”
We turned around to head back to the house. The staff and kids were on the back porch watching the whole thing, wide-eyed.
One of the kids yelled, “Oh my god! He just saved Pumba’s life! Hakuna Matata!!!” In fact, everyone started singing “Hakuna Matata” as JD and I walked back into the house. It was a good feeling.
As the party started to wind down, I called another community group. All the kids sat down on the couches.
I said, “I just wanted to say thank you to all of you for letting me come here and participate in the party. You guys acted great, were respectful and displayed excellent sportsmanship. Thank you, Rudy, for turning 12 and thank you Pumba for not dying on Toby’s watch.”
Toby was smiling and shaking his head.
I continued, “Now, the party has ended and I need you to do another 15 minute transition so the staff can clean up. And since Toby is working, I have no doubt that the house will be spic and span when I get here tomorrow morning. Thanks again, guys.” All the kids took their satisfied bellies to their rooms.
As I prepared to leave, another newer staff, Bryce, came up to me and said, “Dude, that was like a 2 hour vacation, man. We haven’t had a Saturday like that since I’ve been here. Thanks.”
I could also hear a couple of kids talking in their rooms, “Man, I want Stokie to do my party too.”
“Me too!”
Me too!”
I said my goodbyes to the staff and started walking to my car. Just then, Rudy came running out of the house and yelled, “I have staff permission! I have staff permission!”
“Ok, ok, Rudy, I believe you,” I said. “What’s up?”
Rudy took a breath and said, “Ok. I just wanted to say…you know…thank you. I know you’re only my Temporary Special Counselor and all, but I had a fun party today, and I think you’re cool, ok? I thought the party was going to suck cuz it’s Saturday, but it was the best one I’ve ever had. So, thanks, I guess.”
I said, “Rudy, that means a lot to me, thank you. I had fun too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
His eyes got big. “You’re coming tomorrow? Oh yeah, I forgot!” He ran back to the house.
I was feeling pretty good after that, of course. Not only had I saved a kid’s life, but I caused another one to say thank you in a very appropriate way. Not bad for a guest shift.
The next morning I got to the house and Manny was already there, getting a head start on breakfast. I know what the new staff meant yesterday when he said it was like having a two hour vacation. Manny and I work every Sunday together from 6am to 10pm and with the way we use our humor, enthusiasm and camaraderie while we work, it usually seems like a vacation to us as well. I walked in ready to joke around with Manny about how it was I who really won in golf yesterday, when he said, “Just remember, it was part of our weak-ass union agreement that you don’t never have to sign nothing.”
“What the fuck?” I was confused.
He said, “Yolanda and stupid-ass Jenny are waiting for you in the Supervisor’s office. I made you some rocket fuel.” He handed me a cup of coffee.
“What the fuck!” What was going on here, I wondered. Yolanda appeared from her office and asked me to come talk to her. Jenny was sitting there, eyes averted. I sat down and Yolanda pulled out a piece of paper.
“So what happened yesterday?” she asked.
“Why don’t you tell me. You’re the one with the piece of paper. I came in, we had a party and I left. Am I missing anything?”
Yolanda said, “I’ve come to understand that you got here late, the present wasn’t wrapped and you undermined all the staff. So yeah, you missed a few things and that’s why you’re getting a verbal warning.”
My jaw dropped. “I’m getting written up? Who did you ‘come to understand’ this from? Did you talk to the staff on shift?”
“No.”
“You should have. Did you talk to any of the residents?”
“No.”
“You should have. That means there is only one other person who could have possibly tattle-taled on me. And that person can’t even look me in the eyes.”
Jenny cleared her throat and said, “How would you like it if a person you were counting on didn’t show up when he said he would?” Her voice was shaking. “And when he finally did show up, he didn’t come through with his promises and went on a power trip, making everyone around him feel useless?”
I turned again to Yolanda. “Are you listening to this?”
“I heard it, yeah.”
“And you’re buying this garbage?”
“You don’t have to agree with the write-up. It’s just a verbal warning. If the same thing happens again, it turns into a written warning. You’re supposed to read it and sign it.” She held out the piece of paper.
I shook my head. “I’ll do neither. I refuse to be dragged into Jenny’s personal issues. Plus, our weak-ass union agreement says we don’t never have to sign nothing.” I said that because I knew Manny was listening on the other side of the door. “And no, it won’t ever happen again. You know why? Because I’m never, ever, ever going to do anything extra for you, Jenny or these kids ever again. Don’t even ask because I’m just going to put my palm in your face. This place has a way of chewing up good, experienced staff members and shitting them out the other end. And Jenny? Right now the stink is on you.”
I got up and walked out of the office. Manny was standing there in the hall holding his cup of coffee.
He said, “Pretty much all you can say, you said. But you still ain’t getting your five dollars back.”
I said, “Hukuna Matata, mother-fucker.”
In a couple of hours, I would be attending Short-Attention Span Rudy’s 12th birthday party. In fact, I would be hosting it. His own special counselor, Mellow Bill, decided to schedule his vacation this week without thinking to check on his special kid’s needs. So, I volunteered to be Rudy’s Temporary Special Counselor and put on the party, which basically means take care of everything: the cake, the presents, the decorations, the meal, the party games. I was more than happy to do it, I had known Rudy since he arrived at the Agency 3 ½ years ago and we have gotten along really well in his time here.
Each kid gets a fifty dollar birthday allowance from the house as well as a gift certificate to the store of his choice. Rudy had requested that I take the gift certificate and get him an MP3 player.
So there I was, on the 14th tee, lining up my shot. I selected a pitching wedge.
As I drew the club back, I thought: Let’s see, it’s almost noon now, the party starts at 2. I’ll be done with golf in about an hour, so that gives me about a half hour to get to Best Buy with Rudy’s gift certificate and pick up the MP3 player he wants. Then about fifteen minutes to pick up the sodas , prizes for games, and the cake I ordered from the grocery store, I’ll call the pizza place and order the pizzas during the fifteen minutes it takes to get to the house, put the kids in transition, get the staff to quickly get the decorations up and we’ll do the party. No problem.
Manny was casually leaning on a club and said, “You know Jenny’s going to be there. You going all out for her client.”
I said, “My concentration is impenetrable. Your sorry attempts have no effect on me.” I addressed the ball.
Fuck. I forgot about Jenny, Rudy’s therapist. She and I have had some spats over the years, the most recently over Rudy, in fact. During a tantrum, Rudy ripped his special blankie to shreds. This was the special blankie which his dead grandmother had made for him when he was born. It already had plenty of holes in it, so when he shredded it to pieces in anger and tied some of the shreds around his neck, I just threw it away. Jenny was livid!
Jenny has been a therapist there for about 15 years, about 5 years longer than I’ve been there. Over the years, you hear things about people and we’ve heard plenty about her. Her husband apparently had left her very abruptly to fly off with his Italian floozy girlfriend. In the mean time, Jenny has taken it upon herself to transfer all her feelings of abandonment on to her charges. For all I know, her husband is living happily in Italy with his floozy girlfriend.
So there I was, on the 14th tee, taking my backswing, thinking about Jenny and the party. As I started my downstroke, I thought: Let’s see, who’s working this afternoon… It’s going to be Toby the militant, plus three relatively new staff who I haven’t gotten the chance to work with. Toby tends to try to take over for inexperienced staff in an effort to help, but usually winds up making the house feel more tense with all his yelling. No matter, I’m just doing a guest appearance. When an experienced staff like me shows up when it’s not his usual shift, the kids are happily surprised, and usually respond positively, whether they love you or hate you on your regular shifts.
I struck the center of the ball with the edge of the blade. The ball was a low line drive that skipped over the water three times and sunk somewhere near the center of the lake.
Manny said, “You really just playing the best you can right now.”
I said, “You know, I’m thinking I should just get a head start on that party right now.”
Manny said, “I think that’s best. I don’t want anyone to get hurt out here. You got my five bucks?”
I knew I owed him the money we bet on the round, but instead I said, “What? I’m five strokes ahead!”
“Just think of it as a quitter’s fee,” he said. “You pay me five bucks for quitting, I don’t tell no one how I penetrated your concentration with my superior mental skills.”
I reached into my pocket and paid him. “Oh yeah, like you can keep your mouth shut. See you at work tomorrow morning.”
Manny exaggeratedly waved, “Bye-bye! Say ‘hi’ to Jenny for me!”
I got in the car and shot down to the grocery store where I ordered the cake. I took my cart up and down the aisles throwing in candy, soda, balloons and small, junky toys for prizes and treats. I got to the bakery and asked to pick up the cake.
The bakery lady shook her head. “That the one that say ‘Happy Birthday Rudy?’ That one ain’t done.”
I was pissed. “What the fff…. Fine. When’s it going to be done? I ordered it on Thursday, you know.”
“Should be done in about half and hour or so. You can wait if you want.” She had the far-away gaze of someone who couldn’t give a shit.
I said, “I’ll tell you what. I have to go over to Best Buy and get some other stuff. Can you just keep my cart here and I’ll be back in a half hour?”
“Fine with me,” she said.
The Best Buy was at the other end of the parking lot. I ran over there to pick up the MP3 player. When I asked at the counter, the dude said, “We ain’t got no more. Sold out.”
I got into my car and thought: Fuck. Now what? Well, let’s see… I did leave the golf course earlier than I planned, so I still have some time. There’s that other Best Buy about 20 minutes away, I’ll just go there, get the fucking MP3, come back, get the cake, toys, soda and shit and still be at the house in time.
I hopped on the freeway and got to the other Best Buy only to find out that they were sold out of the MP3 player too! I wouldn’t say I was panicked, but I was definitely worried. I looked around the electronics section for other things to get Rudy. All the other MP3’s cost too much for his gift certificate, plus he told me he wanted a specific one.
As I walked out to the car, I thought: Fuck.
Then I thought: Hey, there’s a Sears right across the freeway! I’ll just shoot over there, maybe they’ll have the fucking MP3, I’ll pick it up, shoot back up to the grocery store, pick up the cake and the cart full of shit, and be on my way. I’ll just be a little late.
It was fifteen minutes before the party was supposed to start. I called the house and Toby answered.
“Hey Toby, I’m running a little late cuz all the fucking Best Buys are sold out of the fucking MP3 player. Looks like I’ll be about 30 minutes late.”
Toby said, “OK, cool Stokie, we’re not doing much and the house is calm. I’ll tell everybody. See ya.”
Sure enough, Sears came through with the MP3 player. I had to use my own money to buy it, so I thought I’d ask the house supervisor, Yolanda, if I could just keep the gift certificate for myself. I also bought a gift bag and some tissue paper since I wouldn’t have time to wrap it. I shot up to the grocery store and ran to the bakery counter.
“Is the cake ready?”
The bakery lady looked at me. “I didn’t think you was coming back. Yup, the cake is ready, but your cart gone.”
“Goddammit! I said I’d be back in a half an hour!”
She said, “That was 45 minutes ago.”
I grabbed another cart and refilled it with the bullshit I put in it before. It cost more than the allotted fifty dollar allowance, but I thought, what the hell, I’m making overtime by doing this party anyway. On my way out to the car, I called the pizza place and ordered the pizza. I arrived at the house exactly 30 minutes late.
The first thing I noticed as I entered was Jenny glaring at me. Ignoring her, I called for a community group. All the boys sat down and I told them that we were about to have a birthday party, there would be games and prizes and treats and if they wanted to participate in the games and prizes and treats, they would have to go to their rooms quietly for a 15 minute transition while the staff set up the house. And that’s exactly what they did.
One of the new staff, Kristen, walked up to me and said, “I’ve never seen the kids go and do a transition so easily. Why do they do it for you and not for me?”
I said, “You’ve been here what, 3 months? The kids don’t know you and assume you’re going to leave any minute now. Give it another year or so. I’ve been here forever, they know what to expect from me. Here, stick one of these jawbreakers in ten balloons and blow them up. We’re gonna need them for a game.”
As she did this, I heard her muttering to herself, “Another fucking year….”
The party was really fun. I organized a couple of relay races, one where each kid from two teams ran around the outside of the house and sat on a balloon to pop it and eat the jawbreaker. There was a field-goal kicking contest with a paper football. I had promised that there would be a sportsmanship prize for the kid who was the best behaved, and when all ten behaved well, they all got a package of gummi-bears. The rest of the staff didn’t really have to do anything as the kids were so engaged.
Just then the pizza arrived. I called another community group and all the kids sat down.
I said, “Now, we’re about to have a nice pizza for Rudy’s birthday, but I wanted to be sure we give Rudy his due. Come on up here and sit in the Special Seat, Rudy.” He came and sat in the empty seat next to me.
I led the boys in a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday” and said to Short Attention Span Rudy, “I got something special for you, buddy.” I handed him the gift bag and he pulled out the MP3 player.
He was thrilled! “Wow, YES! Thank you Stokie! It’s just what I wanted, how did you know?”
I said, “You told me last week and you wrote it down for me three times, remember?”
“Oh yeah! I just didn’t think you would remember. Thanks!”
All the kids sat down to eat pizza, drink soda and generally gorge themselves. Looking up, I noticed JD, the chubby kid who looks exactly like Pumba from the Lion King, wolfing down heaps of pizza at a time. I was about to give a little speech about eating like a normal human being when JD suddenly looked up, eyes wide with panic. He stood up, threw his chair into the wall and ran out the back door. I had no idea what was going on, and I ran after him. I caught up to him and grabbed his shirt to stop him. When he turned around, I saw that his lips were blue!
I said, “Can you breathe?” He shook his head violently, eyes tearing up in a panic.
I said, “Are you choking?” He nodded.
I quickly turned him around, lifted his arms and put my arms around his fat little tummy. I balled my fists together and drove them upward into his stomach, the classic Heimlich Maneuver. Sure enough, he instantly blew out a huge, unchewed piece of pizza, along with some gobbed up gummy bears. I was astounded! The Heimlich actually works!
He coughed and struggled to catch his breath. He said, “Jesus! I couldn’t breed! I thought I was gonna die!”
“You would have if you kept running, JD. Now let’s be sure to chew our food before we swallow, what do you say?” I was shaking with adrenaline, the seriousness of the situation sinking in.
“Fuck yeah,” he said. “I don’t ever want that to happen again.”
We turned around to head back to the house. The staff and kids were on the back porch watching the whole thing, wide-eyed.
One of the kids yelled, “Oh my god! He just saved Pumba’s life! Hakuna Matata!!!” In fact, everyone started singing “Hakuna Matata” as JD and I walked back into the house. It was a good feeling.
As the party started to wind down, I called another community group. All the kids sat down on the couches.
I said, “I just wanted to say thank you to all of you for letting me come here and participate in the party. You guys acted great, were respectful and displayed excellent sportsmanship. Thank you, Rudy, for turning 12 and thank you Pumba for not dying on Toby’s watch.”
Toby was smiling and shaking his head.
I continued, “Now, the party has ended and I need you to do another 15 minute transition so the staff can clean up. And since Toby is working, I have no doubt that the house will be spic and span when I get here tomorrow morning. Thanks again, guys.” All the kids took their satisfied bellies to their rooms.
As I prepared to leave, another newer staff, Bryce, came up to me and said, “Dude, that was like a 2 hour vacation, man. We haven’t had a Saturday like that since I’ve been here. Thanks.”
I could also hear a couple of kids talking in their rooms, “Man, I want Stokie to do my party too.”
“Me too!”
Me too!”
I said my goodbyes to the staff and started walking to my car. Just then, Rudy came running out of the house and yelled, “I have staff permission! I have staff permission!”
“Ok, ok, Rudy, I believe you,” I said. “What’s up?”
Rudy took a breath and said, “Ok. I just wanted to say…you know…thank you. I know you’re only my Temporary Special Counselor and all, but I had a fun party today, and I think you’re cool, ok? I thought the party was going to suck cuz it’s Saturday, but it was the best one I’ve ever had. So, thanks, I guess.”
I said, “Rudy, that means a lot to me, thank you. I had fun too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
His eyes got big. “You’re coming tomorrow? Oh yeah, I forgot!” He ran back to the house.
I was feeling pretty good after that, of course. Not only had I saved a kid’s life, but I caused another one to say thank you in a very appropriate way. Not bad for a guest shift.
The next morning I got to the house and Manny was already there, getting a head start on breakfast. I know what the new staff meant yesterday when he said it was like having a two hour vacation. Manny and I work every Sunday together from 6am to 10pm and with the way we use our humor, enthusiasm and camaraderie while we work, it usually seems like a vacation to us as well. I walked in ready to joke around with Manny about how it was I who really won in golf yesterday, when he said, “Just remember, it was part of our weak-ass union agreement that you don’t never have to sign nothing.”
“What the fuck?” I was confused.
He said, “Yolanda and stupid-ass Jenny are waiting for you in the Supervisor’s office. I made you some rocket fuel.” He handed me a cup of coffee.
“What the fuck!” What was going on here, I wondered. Yolanda appeared from her office and asked me to come talk to her. Jenny was sitting there, eyes averted. I sat down and Yolanda pulled out a piece of paper.
“So what happened yesterday?” she asked.
“Why don’t you tell me. You’re the one with the piece of paper. I came in, we had a party and I left. Am I missing anything?”
Yolanda said, “I’ve come to understand that you got here late, the present wasn’t wrapped and you undermined all the staff. So yeah, you missed a few things and that’s why you’re getting a verbal warning.”
My jaw dropped. “I’m getting written up? Who did you ‘come to understand’ this from? Did you talk to the staff on shift?”
“No.”
“You should have. Did you talk to any of the residents?”
“No.”
“You should have. That means there is only one other person who could have possibly tattle-taled on me. And that person can’t even look me in the eyes.”
Jenny cleared her throat and said, “How would you like it if a person you were counting on didn’t show up when he said he would?” Her voice was shaking. “And when he finally did show up, he didn’t come through with his promises and went on a power trip, making everyone around him feel useless?”
I turned again to Yolanda. “Are you listening to this?”
“I heard it, yeah.”
“And you’re buying this garbage?”
“You don’t have to agree with the write-up. It’s just a verbal warning. If the same thing happens again, it turns into a written warning. You’re supposed to read it and sign it.” She held out the piece of paper.
I shook my head. “I’ll do neither. I refuse to be dragged into Jenny’s personal issues. Plus, our weak-ass union agreement says we don’t never have to sign nothing.” I said that because I knew Manny was listening on the other side of the door. “And no, it won’t ever happen again. You know why? Because I’m never, ever, ever going to do anything extra for you, Jenny or these kids ever again. Don’t even ask because I’m just going to put my palm in your face. This place has a way of chewing up good, experienced staff members and shitting them out the other end. And Jenny? Right now the stink is on you.”
I got up and walked out of the office. Manny was standing there in the hall holding his cup of coffee.
He said, “Pretty much all you can say, you said. But you still ain’t getting your five dollars back.”
I said, “Hukuna Matata, mother-fucker.”
Plus Size Girls
We have just picked the kids up from school and have begun our house recreation period. My teammates today are my buddy Mel, Toby, and Angelina who normally works at the unit next door, but is filling in as a sub for us. She’s a great looking Italian; thick, long, dark hair, pleasantly plump in all the right areas. Mel thought it would be a good idea to send her with the kids who were doing well down to the basketball courts while he and I watch a group of kids play horse with our portable hoop on the back porch. Toby is inside with the rest of the kids who are either unwilling or have consequences which prevent them from leaving the house. For them, it will be an afternoon of doing laundry and cleaning rooms.
Mel and I were quietly conversing about our substitute staff member while idly standing by the game of horse.
Mel said, “You gotta admit, that’s a fine looking woman right there,” nodding toward Angelina. “She got some tig ol bitties!”
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “I’m with you on that one. I can go for a plus size woman every now and then.”
“Whatchu mean, ‘plus size’?” Mel cocked his head and squinted.
I said, “You know. A little extra here and there.”
“Why you gotta call her fat?” asked Mel.
“I’m not calling her fat. Don’t get me wrong, I like it, she’s a good looking girl. I’m agreeing with you.” I knew that Mel had a penchant for larger women, so I was surprised that he was taking this angle.
He said, “But you’re saying she’s too fat for you? Dude, that’s just wrong.”
“Damn, Mel, she’s not too fat at all! If I met her at a bar or something, I’d totally do her. I’m just saying she’s plus size. Not skinny. You know.”
“So you’d have to be drunk?”
“Mel, what the hell?”
Mel started smiling, “Dog, you just don’t know, do you?”
I asked, “What it’s like to be with a plus size girl?”
“Nah, man.” He said, “Me and her, we’re together. We be goin out and shit.”
I was embarrassed. “Come on, Mel, give me fucking break! You gotta let me know before I go off and call your girlfriend fat! I would never have said she’s got a great big fat ass if you’d told me before. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
Mel was laughing now. “You know, that’s just not something you go around saying here. The boys find out, you know they start freakin or talkin out loud about it. But damn! You know why I been volunteering for those overnights lately though, huh?”
“I know now.” I said, “Getting a little late night action between units.”
Mel nodded, but was quiet for a minute. I imagined that they secretly met each other while they were each doing overnights at the respective units. I had heard of staff doing this before, but I didn’t really want to ask him about it. That way, I don’t have to lie if I’m ever asked about it by Admin.
Mel stepped closer and said in a quiet voice, “Dude… You ever been with a girl who didn’t take care of her business… downtown?”
“Downtown?”
“You know,” he continued. “Doesn’t trim or nothin?.”
I laughed. “Oh man! Do I need to know this? So you’ve got a little issue going on, huh?”
“It’s not a little issue.” Mel was still whispering. “It’s a big hairy issue. I can see if she don’t wanna shave it clean, but man, maybe just a little trim here and there.”
“Well just ask her Mel, I’m sure she’d do it if she knows that’s what you like.”
“Damn dude, I did! I keep on saying something about it. You know that girl’s Italian. They’re not foolin around down there!”
I was covering my mouth, not wanting to laugh out loud. “Oh my god, Mel. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
He said, “I just don’t wanna be crawlin through the Amazon Jungle just to get to the river.”
Toby burst through the back door in his typical, latex glove-wearing, authoritative fashion. “Gentlemen, we have a problem.”
I said, “What, did we run out of laundry soap? What are you gonna do for the rest of the day?”
He was unfazed. “Fuck you. Chris doesn’t have any underwear. Not one. No clean or dirty.”
Toby was right, this was a situation. But to understand why, you have to understand Chris. Chris has anger issues. He came to us 6 months ago at age 10 after enduring physical and emotional abuse from his single, heroin addled mother. He had been prostituted out at times to her “associates.” It would be natural for anyone who has been through this to feel extremely angry and to feel like you have no control over what’s going on around you.
But Chris doesn’t normally act out with violence, he takes his anger and control issues out internally. It seems that he feels like the only thing he can control is his body, specifically what goes in and out of it. Chris can hold on to his shit for days, refusing to let it out. Apparently, taking a dump is something he sees as out of his control, so he refuses.
This has caused a few problems, some for him, some for us. He’s hurt himself by holding so much shit in. And when someone does that, the shit gets huge and hard, which damages the colon when it inevitably has to come out, and this is what happened to him. So it’s imperative that we make sure he’s taking proper dumps. The doctor has prescribed laxatives, so now it’s not a matter of IF he’s going to take a shit, it’s a matter of when and how he does it.
He’s still in the refusal mode, so he’d rather shit his pants than ask to go to the bathroom. I suppose there’s some feeling of power for him in this strategy, too. When he shits his pants, he won’t admit it, and even goes to great lengths to hide his poopy undies. We have numbered all ten pair of his underwear so that we can keep track of them at all times. If we can’t find numbers 6 and 7, say, then we know he’s had an accident and we can record it. It’s useless in asking him about it because he lies.
So when Toby says we have a situation, he is absolutely right. Mel is Chris’s special counselor, so he took the lead in trying to get to the “bottom” of this.
I followed Mel into Chris’s room, where Chris was sitting on his bed in his jammies, seemingly indifferent.
Mel said, “Hey Chris, where’s all your underwear?”
“What underwear?”
“Chris, you know your program.” I was happy that Mel was taking a matter of fact approach to this. Some counselors get so frustrated with Chris, but I see that as a result of Chris being passive/aggressive. “First of all, you know that if you have an accident, you’re supposed to tell us. Then you’re supposed to give the underwear to Toby because he loves doing laundry. That way we can keep track of your underwear and your accidents. Cuz you have a hard time telling the truth sometimes, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. But I need some underwear to get dressed.”
Mel went on. “So we need you to tell us where you hid the underwear so that we can do some laundry. That way you can get dressed. So where are they?”
Chris said matter of factly, “My roommate always steals my underwear. Can he have consequences?”
I said, “Nobody would want to steal your poopy underwear. Now Toby says that all of them, 1-10 are missing, is that right?
“No. I mean yeah. I didn’t do it.”
I said, “Chris, I know you’re trying to make me feel your anger by being passive/aggressive…”
“You always say that!”
“…And I refuse to become angry over this. If you’re feeling angry, you know you can talk about it with us or your therapist. But don’t take it out on your undies. Are you going to tell us where they are, or do we have to find them?”
“I don’t know. They’re nowhere.”
Mel and I started our usual search; under the bed, in his closet, in his book shelf. In the past, we’ve found them outside in the bushes, in the bike shed, jammed up the rain gutter.
Mel said, “I’ll look in the bathroom,” and opened the door and turned on the light. “Damn, Chris, is your fan busted? Not working.” He was turning the lightswitch on and off, trying to get the fan started.
Chris said, “It never works. It’s been busted for a long time.”
Mel got a chair and was looking up into the fan. “Chris, did you break it?”
“No!”
Mel was pulling the grill off the fan housing, looking up into the darkness, mumbling, “The hell? You broke it? Something jammed up in there…” He pulled the grill off and an explosion of shit covered underwear fell onto his face. He was momentarily shocked, stunned that he had just endured a waterfall of shit falling onto his head and now stinking up the bathroom. He recovered his wits and shouted,
Goddammit Chris, the fuck you thinking? What the hell is this!”
Chris said calmly, “I didn’t know they were there. I knew my roommate stole them.”
Mel was pissed. “The hell he did! You damn liar, I swear to God you gonna get some consequences!”
I said calmly to Chris, “Chris? I refuse to let Mel get angry because you want to be passive/aggressive. I’m going to switch off with him so that he can go take a shower, get something to eat or do whatever the hell else he wants to do for the rest of the day. But I’m going to be your special counselor for the rest of the day.”
This upset Chris. “No, Stokie! I don’t want you to be my special counselor! I want Mel to stay!”
I said, “And you know what we’re going to do for Special Time? I’ll tell you. We’re going to get some laundry soap and some latex, and we’re going to wash out each and every one of those underwears by hand right here in the toilet. And when I say ‘we,’ I mean YOU.”
This pissed Chris off. “No! No! I hate you! You don’t care about kids! You just want to torture them!!!”
I said, “I think we’re making progress, Chris. You SHOULD be pissed, and you SHOULD be saying those things. Only not to me.”
The rest of the day went smoothly for most of the kids. Mel took a shower and calmed down. I stayed with Chris and had him angrily clean out his dookie. At final count, there were 10 of his own underwear, 3 of his roommate’s underwear and one shit covered sock.
That night, after the kids had gone to bed, I was quietly writing in the house communication log, while Toby, Angelina and Mel were writing in the kids’ daily logs. The tv was on one of those damn Hollywood gossip shows. It was getting late and we were all looking forward to the end of the shift.
The tv cut to a commercial and wouldn’t you know it, a bikini wax ad came on. Mel exaggeratedly sat on the edge of his seat and put his fists under his chin. I thought I noticed Angelina silently squirming in her seat. Mel became more animated, sighing loudly, scooting his chair up closer to the tv.
Then he turned to me, cocked his head, squinted his eyes and sarcastically said, “Hey Stokie, what do you think that stuff’s for?”
Angelina jumped out of her chair and yelled, “Dammit Mel! Why don’t you just tell the whole world? You can do the rest of my logs!” She plopped her logs into Mel’s lap and stomped out the door, back to her regular unit. I buckled over in laughter while Mel just shook his head.
Toby looked up and said, “Did I miss something?”
Mel and I were quietly conversing about our substitute staff member while idly standing by the game of horse.
Mel said, “You gotta admit, that’s a fine looking woman right there,” nodding toward Angelina. “She got some tig ol bitties!”
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “I’m with you on that one. I can go for a plus size woman every now and then.”
“Whatchu mean, ‘plus size’?” Mel cocked his head and squinted.
I said, “You know. A little extra here and there.”
“Why you gotta call her fat?” asked Mel.
“I’m not calling her fat. Don’t get me wrong, I like it, she’s a good looking girl. I’m agreeing with you.” I knew that Mel had a penchant for larger women, so I was surprised that he was taking this angle.
He said, “But you’re saying she’s too fat for you? Dude, that’s just wrong.”
“Damn, Mel, she’s not too fat at all! If I met her at a bar or something, I’d totally do her. I’m just saying she’s plus size. Not skinny. You know.”
“So you’d have to be drunk?”
“Mel, what the hell?”
Mel started smiling, “Dog, you just don’t know, do you?”
I asked, “What it’s like to be with a plus size girl?”
“Nah, man.” He said, “Me and her, we’re together. We be goin out and shit.”
I was embarrassed. “Come on, Mel, give me fucking break! You gotta let me know before I go off and call your girlfriend fat! I would never have said she’s got a great big fat ass if you’d told me before. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
Mel was laughing now. “You know, that’s just not something you go around saying here. The boys find out, you know they start freakin or talkin out loud about it. But damn! You know why I been volunteering for those overnights lately though, huh?”
“I know now.” I said, “Getting a little late night action between units.”
Mel nodded, but was quiet for a minute. I imagined that they secretly met each other while they were each doing overnights at the respective units. I had heard of staff doing this before, but I didn’t really want to ask him about it. That way, I don’t have to lie if I’m ever asked about it by Admin.
Mel stepped closer and said in a quiet voice, “Dude… You ever been with a girl who didn’t take care of her business… downtown?”
“Downtown?”
“You know,” he continued. “Doesn’t trim or nothin?.”
I laughed. “Oh man! Do I need to know this? So you’ve got a little issue going on, huh?”
“It’s not a little issue.” Mel was still whispering. “It’s a big hairy issue. I can see if she don’t wanna shave it clean, but man, maybe just a little trim here and there.”
“Well just ask her Mel, I’m sure she’d do it if she knows that’s what you like.”
“Damn dude, I did! I keep on saying something about it. You know that girl’s Italian. They’re not foolin around down there!”
I was covering my mouth, not wanting to laugh out loud. “Oh my god, Mel. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
He said, “I just don’t wanna be crawlin through the Amazon Jungle just to get to the river.”
Toby burst through the back door in his typical, latex glove-wearing, authoritative fashion. “Gentlemen, we have a problem.”
I said, “What, did we run out of laundry soap? What are you gonna do for the rest of the day?”
He was unfazed. “Fuck you. Chris doesn’t have any underwear. Not one. No clean or dirty.”
Toby was right, this was a situation. But to understand why, you have to understand Chris. Chris has anger issues. He came to us 6 months ago at age 10 after enduring physical and emotional abuse from his single, heroin addled mother. He had been prostituted out at times to her “associates.” It would be natural for anyone who has been through this to feel extremely angry and to feel like you have no control over what’s going on around you.
But Chris doesn’t normally act out with violence, he takes his anger and control issues out internally. It seems that he feels like the only thing he can control is his body, specifically what goes in and out of it. Chris can hold on to his shit for days, refusing to let it out. Apparently, taking a dump is something he sees as out of his control, so he refuses.
This has caused a few problems, some for him, some for us. He’s hurt himself by holding so much shit in. And when someone does that, the shit gets huge and hard, which damages the colon when it inevitably has to come out, and this is what happened to him. So it’s imperative that we make sure he’s taking proper dumps. The doctor has prescribed laxatives, so now it’s not a matter of IF he’s going to take a shit, it’s a matter of when and how he does it.
He’s still in the refusal mode, so he’d rather shit his pants than ask to go to the bathroom. I suppose there’s some feeling of power for him in this strategy, too. When he shits his pants, he won’t admit it, and even goes to great lengths to hide his poopy undies. We have numbered all ten pair of his underwear so that we can keep track of them at all times. If we can’t find numbers 6 and 7, say, then we know he’s had an accident and we can record it. It’s useless in asking him about it because he lies.
So when Toby says we have a situation, he is absolutely right. Mel is Chris’s special counselor, so he took the lead in trying to get to the “bottom” of this.
I followed Mel into Chris’s room, where Chris was sitting on his bed in his jammies, seemingly indifferent.
Mel said, “Hey Chris, where’s all your underwear?”
“What underwear?”
“Chris, you know your program.” I was happy that Mel was taking a matter of fact approach to this. Some counselors get so frustrated with Chris, but I see that as a result of Chris being passive/aggressive. “First of all, you know that if you have an accident, you’re supposed to tell us. Then you’re supposed to give the underwear to Toby because he loves doing laundry. That way we can keep track of your underwear and your accidents. Cuz you have a hard time telling the truth sometimes, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. But I need some underwear to get dressed.”
Mel went on. “So we need you to tell us where you hid the underwear so that we can do some laundry. That way you can get dressed. So where are they?”
Chris said matter of factly, “My roommate always steals my underwear. Can he have consequences?”
I said, “Nobody would want to steal your poopy underwear. Now Toby says that all of them, 1-10 are missing, is that right?
“No. I mean yeah. I didn’t do it.”
I said, “Chris, I know you’re trying to make me feel your anger by being passive/aggressive…”
“You always say that!”
“…And I refuse to become angry over this. If you’re feeling angry, you know you can talk about it with us or your therapist. But don’t take it out on your undies. Are you going to tell us where they are, or do we have to find them?”
“I don’t know. They’re nowhere.”
Mel and I started our usual search; under the bed, in his closet, in his book shelf. In the past, we’ve found them outside in the bushes, in the bike shed, jammed up the rain gutter.
Mel said, “I’ll look in the bathroom,” and opened the door and turned on the light. “Damn, Chris, is your fan busted? Not working.” He was turning the lightswitch on and off, trying to get the fan started.
Chris said, “It never works. It’s been busted for a long time.”
Mel got a chair and was looking up into the fan. “Chris, did you break it?”
“No!”
Mel was pulling the grill off the fan housing, looking up into the darkness, mumbling, “The hell? You broke it? Something jammed up in there…” He pulled the grill off and an explosion of shit covered underwear fell onto his face. He was momentarily shocked, stunned that he had just endured a waterfall of shit falling onto his head and now stinking up the bathroom. He recovered his wits and shouted,
Goddammit Chris, the fuck you thinking? What the hell is this!”
Chris said calmly, “I didn’t know they were there. I knew my roommate stole them.”
Mel was pissed. “The hell he did! You damn liar, I swear to God you gonna get some consequences!”
I said calmly to Chris, “Chris? I refuse to let Mel get angry because you want to be passive/aggressive. I’m going to switch off with him so that he can go take a shower, get something to eat or do whatever the hell else he wants to do for the rest of the day. But I’m going to be your special counselor for the rest of the day.”
This upset Chris. “No, Stokie! I don’t want you to be my special counselor! I want Mel to stay!”
I said, “And you know what we’re going to do for Special Time? I’ll tell you. We’re going to get some laundry soap and some latex, and we’re going to wash out each and every one of those underwears by hand right here in the toilet. And when I say ‘we,’ I mean YOU.”
This pissed Chris off. “No! No! I hate you! You don’t care about kids! You just want to torture them!!!”
I said, “I think we’re making progress, Chris. You SHOULD be pissed, and you SHOULD be saying those things. Only not to me.”
The rest of the day went smoothly for most of the kids. Mel took a shower and calmed down. I stayed with Chris and had him angrily clean out his dookie. At final count, there were 10 of his own underwear, 3 of his roommate’s underwear and one shit covered sock.
That night, after the kids had gone to bed, I was quietly writing in the house communication log, while Toby, Angelina and Mel were writing in the kids’ daily logs. The tv was on one of those damn Hollywood gossip shows. It was getting late and we were all looking forward to the end of the shift.
The tv cut to a commercial and wouldn’t you know it, a bikini wax ad came on. Mel exaggeratedly sat on the edge of his seat and put his fists under his chin. I thought I noticed Angelina silently squirming in her seat. Mel became more animated, sighing loudly, scooting his chair up closer to the tv.
Then he turned to me, cocked his head, squinted his eyes and sarcastically said, “Hey Stokie, what do you think that stuff’s for?”
Angelina jumped out of her chair and yelled, “Dammit Mel! Why don’t you just tell the whole world? You can do the rest of my logs!” She plopped her logs into Mel’s lap and stomped out the door, back to her regular unit. I buckled over in laughter while Mel just shook his head.
Toby looked up and said, “Did I miss something?”
Code Brown, pt 2: We Are the Champions!
It was the night of the big game.
Mondays are my day off but there was no way I was going to miss this. The gymnasium was absolutely packed. On one side were the parents and supporters of the team from the community, sitting in neat, polite lines. The other side was the group home side. Bellowing, colorful, in constant movement, flowing with excitement. I squeezed in to a space with the boys and staff from my house. We did our usual high-fives and special handshakes.
The group home side of the gymnasium couldn’t be more proud. We were already cheering and chanting, “We will, we will ROCK YOU!” Thump, thump clap! I looked around and saw that several of us had come on our day off. Administrators, therapists, supervisors, all of the boys from every unit; we were all packed in the bleachers. Some had brought food and snacks and were passing it around. It was a community atmosphere, carnival-like in its excitement. Very rarely do we have these kinds of events when we can all be proud of the organization. And yet, here we were, each of us feeling some sort of contribution to our team’s success.
It was time for the tip-off. The two teams lined up in front of each other to shake hands and the contrasts were more than stark. One of our boys had a mohawk. Some had large and unusually shaped heads. One was fat. Most were about a head taller than the other team. Any one of them could have poopy pants at any moment. They looked like a battle-tested gang of rag-tags with sloppy, untucked uniforms. What was really great to see is that they actually looked focused and ready to play.
The other team? Skinny little blond white kids, visibly frightened. They knew they were about to get thumped, and hard.
The ref tossed the ball up, and Randall, being the tallest boy on the court, tipped it and the ball landed in Apollo’s hands. Our team ran into position to set up the offense. This is where Apollo should have passed the ball to Darnell, the point guard.
But he didn’t. He dribbled the ball upcourt while Darnell was running behind him.
Darnell was yelling, “Here! Pass! I’m open!”
Apollo was ignoring Darnell, shimmying and shaking not only his defender, but Darnell too. Apollo dribbled the ball around the perimeter of the 3 point line, not passing to anyone, and dribbled all the way around it again.
Darnell was screaming now, hands held out, “Gimme the damn ball! The hell you doin?”
Apollo’s defender had backed off now and it was just Apollo and Darnell at mid-court, at the 3-point line. Darnell was now trying to steal the ball from Apollo. Apollo just kept running in circles, eluding Darnell, keeping the ball away from him. Darnell kept reaching, grabbing, flailing, leaping and missing Apollo and the ball.
Apollo was smiling all the while, “I tol’ you! I tol’you!”
Darnell was in a panic of embarrassment and rage. He knew he looked like a fool trying to steal the ball from his own teammate.
He screamed, “I mo beat yo muthafuckin ass!” Darnell tackled Apollo and threw him to the floor. There was a split second of jaw-dropping silence as Darnell proceeded to pummel Apollo in the face and chest while he was down.
The entire crowd emptied the bleachers, including myself. There was complete mayhem as staff and administrators tried to break up the melee. Some of the other boys who were in the bleachers began to fight too. There was food, boys, members of the community, referees, staff – all seemingly flying through the air at once. I saw some parents of the other team’s boys usher them out of the gym.
All the staff including the ones who weren’t working that night went into their crisis management mode. Some were proning boys, some pushing boys through the exits, everyone screaming. The entire court was covered in riotous bodies.
I was trying to find Apollo. I waded through the fights and the parents and the coaches to the middle of the court. I saw four staff proning Darnell, who was bleeding from the lip and livid, screaming and raving mad. Several staff had pulled Apollo, who was still holding the ball, toward the exit.
I said, “Apollo! You almost got yourself killed! You alright? What were you thinking?”
Apollo was hyper-ventillating and crying and smiling all at the same time. His face was covered in tears and his nose was bleeding.
He said between sharp breaths, “I tol’ you, Stokie! I tol’ you! I’m better. I want go to the house. I want call my mama. I’m better and I proved it. I jes want call my mama and tell her…jes want call my mama…”
Final score by forfeit: 0-1.
Mondays are my day off but there was no way I was going to miss this. The gymnasium was absolutely packed. On one side were the parents and supporters of the team from the community, sitting in neat, polite lines. The other side was the group home side. Bellowing, colorful, in constant movement, flowing with excitement. I squeezed in to a space with the boys and staff from my house. We did our usual high-fives and special handshakes.
The group home side of the gymnasium couldn’t be more proud. We were already cheering and chanting, “We will, we will ROCK YOU!” Thump, thump clap! I looked around and saw that several of us had come on our day off. Administrators, therapists, supervisors, all of the boys from every unit; we were all packed in the bleachers. Some had brought food and snacks and were passing it around. It was a community atmosphere, carnival-like in its excitement. Very rarely do we have these kinds of events when we can all be proud of the organization. And yet, here we were, each of us feeling some sort of contribution to our team’s success.
It was time for the tip-off. The two teams lined up in front of each other to shake hands and the contrasts were more than stark. One of our boys had a mohawk. Some had large and unusually shaped heads. One was fat. Most were about a head taller than the other team. Any one of them could have poopy pants at any moment. They looked like a battle-tested gang of rag-tags with sloppy, untucked uniforms. What was really great to see is that they actually looked focused and ready to play.
The other team? Skinny little blond white kids, visibly frightened. They knew they were about to get thumped, and hard.
The ref tossed the ball up, and Randall, being the tallest boy on the court, tipped it and the ball landed in Apollo’s hands. Our team ran into position to set up the offense. This is where Apollo should have passed the ball to Darnell, the point guard.
But he didn’t. He dribbled the ball upcourt while Darnell was running behind him.
Darnell was yelling, “Here! Pass! I’m open!”
Apollo was ignoring Darnell, shimmying and shaking not only his defender, but Darnell too. Apollo dribbled the ball around the perimeter of the 3 point line, not passing to anyone, and dribbled all the way around it again.
Darnell was screaming now, hands held out, “Gimme the damn ball! The hell you doin?”
Apollo’s defender had backed off now and it was just Apollo and Darnell at mid-court, at the 3-point line. Darnell was now trying to steal the ball from Apollo. Apollo just kept running in circles, eluding Darnell, keeping the ball away from him. Darnell kept reaching, grabbing, flailing, leaping and missing Apollo and the ball.
Apollo was smiling all the while, “I tol’ you! I tol’you!”
Darnell was in a panic of embarrassment and rage. He knew he looked like a fool trying to steal the ball from his own teammate.
He screamed, “I mo beat yo muthafuckin ass!” Darnell tackled Apollo and threw him to the floor. There was a split second of jaw-dropping silence as Darnell proceeded to pummel Apollo in the face and chest while he was down.
The entire crowd emptied the bleachers, including myself. There was complete mayhem as staff and administrators tried to break up the melee. Some of the other boys who were in the bleachers began to fight too. There was food, boys, members of the community, referees, staff – all seemingly flying through the air at once. I saw some parents of the other team’s boys usher them out of the gym.
All the staff including the ones who weren’t working that night went into their crisis management mode. Some were proning boys, some pushing boys through the exits, everyone screaming. The entire court was covered in riotous bodies.
I was trying to find Apollo. I waded through the fights and the parents and the coaches to the middle of the court. I saw four staff proning Darnell, who was bleeding from the lip and livid, screaming and raving mad. Several staff had pulled Apollo, who was still holding the ball, toward the exit.
I said, “Apollo! You almost got yourself killed! You alright? What were you thinking?”
Apollo was hyper-ventillating and crying and smiling all at the same time. His face was covered in tears and his nose was bleeding.
He said between sharp breaths, “I tol’ you, Stokie! I tol’ you! I’m better. I want go to the house. I want call my mama. I’m better and I proved it. I jes want call my mama and tell her…jes want call my mama…”
Final score by forfeit: 0-1.
Code Brown
It was a fine Sunday afternoon at 2 o’clock, time for the staff’s shift change. I’ve been working all day and will be on until 10pm, as will Brady, the 7 foot tall ex-pro basketball player, and Ross, a very caring and very large white guy. We had let Katrina leave already; Mel was due to arrive at 2 but he is always ten to fifteen minutes late.
Ross is in the kitchen. He’s been in the kitchen all day. Ross has been in the kitchen for the last three days. Ross is a near chain-smoker, or at least he was until he made the decision to quit three days ago. One of the better ways to avoid the kids if you’re having a bad day as staff is to volunteer to cook and take care of the kitchen. You have the kitchen counter acting as a barrier between you and the kids and it wraps three-quarters the way around the kitchen.
For the past three days, there has been a bounty of wonderful foods available to us for meals and snacks: pies, casseroles, omelets, salads, lasagna, cakes, smoothies, enchiladas, pizza, teryaki…Ross has been preparing one dish after another, even when it’s not meal time in an effort to stay off the floor. And as for cleanliness, the kitchen appeared to be downright sterilized.
I’m really trying hard to to support Ross here, but his being perpetually off the floor is starting to strain the other three staff on duty. For instance, Apollo, Ross’ special kid, has been having a hard time lately with his phone contacts with his mom. Apollo is a pretty infantilized black kid, and at 13, he’s tall and very skinny. He comes from the depths of the inner-city and has suffered mostly from neglect, the victim of an absent father and a mother addicted to alcohol and drugs. Apollo has recently brought up in his therapy sessions with Sam, that perhaps mom was drunk sometimes when they had phone contact.
Apollo’s conversations with his mom are already monitored, that is, it’s been legally established that a staff member must listen in to the conversation on the office phone in case the conversation somehow goes awry. Sam tells us that Apollo is too afraid to confront mom about being drunk during phone calls so they devised a system to let the monitoring staff know that Apollo wanted to end the conversation: Apollo would say, “Code Brown,” and hang up. Why it wasn’t “Code Red,” Code Blue,” Code 40,” or “Code Shlitz,” I’ll never know. So, “Code Brown,” it is.
As we were waiting for Mel’s arrival, Brady and I decided to take care of some house business by leading a community group. We called “group!” and all the boys sat on the couches in the living room.
Brady began, “I’ve been walking around the house and noticed that a lot of you aren’t really taking care of your hygiene needs very well. Specifically, when it comes to going to the bathroom. Lotta those bathrooms are really nasty. And as hard as it is to talk about, I think some of you need a little re-training when it comes to going to the bathroom.”
The boys were quiet.
Brady continued, “Ok, what Stokie and I are noticing is that there are some dookie stains in the bathroom in places they shouldn’t be. Some be on the toilets, some be on the wall, some be on the floor.”
There were instantly 10 different accusations shouted out at the same time:
“It’s my roommate!”
“I didn’t do it!”
“Whoa!”
“I know who does it!”
Brady went on. “I’m not looking for someone to blame, I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble. I’m just saying there shouldn’t be any dookie anywhere in those bathrooms except for in the toilet. If you’re taking a dump, and the dookie comes out and you feel like you’re finished, what should you do?”
JD’s eyes lit up. “Flush!”
“Nope,” said Brady. “You wipe. With toilet paper. And now I have an even trickier question. You ready? How many times should you wipe?”
There were 10 different answers shouted out at the same time:
“3!”
“1!”
“4!”
“2!”
Brady’s demeanor was very calm. “See? I told you it was a tricky question. The correct answer is: as many times as it takes to get all the brown off your butt. If you wipe and you keep seeing brown on the toilet paper, you keep wiping til it’s gone. And I’ll tell you something else. If, for some reason you get some dookie on your fingers or hand, you sho as hell don’t wipe it on the walls or the floor. You need to clean it up with soap and water.” Brady chuckled and added, “And Ross is gonna be going around to check too.”
“Like Hell I am,” grumbled Ross from the kitchen.
I started my part of the group. “Ok, I just want to let you know real quick that some of you need to work on your social skills. When someone enters the house, like a staff or a therapist or whatever, I know you guys get excited and happy, and that’s ok. What’s not ok is when half the house bum-rushes someone when they come in. Ok? Let that person enter the house, see what’s going on, and then come up to them in a calm manner and say something like, ‘Hello, it’s nice to see you. How are you?’ That’s the way to start an appropriate conversation with appropriate boundaries. And I’ll tell you this, those of you who are having dookie problems better have washed up with soap and water if you want that person to give you a handshake.”
I continued, “Ok, that said this is what’s going on today. I wanna say congratulations to those of you on the basketball team. Apollo, Marcus, everyone’s real proud of you guys. The team has done great this year and I think it’s awesome that you guys have made it to the championship game tomorrow. We have basketball practice in just a few, Ross will be taking you down there.”
“Not with a souffle in the oven I’m not,” grumbled Ross.
Indeed, we have made it to the championship game. Every year, we field a team of 7th graders from every unit to participate in the community basketball league and our guys have actually gone undefeated for the entire season. This is a great source of pride for everybody in the organization and our guys will be going for the glory tomorrow evening.
I went on, “I know that Mel said he was going to organize a Nintendo tournament when he gets in, so we’ll wait for him for that. Anything else you want to say Brady?”
Brady shook his head, “Let’s just have a good day.”
I turned to Ross in the kitchen, “How about you, Julia Child?”
“Just leave me alone,” he said.
“Ok then, looks like Mel is pulling up now, let’s end group and have a good day.”
I went over to the kitchen counter to see if Ross really was making a souffle.
Apollo walked up with me and whined, “I want call my mom.”
Apollo has a very annoying habit of baby-talking and whining. We sometimes call him the Praying Mantis because he walks on his tiptoes and puts his hands up like a begging puppy when he’s feeling needy. He was doing this now.
I said, “Well Apollo, I think this is a perfect time for you and your special counselor Ross to talk. Maybe you guys can go on a nice, long walk. Whaddya say, Ross?”
Ross did a slow burn and said under his breath, “Fuckin Stokie…”
Apollo said to Ross in his nasally voice, “Can we have special time? I want call my mom. Will you come down to basketball?
Ross was irritated, “Damn Apollo, stop whining! You been whining all day.”
“No I haven’t,” said Apollo. “I want special time. Me and you need special time, can we have it? Can I help you cook? I want call my mom, we haven’t had special time in long time…” Apollo was entering the kitchen.
“Get outta my damn kitchen, Apollo!” Ross pushed Apollo.
Apollo was undeterred, “We need call my mom, take me down to basketball, I want special time…” He was fully invested in his praying mantis character.
Ross was losing it. “Damn, get outta here, Mantis! You think that shit is funny? You look like an idiot! Put your hands down. I’m not in the mood for special time. Maybe tomorrow.” Ross pushed him again.
I said, “This isn’t really working for me,” and ran to the staff office, and pulled out the pack of Marlboro Reds I had been saving for three days. I came back out to the kitchen where Ross was now shoving Apollo out of his way. “Hey Ross, I’m proud of you man. Three days, that’s great! Next time, maybe four days. Here!”
I tossed the cigarettes to him. “Oh thank God, Stokie. I was about to choke him.” He immediately stepped outside and lit one up.
Just then, Mel walked in. JD very quickly, yet appropriately, walked up to Mel, extended his freshly washed hand and said, “Hello Mel! How are you!”
Mel completely ignored JD and scrunched up his nose. “Smells like shit in here.”
I turned to Apollo. “I’ll monitor your phone call if you want. Plus, I’m taking you guys down to basketball practice. Ross just needs a minute to chill. You want to get on the phone and I’ll go into the office?”
Apollo tippy-toed to the phone and whined, “K.”
I picked up the phone in the staff office. Apollo had already dialed and his mom picked up.
“Hulla?”
“Hi.”
There was a long pause. I could hear some tv talk show blaring in the background. His mom said, “Who this?”
Apollo said, “It’s me.”
“Huh?”
“Me.”
“Oh.”
Another long pause. Apollo said, “Whatchu lookin at?”
“Huh?”
“Whatchu lookin at?”
“Oh. Some kinda show.” I thought I heard the clink of bottles, but wasn’t sure.
Apollo went on, “We in the big game.”
“Huh?”
“We in the big game.”
“Oh. What game?”
“Basketball, mama. I tol’ you. We in the big game.”
“You in the big game? When?”
“Tomorrow, mama. I tol’ you. You comin?” Another long pause. Apollo repeated, “You comin?”
“Huh?”
“You comin?”
“Oh, you know I can’t get no ride. I ain’t comin.” Long pause. Then she asked, “Whatchu lookin at?”
Apollo said, “Huh?”
“Huh?”
“We ain’t watchin tv, mama.”
“Oh.”
“I’m point guard.”
“Huh?”
“Point guard.”
“Who is?”
“I’m point guard, mama. In the big game. I’m point guard. Tomorrow we gon play the championship. You comin?” During the pause that came after that, I definitely did hear some bottles clinking.
Mama mumbled, “Shit…”
“What happened, mama?”
“Huh?”
“Mama, is you Code Brown?”
“Shit…”
Apollo hung up the phone.
I came back out to talk to Apollo. “Hey man, I’m sorry she was Code Brown. But you did real good, you hung up when you were supposed to. I’m sorry, dude”
“Okay,” he said with his nasally whine. “She jes doin what she always doin.”
I asked, “Apollo, why did you tell her you’re the point guard? You’re not the point guard, Darnell is.” Darnell is a big, mean strong kid from two units down.
Apollo said, “I SHOULD be point guard. They say the best player always get to be point guard and I’m the best player.”
I can say with some confidence that Apollo is not the best player. Darnell is the best player.
I said, “Well, you just play the position the coach tells you to play. We gotta go anyway. Get your gear and let’s go.”
We hopped in the van and I drove across campus to the gymnasium. Practice had just begun and Marcus and Apollo joined the rest of the team who were doing their usual warm up drills. The team’s head coach is Ricky Kinglsey, the Recreation Director of the organization and the two assistant coaches were staff from two other houses. Sitting on the bleachers behind the team bench were a group of staff who had brought their kids down. Practice is usually about 2 hours long and most staff will drop off the kids and come back to get them when practice is over. But we liked to linger a little while to watch the kids and engage in some campus gossip. I took a seat near Guru, who was wearing dark sunglasses and a hoodie sweatshirt under his buttoned up denim jacket, and Toby, who was doing a sub shift for another unit.
I said to Toby, “Hey man, you can’t be down here, who’s gonna clean up the house while the kids are acting out?”
He said, “Lemme tell you something.” He was using his authoritative, lecturing voice. “You might think it’s funny but they don’t know what they’re doing down there. I’ve done 9 loads of laundry already. If it wasn’t for me subbing down there, these kids would all be running around with stinky-ass clothes. I bet YOUR lazy ass hasn’t even done one load.
“Yeah, Tob,” I said, “you got me there. But let me know if you need any extra latex gloves. You’re probably single-handedly depleting the house’s reserve.”
Toby winced, “You think I’m gonna touch those foul-ass clothes with my bare hands? Hell no!”
The boys had started a scrimmage and were running different plays. Each time the ball was passed to the center, Randall, the tallest kid, he would immediately spin and heave the ball to the basket or backboard, miss, get the rebound and heave it again. He would shoot and get his own rebound 5 or 6 times before he either made the shot or someone else got the rebound. It was a wild display.
I turned to Guru, “Man, how can you stand the heat in those clothes? It’s stifling in here.”
He slowly turned his head to me, pulled down his glasses and glared. Then he slowly turned back to the scrimmage where Randall, once again was heaving and rebounding.
Guru said to no one in particular, “Right now I’ve got a problem with the coaching staff…”
He suddenly slammed down his hand on the bleachers, turned to me and yelled, “Never play a psychotic at center!”
Ricky Kingsley heard this, blew his whistle and called all the boys over to re-group. They convened by the bleachers and drank some water while Ricky talked about tomorrows game. I was more interested in the conversation that started up between Apollo and Darnell.
Apollo said to Darnell in his annoying drone, “Don’t you think I should be point guard?”
Darnell attempted to brush him off, “Oh please. Get outta my face.”
The whine continued, “I want be point guard. You gon’ see, I’m better.”
“Get the hell away from me ‘fo’ I beat yo ass.”
“What if I aks coach?”
“I’ll beat yo ass.”
“I mo aks him.”
“I’ll beat yo ass."
“What if I’m better than you and I give you a shimmy and shake and then I get the ball? Then I’ll be point guard.”
“You do that, I’ll beat yo ass. Apollo. You ain’t better. There’s only one point guard and that’s me. From now until forever. Get outta my face ‘fo’ I beat you ass.”
That was the end of the conversation. The boys resumed practice, with Darnell at point guard, and the rest of us staff slowly went back to the vans and up to our houses.
I walked in and JD immediately ran up to me, “Stokie!” He was attempting to give me a hug and I could feel is dank, clammy hands rubbing on my arms.
I pushed him away, “Damn JD! You think I want your nasty, unwashed hands all over me? Come on, man, boundaries! That’s nasty!”
Ross looked up from the game of paper football he was playing with a couple kids and laughed, “Hey Stokie, you need one?” He held up his pack of smokes.
I said, “I see you took your medicine. Now that’s the Ross I know!”
Ross is in the kitchen. He’s been in the kitchen all day. Ross has been in the kitchen for the last three days. Ross is a near chain-smoker, or at least he was until he made the decision to quit three days ago. One of the better ways to avoid the kids if you’re having a bad day as staff is to volunteer to cook and take care of the kitchen. You have the kitchen counter acting as a barrier between you and the kids and it wraps three-quarters the way around the kitchen.
For the past three days, there has been a bounty of wonderful foods available to us for meals and snacks: pies, casseroles, omelets, salads, lasagna, cakes, smoothies, enchiladas, pizza, teryaki…Ross has been preparing one dish after another, even when it’s not meal time in an effort to stay off the floor. And as for cleanliness, the kitchen appeared to be downright sterilized.
I’m really trying hard to to support Ross here, but his being perpetually off the floor is starting to strain the other three staff on duty. For instance, Apollo, Ross’ special kid, has been having a hard time lately with his phone contacts with his mom. Apollo is a pretty infantilized black kid, and at 13, he’s tall and very skinny. He comes from the depths of the inner-city and has suffered mostly from neglect, the victim of an absent father and a mother addicted to alcohol and drugs. Apollo has recently brought up in his therapy sessions with Sam, that perhaps mom was drunk sometimes when they had phone contact.
Apollo’s conversations with his mom are already monitored, that is, it’s been legally established that a staff member must listen in to the conversation on the office phone in case the conversation somehow goes awry. Sam tells us that Apollo is too afraid to confront mom about being drunk during phone calls so they devised a system to let the monitoring staff know that Apollo wanted to end the conversation: Apollo would say, “Code Brown,” and hang up. Why it wasn’t “Code Red,” Code Blue,” Code 40,” or “Code Shlitz,” I’ll never know. So, “Code Brown,” it is.
As we were waiting for Mel’s arrival, Brady and I decided to take care of some house business by leading a community group. We called “group!” and all the boys sat on the couches in the living room.
Brady began, “I’ve been walking around the house and noticed that a lot of you aren’t really taking care of your hygiene needs very well. Specifically, when it comes to going to the bathroom. Lotta those bathrooms are really nasty. And as hard as it is to talk about, I think some of you need a little re-training when it comes to going to the bathroom.”
The boys were quiet.
Brady continued, “Ok, what Stokie and I are noticing is that there are some dookie stains in the bathroom in places they shouldn’t be. Some be on the toilets, some be on the wall, some be on the floor.”
There were instantly 10 different accusations shouted out at the same time:
“It’s my roommate!”
“I didn’t do it!”
“Whoa!”
“I know who does it!”
Brady went on. “I’m not looking for someone to blame, I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble. I’m just saying there shouldn’t be any dookie anywhere in those bathrooms except for in the toilet. If you’re taking a dump, and the dookie comes out and you feel like you’re finished, what should you do?”
JD’s eyes lit up. “Flush!”
“Nope,” said Brady. “You wipe. With toilet paper. And now I have an even trickier question. You ready? How many times should you wipe?”
There were 10 different answers shouted out at the same time:
“3!”
“1!”
“4!”
“2!”
Brady’s demeanor was very calm. “See? I told you it was a tricky question. The correct answer is: as many times as it takes to get all the brown off your butt. If you wipe and you keep seeing brown on the toilet paper, you keep wiping til it’s gone. And I’ll tell you something else. If, for some reason you get some dookie on your fingers or hand, you sho as hell don’t wipe it on the walls or the floor. You need to clean it up with soap and water.” Brady chuckled and added, “And Ross is gonna be going around to check too.”
“Like Hell I am,” grumbled Ross from the kitchen.
I started my part of the group. “Ok, I just want to let you know real quick that some of you need to work on your social skills. When someone enters the house, like a staff or a therapist or whatever, I know you guys get excited and happy, and that’s ok. What’s not ok is when half the house bum-rushes someone when they come in. Ok? Let that person enter the house, see what’s going on, and then come up to them in a calm manner and say something like, ‘Hello, it’s nice to see you. How are you?’ That’s the way to start an appropriate conversation with appropriate boundaries. And I’ll tell you this, those of you who are having dookie problems better have washed up with soap and water if you want that person to give you a handshake.”
I continued, “Ok, that said this is what’s going on today. I wanna say congratulations to those of you on the basketball team. Apollo, Marcus, everyone’s real proud of you guys. The team has done great this year and I think it’s awesome that you guys have made it to the championship game tomorrow. We have basketball practice in just a few, Ross will be taking you down there.”
“Not with a souffle in the oven I’m not,” grumbled Ross.
Indeed, we have made it to the championship game. Every year, we field a team of 7th graders from every unit to participate in the community basketball league and our guys have actually gone undefeated for the entire season. This is a great source of pride for everybody in the organization and our guys will be going for the glory tomorrow evening.
I went on, “I know that Mel said he was going to organize a Nintendo tournament when he gets in, so we’ll wait for him for that. Anything else you want to say Brady?”
Brady shook his head, “Let’s just have a good day.”
I turned to Ross in the kitchen, “How about you, Julia Child?”
“Just leave me alone,” he said.
“Ok then, looks like Mel is pulling up now, let’s end group and have a good day.”
I went over to the kitchen counter to see if Ross really was making a souffle.
Apollo walked up with me and whined, “I want call my mom.”
Apollo has a very annoying habit of baby-talking and whining. We sometimes call him the Praying Mantis because he walks on his tiptoes and puts his hands up like a begging puppy when he’s feeling needy. He was doing this now.
I said, “Well Apollo, I think this is a perfect time for you and your special counselor Ross to talk. Maybe you guys can go on a nice, long walk. Whaddya say, Ross?”
Ross did a slow burn and said under his breath, “Fuckin Stokie…”
Apollo said to Ross in his nasally voice, “Can we have special time? I want call my mom. Will you come down to basketball?
Ross was irritated, “Damn Apollo, stop whining! You been whining all day.”
“No I haven’t,” said Apollo. “I want special time. Me and you need special time, can we have it? Can I help you cook? I want call my mom, we haven’t had special time in long time…” Apollo was entering the kitchen.
“Get outta my damn kitchen, Apollo!” Ross pushed Apollo.
Apollo was undeterred, “We need call my mom, take me down to basketball, I want special time…” He was fully invested in his praying mantis character.
Ross was losing it. “Damn, get outta here, Mantis! You think that shit is funny? You look like an idiot! Put your hands down. I’m not in the mood for special time. Maybe tomorrow.” Ross pushed him again.
I said, “This isn’t really working for me,” and ran to the staff office, and pulled out the pack of Marlboro Reds I had been saving for three days. I came back out to the kitchen where Ross was now shoving Apollo out of his way. “Hey Ross, I’m proud of you man. Three days, that’s great! Next time, maybe four days. Here!”
I tossed the cigarettes to him. “Oh thank God, Stokie. I was about to choke him.” He immediately stepped outside and lit one up.
Just then, Mel walked in. JD very quickly, yet appropriately, walked up to Mel, extended his freshly washed hand and said, “Hello Mel! How are you!”
Mel completely ignored JD and scrunched up his nose. “Smells like shit in here.”
I turned to Apollo. “I’ll monitor your phone call if you want. Plus, I’m taking you guys down to basketball practice. Ross just needs a minute to chill. You want to get on the phone and I’ll go into the office?”
Apollo tippy-toed to the phone and whined, “K.”
I picked up the phone in the staff office. Apollo had already dialed and his mom picked up.
“Hulla?”
“Hi.”
There was a long pause. I could hear some tv talk show blaring in the background. His mom said, “Who this?”
Apollo said, “It’s me.”
“Huh?”
“Me.”
“Oh.”
Another long pause. Apollo said, “Whatchu lookin at?”
“Huh?”
“Whatchu lookin at?”
“Oh. Some kinda show.” I thought I heard the clink of bottles, but wasn’t sure.
Apollo went on, “We in the big game.”
“Huh?”
“We in the big game.”
“Oh. What game?”
“Basketball, mama. I tol’ you. We in the big game.”
“You in the big game? When?”
“Tomorrow, mama. I tol’ you. You comin?” Another long pause. Apollo repeated, “You comin?”
“Huh?”
“You comin?”
“Oh, you know I can’t get no ride. I ain’t comin.” Long pause. Then she asked, “Whatchu lookin at?”
Apollo said, “Huh?”
“Huh?”
“We ain’t watchin tv, mama.”
“Oh.”
“I’m point guard.”
“Huh?”
“Point guard.”
“Who is?”
“I’m point guard, mama. In the big game. I’m point guard. Tomorrow we gon play the championship. You comin?” During the pause that came after that, I definitely did hear some bottles clinking.
Mama mumbled, “Shit…”
“What happened, mama?”
“Huh?”
“Mama, is you Code Brown?”
“Shit…”
Apollo hung up the phone.
I came back out to talk to Apollo. “Hey man, I’m sorry she was Code Brown. But you did real good, you hung up when you were supposed to. I’m sorry, dude”
“Okay,” he said with his nasally whine. “She jes doin what she always doin.”
I asked, “Apollo, why did you tell her you’re the point guard? You’re not the point guard, Darnell is.” Darnell is a big, mean strong kid from two units down.
Apollo said, “I SHOULD be point guard. They say the best player always get to be point guard and I’m the best player.”
I can say with some confidence that Apollo is not the best player. Darnell is the best player.
I said, “Well, you just play the position the coach tells you to play. We gotta go anyway. Get your gear and let’s go.”
We hopped in the van and I drove across campus to the gymnasium. Practice had just begun and Marcus and Apollo joined the rest of the team who were doing their usual warm up drills. The team’s head coach is Ricky Kinglsey, the Recreation Director of the organization and the two assistant coaches were staff from two other houses. Sitting on the bleachers behind the team bench were a group of staff who had brought their kids down. Practice is usually about 2 hours long and most staff will drop off the kids and come back to get them when practice is over. But we liked to linger a little while to watch the kids and engage in some campus gossip. I took a seat near Guru, who was wearing dark sunglasses and a hoodie sweatshirt under his buttoned up denim jacket, and Toby, who was doing a sub shift for another unit.
I said to Toby, “Hey man, you can’t be down here, who’s gonna clean up the house while the kids are acting out?”
He said, “Lemme tell you something.” He was using his authoritative, lecturing voice. “You might think it’s funny but they don’t know what they’re doing down there. I’ve done 9 loads of laundry already. If it wasn’t for me subbing down there, these kids would all be running around with stinky-ass clothes. I bet YOUR lazy ass hasn’t even done one load.
“Yeah, Tob,” I said, “you got me there. But let me know if you need any extra latex gloves. You’re probably single-handedly depleting the house’s reserve.”
Toby winced, “You think I’m gonna touch those foul-ass clothes with my bare hands? Hell no!”
The boys had started a scrimmage and were running different plays. Each time the ball was passed to the center, Randall, the tallest kid, he would immediately spin and heave the ball to the basket or backboard, miss, get the rebound and heave it again. He would shoot and get his own rebound 5 or 6 times before he either made the shot or someone else got the rebound. It was a wild display.
I turned to Guru, “Man, how can you stand the heat in those clothes? It’s stifling in here.”
He slowly turned his head to me, pulled down his glasses and glared. Then he slowly turned back to the scrimmage where Randall, once again was heaving and rebounding.
Guru said to no one in particular, “Right now I’ve got a problem with the coaching staff…”
He suddenly slammed down his hand on the bleachers, turned to me and yelled, “Never play a psychotic at center!”
Ricky Kingsley heard this, blew his whistle and called all the boys over to re-group. They convened by the bleachers and drank some water while Ricky talked about tomorrows game. I was more interested in the conversation that started up between Apollo and Darnell.
Apollo said to Darnell in his annoying drone, “Don’t you think I should be point guard?”
Darnell attempted to brush him off, “Oh please. Get outta my face.”
The whine continued, “I want be point guard. You gon’ see, I’m better.”
“Get the hell away from me ‘fo’ I beat yo ass.”
“What if I aks coach?”
“I’ll beat yo ass.”
“I mo aks him.”
“I’ll beat yo ass."
“What if I’m better than you and I give you a shimmy and shake and then I get the ball? Then I’ll be point guard.”
“You do that, I’ll beat yo ass. Apollo. You ain’t better. There’s only one point guard and that’s me. From now until forever. Get outta my face ‘fo’ I beat you ass.”
That was the end of the conversation. The boys resumed practice, with Darnell at point guard, and the rest of us staff slowly went back to the vans and up to our houses.
I walked in and JD immediately ran up to me, “Stokie!” He was attempting to give me a hug and I could feel is dank, clammy hands rubbing on my arms.
I pushed him away, “Damn JD! You think I want your nasty, unwashed hands all over me? Come on, man, boundaries! That’s nasty!”
Ross looked up from the game of paper football he was playing with a couple kids and laughed, “Hey Stokie, you need one?” He held up his pack of smokes.
I said, “I see you took your medicine. Now that’s the Ross I know!”
Thursday, November 5, 2015
Better and Better Every Day
"You want a piece of me!?! You want a fuckin' piece of me!?!"
JD was screaming his lungs out at his basketball teammate and Special Counselor, me. We were participating in a house game of basketball for our hourly House Rec (or as I refer to it: House Wreck). JD is the chunky "feral child" who looks like Pumba from the Lion King. He had squared up in front of me and had his fists up to fight.
"I ain't goin' nowhere, partnah! You wanna piece of me, you come and get it, niggah! I'll beat yo ass!" JD comes from the white-trash foothills but he took on a ghetto accent whenever he got violent, something he picked up since he got here. His eyes were wide and he was breathing hard, each exhale blowing his lips out so you could see his underbitten teeth.
"You know, JD, we've talked about this. In fact, we talk about it every day. When you threaten your peers, your program is to go directly to the house, no..."
"I know, 'no ips, ans or buts!' But he didn't pass me the ball - ever - and I told him I'd kick his ass if he didn't pass me the ball AND HE FUCKIN DIDN'T! So I ain't goin nowhere, I'm playing basketball and plus, I'll beat yo ass if you make me. SO GIMME THE FUCKIN BALL!"
I said, "JD, you will be going to the house, your house rec is over. You're not mad at me, you know the rules, you're disappointed in yourself for losing it again. That's ok, we'll try again tomorrow. If you don't walk up on your own, we'll escort you, just like we always do. Your decision."
Chris, the non-passer, was sitting on the sidelines doing his timeout and said, "Yeah, JD, a day without you getting proned is like a day without sunshine, so just serve it."
This was JD's opportunity to lose it. "What the fuck? That's it, you're going down mutha-fucka! I get crazy!"
As JD stomped over toward the sideline, Chris just sat there with an intentionally bored look on his face, his chin resting on his fist. JD was screeching and lathering obscenities and was walking just slow enough so that Toby and I could tackle him just before he got to Chris. Toby and I placed JD in a prone containment on the hot asphalt, and I turned to my other teammates, Mel and Gus.
"Me and Toby'll take him up to the house. You guys have a good game." Chris looked at the hysterical JD, grinned and waved a dainty goodbye.
JD's getting better. In a calmer moment weeks ago, he and I worked out a strict behavior contract which send him straight to the house as soon as he gets out of line, 'no ifs, ands or buts.' He loves to say that with me. There was a time when he would have hurt someone, gotten into a fight or run away in these instances, and occasionally he still does, but not as often. He was slimming down a bit due to the extra exercise and learning to trust adults, little by little.
"Mutha-fuckas, let's fight! I'll beat the shit out of you. You ain't my Special Counselor no more, niggah! You're just a fat bitch. You like to get drunk and fag off with kids." His arms were slippery with sweat.
"JD, me and Toby are going to pick you up and take you to the Quiet Room. While we do that, you can think about who you're really talking about."
The trip back up the hill, through the weeds and to the house was really difficult. Since JD was fighting, trying to spit and bite, it was easier to drag him up the hill backwards.
Toby said, "You know how the cops do it? They straighten out the arm behind the perpetrator, push it into the shoulder and bend the wrist, like this." He demonstrated the maneuver on JD.
JD screamed, "Okay! I'll walk! I'll walk!" Toby then moved JD's arm back to the original position, and immediately, JD started to fight again.
"Of course, we can't do that," said Toby. "It would make things too easy."
We eventually dragged JD to the house and into the Quiet Room. We pushed him in there and slammed the door. He was livid.
"Bitches better not open the door either cuz I'll beat both your asses!"
"Okay," I said, yelling through the plexiglass window. "Good idea. We'll just leave you there. Bye."
"Open the fuckin door! Godammit! You think I'm messing around? I'll show you!" He grabbed his Shaq O'Neil jersey with two hands and ripped it down the middle. "See? I hate you, bitch!"
I said, "Aw, JD, that was your special Shaq jersey that we got from Ross. Remember how we had such a good time that day?"
"Think I care? WELL I DON'T!" He took the shreds of his jersey and tied it tightly around his head. "Now I'm gonna cut off that thing... That thing that goes in your head that you can die from...You know, what's that thing called?"
I said helpfully, "You mean you're going to cut off your circulation. Say it, 'cir-cu-la-tion,' so that you can die. That's called 'com-mit-ing-su-i-cide.' And that way I'll get fired because it'll be my fault because I hate kids and like to get drunk and abuse them. But you won't be around to see it because you'll be dead, but it'll be worth it because I'll be homeless. That's what you meant to say, right? Fine with me, I need the vacation."
JD pulled off one of his shoes. He slammed it against the window over and over. Every time he slammed it, I'd tap against the window to make a little rhythm.
BOOM taptap, BOOM tap, BOOM taptap, BOOM tap.
He stopped slamming and said, "Oh, you think it's time for fun and games? TAKE THIS!" He walked up to the window and started ramming his head against it. Each time he he hit it, I'd say in a falsetto, "Boopboop."
BLAM boopboop, BLAM boop, BLAM boopboop, BLAM boop.
"Hey JD, I like this rhythm better."
"I'm gonna pee in here!"
"It's gonna stink in there!"
He took his shoe again. "See this? This is you!" He started pulling open the top of his shoe, attempting to rip it apart.
"JD, those are your Jordans. Remember how long you worked to earn those? Remember how proud of yourself you were when we went to Ross and got them? I'm proud of you too, you know."
"Don't care," he said between gasps. "Gonna tear 'em apart. You're not proud of me, you think I suck. I can tell. I'm the worst piece of shit you've ever seen." He continued stretching out the shoe and I could tell it wouldn't be long until it was in shreds.
"JD, I'm not going to let you tear up your special Jordans."
"I don't want them!"
"I'm coming in there and I'm going to take your shoes so you can't tear them up."
"That's what I want. So I can beat your ass! You want to hurt me anyway, why don't you come and do it? I'm a retard! And I SUCK!" He tore at his Jordans with renewed vigor.
"Why do you keep saying that? Do you realize how much better you've gotten since you've been here? You're way better. You're getting slimmer, you don't fight as much, you're learning about getting along with people. You think you're the worst I've ever seen but you're not. Not even close. So stop talking to me like I'm your dad. I'm not your dad, I'm your friend. I'll never treat you like your dad treated you."
"Talking about my dad? My dad'll kick your ass! I'M GONNA KILL YOU MUTHA-FUCKA!
I opened the door which surprised JD and he took a step back in fright. He quickly composed himself, raised his Jordan and gritted his teeth. "You're going down, bitch! I'm gonna kill your ass!"
I put my hands down by my sides, and walked slowly toward him.
"I'm not gonna fight you. I'm just not."
He swung the shoe. I didn't flinch. He didn't hit me. He stood there for a moment, looking at me. Then he burst into tears.
"Oooh, I'm sorry. I wish you were my dad. Why can't you be my dad?" He hugged me and sobbed. "Why can't you just adopt me? I'd act good at your house, I promise. Ohh, hooo. Nobody likes me, but you do."
"It's gonna be ok, JD. Better and better every day. It's gonna be ok."
"I don't really hate you, Stokie."
"I know. It's ok."
"I was just mad."
"I know, JD. Better and better every day. I'm proud of you."
"I'm proud of you, too, Stokie. Can I try again tomorrow?"
JD was screaming his lungs out at his basketball teammate and Special Counselor, me. We were participating in a house game of basketball for our hourly House Rec (or as I refer to it: House Wreck). JD is the chunky "feral child" who looks like Pumba from the Lion King. He had squared up in front of me and had his fists up to fight.
"I ain't goin' nowhere, partnah! You wanna piece of me, you come and get it, niggah! I'll beat yo ass!" JD comes from the white-trash foothills but he took on a ghetto accent whenever he got violent, something he picked up since he got here. His eyes were wide and he was breathing hard, each exhale blowing his lips out so you could see his underbitten teeth.
"You know, JD, we've talked about this. In fact, we talk about it every day. When you threaten your peers, your program is to go directly to the house, no..."
"I know, 'no ips, ans or buts!' But he didn't pass me the ball - ever - and I told him I'd kick his ass if he didn't pass me the ball AND HE FUCKIN DIDN'T! So I ain't goin nowhere, I'm playing basketball and plus, I'll beat yo ass if you make me. SO GIMME THE FUCKIN BALL!"
I said, "JD, you will be going to the house, your house rec is over. You're not mad at me, you know the rules, you're disappointed in yourself for losing it again. That's ok, we'll try again tomorrow. If you don't walk up on your own, we'll escort you, just like we always do. Your decision."
Chris, the non-passer, was sitting on the sidelines doing his timeout and said, "Yeah, JD, a day without you getting proned is like a day without sunshine, so just serve it."
This was JD's opportunity to lose it. "What the fuck? That's it, you're going down mutha-fucka! I get crazy!"
As JD stomped over toward the sideline, Chris just sat there with an intentionally bored look on his face, his chin resting on his fist. JD was screeching and lathering obscenities and was walking just slow enough so that Toby and I could tackle him just before he got to Chris. Toby and I placed JD in a prone containment on the hot asphalt, and I turned to my other teammates, Mel and Gus.
"Me and Toby'll take him up to the house. You guys have a good game." Chris looked at the hysterical JD, grinned and waved a dainty goodbye.
JD's getting better. In a calmer moment weeks ago, he and I worked out a strict behavior contract which send him straight to the house as soon as he gets out of line, 'no ifs, ands or buts.' He loves to say that with me. There was a time when he would have hurt someone, gotten into a fight or run away in these instances, and occasionally he still does, but not as often. He was slimming down a bit due to the extra exercise and learning to trust adults, little by little.
"Mutha-fuckas, let's fight! I'll beat the shit out of you. You ain't my Special Counselor no more, niggah! You're just a fat bitch. You like to get drunk and fag off with kids." His arms were slippery with sweat.
"JD, me and Toby are going to pick you up and take you to the Quiet Room. While we do that, you can think about who you're really talking about."
The trip back up the hill, through the weeds and to the house was really difficult. Since JD was fighting, trying to spit and bite, it was easier to drag him up the hill backwards.
Toby said, "You know how the cops do it? They straighten out the arm behind the perpetrator, push it into the shoulder and bend the wrist, like this." He demonstrated the maneuver on JD.
JD screamed, "Okay! I'll walk! I'll walk!" Toby then moved JD's arm back to the original position, and immediately, JD started to fight again.
"Of course, we can't do that," said Toby. "It would make things too easy."
We eventually dragged JD to the house and into the Quiet Room. We pushed him in there and slammed the door. He was livid.
"Bitches better not open the door either cuz I'll beat both your asses!"
"Okay," I said, yelling through the plexiglass window. "Good idea. We'll just leave you there. Bye."
"Open the fuckin door! Godammit! You think I'm messing around? I'll show you!" He grabbed his Shaq O'Neil jersey with two hands and ripped it down the middle. "See? I hate you, bitch!"
I said, "Aw, JD, that was your special Shaq jersey that we got from Ross. Remember how we had such a good time that day?"
"Think I care? WELL I DON'T!" He took the shreds of his jersey and tied it tightly around his head. "Now I'm gonna cut off that thing... That thing that goes in your head that you can die from...You know, what's that thing called?"
I said helpfully, "You mean you're going to cut off your circulation. Say it, 'cir-cu-la-tion,' so that you can die. That's called 'com-mit-ing-su-i-cide.' And that way I'll get fired because it'll be my fault because I hate kids and like to get drunk and abuse them. But you won't be around to see it because you'll be dead, but it'll be worth it because I'll be homeless. That's what you meant to say, right? Fine with me, I need the vacation."
JD pulled off one of his shoes. He slammed it against the window over and over. Every time he slammed it, I'd tap against the window to make a little rhythm.
BOOM taptap, BOOM tap, BOOM taptap, BOOM tap.
He stopped slamming and said, "Oh, you think it's time for fun and games? TAKE THIS!" He walked up to the window and started ramming his head against it. Each time he he hit it, I'd say in a falsetto, "Boopboop."
BLAM boopboop, BLAM boop, BLAM boopboop, BLAM boop.
"Hey JD, I like this rhythm better."
"I'm gonna pee in here!"
"It's gonna stink in there!"
He took his shoe again. "See this? This is you!" He started pulling open the top of his shoe, attempting to rip it apart.
"JD, those are your Jordans. Remember how long you worked to earn those? Remember how proud of yourself you were when we went to Ross and got them? I'm proud of you too, you know."
"Don't care," he said between gasps. "Gonna tear 'em apart. You're not proud of me, you think I suck. I can tell. I'm the worst piece of shit you've ever seen." He continued stretching out the shoe and I could tell it wouldn't be long until it was in shreds.
"JD, I'm not going to let you tear up your special Jordans."
"I don't want them!"
"I'm coming in there and I'm going to take your shoes so you can't tear them up."
"That's what I want. So I can beat your ass! You want to hurt me anyway, why don't you come and do it? I'm a retard! And I SUCK!" He tore at his Jordans with renewed vigor.
"Why do you keep saying that? Do you realize how much better you've gotten since you've been here? You're way better. You're getting slimmer, you don't fight as much, you're learning about getting along with people. You think you're the worst I've ever seen but you're not. Not even close. So stop talking to me like I'm your dad. I'm not your dad, I'm your friend. I'll never treat you like your dad treated you."
"Talking about my dad? My dad'll kick your ass! I'M GONNA KILL YOU MUTHA-FUCKA!
I opened the door which surprised JD and he took a step back in fright. He quickly composed himself, raised his Jordan and gritted his teeth. "You're going down, bitch! I'm gonna kill your ass!"
I put my hands down by my sides, and walked slowly toward him.
"I'm not gonna fight you. I'm just not."
He swung the shoe. I didn't flinch. He didn't hit me. He stood there for a moment, looking at me. Then he burst into tears.
"Oooh, I'm sorry. I wish you were my dad. Why can't you be my dad?" He hugged me and sobbed. "Why can't you just adopt me? I'd act good at your house, I promise. Ohh, hooo. Nobody likes me, but you do."
"It's gonna be ok, JD. Better and better every day. It's gonna be ok."
"I don't really hate you, Stokie."
"I know. It's ok."
"I was just mad."
"I know, JD. Better and better every day. I'm proud of you."
"I'm proud of you, too, Stokie. Can I try again tomorrow?"
Masters, Part 4
I stepped into Yolanda's office in front of Miyako and Pete Post, who shut the door behind him. Yolanda was already sitting down.
Pete began, "Stokie, you know that as a veteran staff, the organization values your investment and experience here..."
I said, "That line is always followed by 'however...'"
"However, from time to time even the veteran staff show signs of stress and make mistakes in their handlings of the kids here. And I'm here to talk to you about this morning and determine if there were any mistakes made and talk to you about whether or not you're feeling any stress on the job."
"Well, Pete, I appreciate your concern for my welfare. I don't remember anything about this morning and I'd have to read Miyako's incident report to remind myself. May I see it please?"
"Actually, she hasn't completed it yet. She came to me with it and asked for help with the English. When I helped her write it, she described the incident to me and I became concerned about your handling of the client."
"So there's no incident report? I better get to work on it right away. Miyako, why didn't you just come to me for help on the IR? Why did you go to Pete? After all, I was the one who was there, not Pete."
Pete squirmed in his chair. "I don't think that's the point here..."
Yolanda piped up, "Yeah Miyako. I know I told you when I met you yesterday that you should be checking in with your teammates all the time, especially if you're confused or have questions. Why didn't you do that?"
Miyako's eyes started welling up. "Pete told me that he wanted to know what was going on in the house. He say 'Tell me if anybody, especially veteran staff like Stokie Jaye do anything might be wrong.' So I tell him and he say Stokie might get fired."
I could have murdered Pete Post right then and there. "So Pete, what I'm hearing is that you're hiring new staff to be your spies so that you can try to fire veteran staff like me. Do you have any idea how fucked-up that is? You Admins keep talking about supporting us and then you go and do something like this? You all are just talking out of your assholes."
Pete responded, "I assure you, cursing at me is not going to help you explain any possible illegal behavior."
"Oh yeah. Miyako, can you remind me what illegal behavior I engaged in?"
Miyako was silent for a moment. Then she burst into tears. "I'm sorry, I didn't know! Not sure, not sure."
Pete said, "Miyako, you told me that Stokie picked up Brian by himself and threw him into the Quiet Room. Isn't that what you saw?"
Miyako said through sobs, "Not sure, not sure."
Yolanda said, "Sounds like she's not sure, Pete. And Stokie? Do you remember what happened now?"
"Yes, Yolanda. As I walked toward Brian, he did a backward sommersault into the Quiet Room. I just shut the door because he was being assaultive to Miyako by spitting on her. She just sat there and took it, too." I turned to Pete, "I wonder where she learned that?"
Miyako got up and ran out. This was the last time any of us saw her as she faxed in her letter of resignation the next day.
Yolanda said, "Pete, I think it's time for you to get out of my office, you aren't making any friends right now."
Pete got up to leave and said to me, "There's too much hands on going on in this house. And another thing, you better think twice before you lie to me again." With that he left the house.
I got up to leave too. I said to Yolanda, "You need to do your own dirty work. I got Admin stink all over me and almost lost my job for it."
Pete began, "Stokie, you know that as a veteran staff, the organization values your investment and experience here..."
I said, "That line is always followed by 'however...'"
"However, from time to time even the veteran staff show signs of stress and make mistakes in their handlings of the kids here. And I'm here to talk to you about this morning and determine if there were any mistakes made and talk to you about whether or not you're feeling any stress on the job."
"Well, Pete, I appreciate your concern for my welfare. I don't remember anything about this morning and I'd have to read Miyako's incident report to remind myself. May I see it please?"
"Actually, she hasn't completed it yet. She came to me with it and asked for help with the English. When I helped her write it, she described the incident to me and I became concerned about your handling of the client."
"So there's no incident report? I better get to work on it right away. Miyako, why didn't you just come to me for help on the IR? Why did you go to Pete? After all, I was the one who was there, not Pete."
Pete squirmed in his chair. "I don't think that's the point here..."
Yolanda piped up, "Yeah Miyako. I know I told you when I met you yesterday that you should be checking in with your teammates all the time, especially if you're confused or have questions. Why didn't you do that?"
Miyako's eyes started welling up. "Pete told me that he wanted to know what was going on in the house. He say 'Tell me if anybody, especially veteran staff like Stokie Jaye do anything might be wrong.' So I tell him and he say Stokie might get fired."
I could have murdered Pete Post right then and there. "So Pete, what I'm hearing is that you're hiring new staff to be your spies so that you can try to fire veteran staff like me. Do you have any idea how fucked-up that is? You Admins keep talking about supporting us and then you go and do something like this? You all are just talking out of your assholes."
Pete responded, "I assure you, cursing at me is not going to help you explain any possible illegal behavior."
"Oh yeah. Miyako, can you remind me what illegal behavior I engaged in?"
Miyako was silent for a moment. Then she burst into tears. "I'm sorry, I didn't know! Not sure, not sure."
Pete said, "Miyako, you told me that Stokie picked up Brian by himself and threw him into the Quiet Room. Isn't that what you saw?"
Miyako said through sobs, "Not sure, not sure."
Yolanda said, "Sounds like she's not sure, Pete. And Stokie? Do you remember what happened now?"
"Yes, Yolanda. As I walked toward Brian, he did a backward sommersault into the Quiet Room. I just shut the door because he was being assaultive to Miyako by spitting on her. She just sat there and took it, too." I turned to Pete, "I wonder where she learned that?"
Miyako got up and ran out. This was the last time any of us saw her as she faxed in her letter of resignation the next day.
Yolanda said, "Pete, I think it's time for you to get out of my office, you aren't making any friends right now."
Pete got up to leave and said to me, "There's too much hands on going on in this house. And another thing, you better think twice before you lie to me again." With that he left the house.
I got up to leave too. I said to Yolanda, "You need to do your own dirty work. I got Admin stink all over me and almost lost my job for it."
Masters, Part 3
I didn't really think about my intervention with Brian and Miyako after that. There was a staff meeting to get prepared for, kids to be taken to school and a house to get cleaned up. I told Mel that I would drive the kids down to school, he would get the last bits of the house cleaned up, and Miyako? I told Miyako that she could work on her incident report regarding Brian.
As for me, I liked to take my time getting back to the house after I dropped the kids off at school, and for a couple of reasons. Many of the school staff are my old friends. Most of them used to be counselors just like me but got sick of the low pay and administrative bullshit that goes with this job. (Little did they know that the School Counselor's job came with its own brand of low pay and bullshit.) The fact of the matter is, there is an "us against them" mentality that affects both staffs.
It goes like this:
The House staff knows best because we are on the front lines and are experts on the kids' behavior. We know all their interpersonal dynamics, from peer interaction to family abuse. What these kids really need is tough behavior modification because nobody ever took the time to teach these kids discipline.
vs.
The School staff knows best because they are on the front lines of the kids' educational development. Kids' misbehavior can be traced to obvious learning disabilities. What these kids really need are chances, because nobody ever gave them one when they really needed it.
I have seen many House staff switch jobs and seemingly overnight, treat me like I was the enemy, like my ideas were crazy. I have also seen School staff come and work up at the houses and behave similarly to their ex-mates. The truth is, the Administrative staffs of both organizations hold each other in contempt. This attitude naturally trickles down to the front line staff who take it out on each other. I like to hang around the School staff for a while to get a sense of what is going on down at the school, what the staff are thinking and doing with the kids.
As I walked the kids to their classrooms, I spent a couple of minutes checking in with the teachers and the teachers' aides before I walked on down to the counselor's office. By the time I got there, fat-ass Rusty was already in trouble, huffing and puffing about some injustice his teacher had perpetrated against him. He was talking to Jamaal, an ex-counselor who had about as much experience as me, someone I respect, and a guy who also sees that so much of our jobs rest on the exercise of ridiculousness.
Jamaal says to Rusty, "Now Rusty, just because your teacher is a fucking bitch doesn't mean you can't stay in school."
"Well that's what she is, and she knows it," puffs Rusty.
"Well, yeah, she definitely knows it now that you screamed it to her in class..."
"Oh no! You're definitely coming back up to the house and you're gonna get tons of consequences," I say, "Let's go."
Jamaal winks at me. "Oh my gosh, did you hear that? That's Stokie Jaye talking, he don't mess around. You know why? Cuz he's old and crusty..."
"That's right, Jamaal knows, too. I was already this way when me and him built this school 30 years ago, back in our hippie days. Jamaal had an afro out to here and I had long hair, a beard and long robe, lotta people mistook me for Jesus, right Jamaal?"
"Mmm, hmm."
Rusty perked up. "You guys built this school?"
Jamaal said, "In fact, back then Stokie's rap name was 'Stokie JJ Hippie Jeeze' becuase he looked so much like Jesus."
I said, "But everybody knows Jesus was a black man."
Jamaal's cheeks were puffy, suppressing laughter. "I wouldn't want to be up in the house with him. If I were you, I'd rather apologize to your teacher and stay down here..."
"Here it comes," I said.
"...Now I'm gonna give you just one more chance..."
I started out the door. "Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Jaye," said Jamaal.
"As always. Let me know when his thirty last chances run out, I'll be back down to pick him up."
By the time I had returned to the house, I was about a half an hour late for the staff meeting. As I entered, I noticed that the chemicals were still really strong, even with the fan on. Around the table sat 5 counselors, the House Supervisor Yolanda, the therapist Sam, and Mel, who was giggling and pointing at Miyako. Miyako held a paper towel over her mouth and nose and was sitting next to the laundry room door, which was slightly open. (I assumed correctly that Mel's magic potion sat bubbling behind the door.) Also in attendance was Janette Stankin, the Clinical Supervisor. I couldn't tell which was worse; Mel's cleaning potion or Janette's perfume. Whenever she walked into a room, it seemed like you were being smashed over the head with a bottle of Chanel #5. I felt like asking Miyako if I could borrow her paper towel.
Yolanda said to me as I found a seat next to Mel, "Lots of kids in crisis at school, I guess."
"Oh, always. Lucky thing I was there."
She said, "Just to catch you up, we were just talking about Michael and some of the frustrations we feel."
"Oh, okay. Did we already talk about 'warehousing?'"
My comment hit its target squarely as Janette visibly tensed up.
"Well, no, nobody actually used that term. Maybe there's something you'd like to say about it?"
I said, "Okay. Well it just seems to me that we've done about all we can with Michael. We are not equipped to deal with developmental disabilities; we deal with emotional problems. He needs to go to a facility like the Regional Center that deals with DD. In the mean time, he gets bigger and stronger, has more sex with his peers and assaults more staff. And since he can't understand our program, we just wind up appeasing him all the time so he doesn't get mad." I turned to Janette, "And I guess since his county just keeps paying, we just take the money and store him here, like a warehouse."
Mel elbowed me, trying to make me laugh at Miyako. Janette was mad at me.
"Stokie, you know very well that we've been trying to get Michael to the Regional Center for months. They just won't take him because he's not developmentally disabled enough. They just turned down our most recent application. His social worker is happy with the job we're doing with him and is satisfied that Michael is placed well here."
I said, "So as long as the county is paying, we're happy to let him get bigger, have sex and hit people. Okay, I just wanted to be able to tow the company line."
"You sound so bitter," said Janette.
"Yup, that's me, Mr. Bitter. I should probably be more happy about warehousing kids. You know what? I can be happier! Is this a bad time to ask for a raise? I figure with all that money we're getting from the county, we could all be getting paid more. May my teammates and I please all have raises?"
Janette got up to leave. "Yolanda, thank you for your time and good luck with your staff."
I turned to my teammates, "Sorry guys, I gave it my all."
Miyako also got up and quickly shuffled outside for some air. As the meeting broke up, I went in to the laundry room with Mel.
"Mel, what the fuck is in this shit?" Mel was still giggling as he opened the chemical closet.
"Man, I just threw in everything," he said as he took out bottles of cleaner and put them on the washing machine. "Little of this, little of that."
I looked at the cleaners. Ajax, Simple Green, bleach, Windex, Pine-Sol, Mr. Clean with ammonia...
My jaw dropped. "Dude! What the fuck is wrong with you? This shit can kill you! Didn't you read the label?" I realized what a stupid question that was, of course he didn't read the fucking label. "Mel, dude, if you mix bleach and ammonia it makes a poisonous gas that kills people. For real, it kills people."
"How the fuck I'm supposed to know that? All the labels are in Spanish."
"That's so people's cleaning ladies don't die when they clean their house." I dumped the potion out through the back door. "Course, if you killed Miyako, that woulda made Yolanda's day. God damn, Mel!"
I came back into the kitchen and there, standing with Miyako, was Pete Post. He had three circle shaped Band-Aids stuck on his face where he shaved over his adult acne.
"Greetings, Stokie. It seems as though there was an intervention this morning which involved you and Brian. Apparently, some questionable techniques were used. I would like you to accompany me so that I may glean some more information."
As I walked with Pete to the Supervisor's office, I thought to myself, "If I still have a job when this shit is over, I'm gonna kill that Miyako. This is what I get for trying to help."
As for me, I liked to take my time getting back to the house after I dropped the kids off at school, and for a couple of reasons. Many of the school staff are my old friends. Most of them used to be counselors just like me but got sick of the low pay and administrative bullshit that goes with this job. (Little did they know that the School Counselor's job came with its own brand of low pay and bullshit.) The fact of the matter is, there is an "us against them" mentality that affects both staffs.
It goes like this:
The House staff knows best because we are on the front lines and are experts on the kids' behavior. We know all their interpersonal dynamics, from peer interaction to family abuse. What these kids really need is tough behavior modification because nobody ever took the time to teach these kids discipline.
vs.
The School staff knows best because they are on the front lines of the kids' educational development. Kids' misbehavior can be traced to obvious learning disabilities. What these kids really need are chances, because nobody ever gave them one when they really needed it.
I have seen many House staff switch jobs and seemingly overnight, treat me like I was the enemy, like my ideas were crazy. I have also seen School staff come and work up at the houses and behave similarly to their ex-mates. The truth is, the Administrative staffs of both organizations hold each other in contempt. This attitude naturally trickles down to the front line staff who take it out on each other. I like to hang around the School staff for a while to get a sense of what is going on down at the school, what the staff are thinking and doing with the kids.
As I walked the kids to their classrooms, I spent a couple of minutes checking in with the teachers and the teachers' aides before I walked on down to the counselor's office. By the time I got there, fat-ass Rusty was already in trouble, huffing and puffing about some injustice his teacher had perpetrated against him. He was talking to Jamaal, an ex-counselor who had about as much experience as me, someone I respect, and a guy who also sees that so much of our jobs rest on the exercise of ridiculousness.
Jamaal says to Rusty, "Now Rusty, just because your teacher is a fucking bitch doesn't mean you can't stay in school."
"Well that's what she is, and she knows it," puffs Rusty.
"Well, yeah, she definitely knows it now that you screamed it to her in class..."
"Oh no! You're definitely coming back up to the house and you're gonna get tons of consequences," I say, "Let's go."
Jamaal winks at me. "Oh my gosh, did you hear that? That's Stokie Jaye talking, he don't mess around. You know why? Cuz he's old and crusty..."
"That's right, Jamaal knows, too. I was already this way when me and him built this school 30 years ago, back in our hippie days. Jamaal had an afro out to here and I had long hair, a beard and long robe, lotta people mistook me for Jesus, right Jamaal?"
"Mmm, hmm."
Rusty perked up. "You guys built this school?"
Jamaal said, "In fact, back then Stokie's rap name was 'Stokie JJ Hippie Jeeze' becuase he looked so much like Jesus."
I said, "But everybody knows Jesus was a black man."
Jamaal's cheeks were puffy, suppressing laughter. "I wouldn't want to be up in the house with him. If I were you, I'd rather apologize to your teacher and stay down here..."
"Here it comes," I said.
"...Now I'm gonna give you just one more chance..."
I started out the door. "Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Jaye," said Jamaal.
"As always. Let me know when his thirty last chances run out, I'll be back down to pick him up."
By the time I had returned to the house, I was about a half an hour late for the staff meeting. As I entered, I noticed that the chemicals were still really strong, even with the fan on. Around the table sat 5 counselors, the House Supervisor Yolanda, the therapist Sam, and Mel, who was giggling and pointing at Miyako. Miyako held a paper towel over her mouth and nose and was sitting next to the laundry room door, which was slightly open. (I assumed correctly that Mel's magic potion sat bubbling behind the door.) Also in attendance was Janette Stankin, the Clinical Supervisor. I couldn't tell which was worse; Mel's cleaning potion or Janette's perfume. Whenever she walked into a room, it seemed like you were being smashed over the head with a bottle of Chanel #5. I felt like asking Miyako if I could borrow her paper towel.
Yolanda said to me as I found a seat next to Mel, "Lots of kids in crisis at school, I guess."
"Oh, always. Lucky thing I was there."
She said, "Just to catch you up, we were just talking about Michael and some of the frustrations we feel."
"Oh, okay. Did we already talk about 'warehousing?'"
My comment hit its target squarely as Janette visibly tensed up.
"Well, no, nobody actually used that term. Maybe there's something you'd like to say about it?"
I said, "Okay. Well it just seems to me that we've done about all we can with Michael. We are not equipped to deal with developmental disabilities; we deal with emotional problems. He needs to go to a facility like the Regional Center that deals with DD. In the mean time, he gets bigger and stronger, has more sex with his peers and assaults more staff. And since he can't understand our program, we just wind up appeasing him all the time so he doesn't get mad." I turned to Janette, "And I guess since his county just keeps paying, we just take the money and store him here, like a warehouse."
Mel elbowed me, trying to make me laugh at Miyako. Janette was mad at me.
"Stokie, you know very well that we've been trying to get Michael to the Regional Center for months. They just won't take him because he's not developmentally disabled enough. They just turned down our most recent application. His social worker is happy with the job we're doing with him and is satisfied that Michael is placed well here."
I said, "So as long as the county is paying, we're happy to let him get bigger, have sex and hit people. Okay, I just wanted to be able to tow the company line."
"You sound so bitter," said Janette.
"Yup, that's me, Mr. Bitter. I should probably be more happy about warehousing kids. You know what? I can be happier! Is this a bad time to ask for a raise? I figure with all that money we're getting from the county, we could all be getting paid more. May my teammates and I please all have raises?"
Janette got up to leave. "Yolanda, thank you for your time and good luck with your staff."
I turned to my teammates, "Sorry guys, I gave it my all."
Miyako also got up and quickly shuffled outside for some air. As the meeting broke up, I went in to the laundry room with Mel.
"Mel, what the fuck is in this shit?" Mel was still giggling as he opened the chemical closet.
"Man, I just threw in everything," he said as he took out bottles of cleaner and put them on the washing machine. "Little of this, little of that."
I looked at the cleaners. Ajax, Simple Green, bleach, Windex, Pine-Sol, Mr. Clean with ammonia...
My jaw dropped. "Dude! What the fuck is wrong with you? This shit can kill you! Didn't you read the label?" I realized what a stupid question that was, of course he didn't read the fucking label. "Mel, dude, if you mix bleach and ammonia it makes a poisonous gas that kills people. For real, it kills people."
"How the fuck I'm supposed to know that? All the labels are in Spanish."
"That's so people's cleaning ladies don't die when they clean their house." I dumped the potion out through the back door. "Course, if you killed Miyako, that woulda made Yolanda's day. God damn, Mel!"
I came back into the kitchen and there, standing with Miyako, was Pete Post. He had three circle shaped Band-Aids stuck on his face where he shaved over his adult acne.
"Greetings, Stokie. It seems as though there was an intervention this morning which involved you and Brian. Apparently, some questionable techniques were used. I would like you to accompany me so that I may glean some more information."
As I walked with Pete to the Supervisor's office, I thought to myself, "If I still have a job when this shit is over, I'm gonna kill that Miyako. This is what I get for trying to help."
Masters, Part 2
While Mel went into the laundry room to mix up what I'm sure was going to be a potent cleansing potion, I went to Brian's room to wake him up. He earned some work details overnight because the Night Awake caught him trying to crawl into the kitchen and steal some Pop-Tarts.
"Brian, wake up. I want you to get these work details done before you go to school. Time's a-wasting, let's go."
"Can I please just have another 10 minutes or so? I'm tired," he whined.
"No way, dude, if you had gone to bed when you were supposed to you woulda had plenty of sleep. Instead, you wanted to run around and play Pop-Tart Commando. Get up."
"Please, Stokie? I'll do the work details later."
"Remember when I said 'No'? Now get up."
Brian reluctantly slithered out of bed and washed his face. He approached me with unkempt hair, bleary eyes and he was scratching his ass.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
I said, "Mel is in the laundry room making some mop water. Go get it, mop all the bathrooms and showers, the hallways, the kitchen, dining room and laundry room. Do a good job, not a half-ass-I-mean-hearted job and you might be done after that. Check in with me when you're done."
Brian liked it when I cussed and pretended not to and said, "Okay Stokie, thanks."
I walked through the other boys' rooms and got them up. I could hear Brian from the laundry room, "Jeez, Mel, what'd you put in here? This mop water is hecka-strong!"
"Hee-hee-hee," came Mel's voice from somewhere across the house.
As I suspected, Brian slopped mop water all over the floor as he struggled to control the mop bucket and bring it to the places I told him to mop. He dutifully followed directions and wiped mop water all over the designated floors and bathrooms. When he was done he said, "Stokie, do you think we should open a window?"
I said, "What for? That's a nice pine scent. That's what we're shooting for." At that moment, Miyako walked in the house.
I said, "I'm gonna give Miyako a crossover then you can check in with her for the rest of your work details."
This irritated Brian. "What? You said I'd be done after I mopped! Aww, man!"
As I walked up to Miyako, I noticed that her eyes were watery. I thought the chemicals in the water were awfully strong, too.
"Hi Miyako. Brian here has just one more work detail to do. Can you tell him to set the table and put out the cereal and milk? I have to go drop the kids off at the pool."
As I walked toward the staff office I heard Miyako ask Brian, "The pool? Before breakfast?"
Brian started up immediately with his patented sassy attitude. We called it 'throwin' out the sass'. "He means he's gonna go take a dump. You newcumbers don't understand anything."
I walked into the staff office, shut the door behind me, but opened it just a crack so Mel and I could watch what would happen next. We were giggling like a couple of school kids.
Miyako said to Brian, "Umm, ok, so... Can you set the table and put cereal and milk on the table?"
"Nope. Stokie said I was done with my work details, so I don't have to."
"He told me you have to set the table and put cereal and milk on the table so you better do that."
"Oh, ok. Fine," Brian said as he walked into the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator. "You want me to put milk on the table? Then I WILL GODDAMMIT!"
Brian grabbed the gallon of milk in the fridge, opened it and shook it upsidedown onto the table. "There! See that? Think you're so smart? Look, I'm putting milk on the table because the newcumber told me too..."
Miyako, obviously didn't know what to do. She was looking around for help, stumbling over her words and panicky. I walked out of the staff office and feigned shock.
"Oh my God, Miyako! What did you do? All he had to do was set the table! I can't believe it Miyako, if you weren't sure, you should have asked."
I turned to Brian, "Into the Quiet Room."
I turned back to Miyako, "Me and Mel are gonna take Brian to the Quiet Room because he's violent. Can you clean up this mess? The mop bucket is in the laundry room. Then after that you're gonna have to write an incident report."
As Mel and I walked Brian across the house, I asked him, "Brian, why did you do that?"
"I always do that to damn newcumbers. They don't understand shit."
I spent about 5 minutes with Brian in the Quiet Room. I never had to shut the door and lock him in it because he was pretty calm. I said, "Well Brian, I think you should apologize to Miyako. I have to get the other kids ready for school."
Brian, unwilling to relinquish this valuable one-on-one time said, "No way, she should apologize to me."
"Well, I'll go get her so you can apologize anyway."
I walked out and called Miyako, "Hey, can you come here and sit with Brian for a while? He wants to apologize. Thanks." She came over and had a seat next to Brian. As I left, they were just sitting, staring at each other silently.
Mel and I went about our business of helping the kids get up and eat breakfast. I noticed my eyes were burning and I could practically taste the chemicals in the air. "Damn Mel, one of these days you're gonna have to give me the recipe for that mop water."
"Little bit of this, little bit of that," said Mel. I opened up all the windows. This was getting painful, even for me.
By now, most of the kids were ready for school and I decided to check on Brian and Miyako, since I hadn't heard anything in a while. I rounded the corner to the Quiet Room and was surprised to see Brian and Miyako sitting in the same positions facing each other, still quiet, only this time, Brian was casually, yet continuously spitting on Miyako. Now I'm all for hazing, but this was way too much.
"Oh hell no, Brian!" I walked up past Miyako, picked up Brian and shoved him into the Quiet Room and locked the door. "Miyako! You need to call for help when something like that happens! Go to the staff office bathroom and get cleaned up." She scampered off. Mel poked his head in to see what was going on.
"Dude, this is worse than I thought," I said. "Don't do anything else, she really doesn't have a clue." I was feeling pretty bad that we had taken Yolanda's bait. I felt like a pawn in someone else's battle. But this day was just beginning.
"Brian, wake up. I want you to get these work details done before you go to school. Time's a-wasting, let's go."
"Can I please just have another 10 minutes or so? I'm tired," he whined.
"No way, dude, if you had gone to bed when you were supposed to you woulda had plenty of sleep. Instead, you wanted to run around and play Pop-Tart Commando. Get up."
"Please, Stokie? I'll do the work details later."
"Remember when I said 'No'? Now get up."
Brian reluctantly slithered out of bed and washed his face. He approached me with unkempt hair, bleary eyes and he was scratching his ass.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
I said, "Mel is in the laundry room making some mop water. Go get it, mop all the bathrooms and showers, the hallways, the kitchen, dining room and laundry room. Do a good job, not a half-ass-I-mean-hearted job and you might be done after that. Check in with me when you're done."
Brian liked it when I cussed and pretended not to and said, "Okay Stokie, thanks."
I walked through the other boys' rooms and got them up. I could hear Brian from the laundry room, "Jeez, Mel, what'd you put in here? This mop water is hecka-strong!"
"Hee-hee-hee," came Mel's voice from somewhere across the house.
As I suspected, Brian slopped mop water all over the floor as he struggled to control the mop bucket and bring it to the places I told him to mop. He dutifully followed directions and wiped mop water all over the designated floors and bathrooms. When he was done he said, "Stokie, do you think we should open a window?"
I said, "What for? That's a nice pine scent. That's what we're shooting for." At that moment, Miyako walked in the house.
I said, "I'm gonna give Miyako a crossover then you can check in with her for the rest of your work details."
This irritated Brian. "What? You said I'd be done after I mopped! Aww, man!"
As I walked up to Miyako, I noticed that her eyes were watery. I thought the chemicals in the water were awfully strong, too.
"Hi Miyako. Brian here has just one more work detail to do. Can you tell him to set the table and put out the cereal and milk? I have to go drop the kids off at the pool."
As I walked toward the staff office I heard Miyako ask Brian, "The pool? Before breakfast?"
Brian started up immediately with his patented sassy attitude. We called it 'throwin' out the sass'. "He means he's gonna go take a dump. You newcumbers don't understand anything."
I walked into the staff office, shut the door behind me, but opened it just a crack so Mel and I could watch what would happen next. We were giggling like a couple of school kids.
Miyako said to Brian, "Umm, ok, so... Can you set the table and put cereal and milk on the table?"
"Nope. Stokie said I was done with my work details, so I don't have to."
"He told me you have to set the table and put cereal and milk on the table so you better do that."
"Oh, ok. Fine," Brian said as he walked into the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator. "You want me to put milk on the table? Then I WILL GODDAMMIT!"
Brian grabbed the gallon of milk in the fridge, opened it and shook it upsidedown onto the table. "There! See that? Think you're so smart? Look, I'm putting milk on the table because the newcumber told me too..."
Miyako, obviously didn't know what to do. She was looking around for help, stumbling over her words and panicky. I walked out of the staff office and feigned shock.
"Oh my God, Miyako! What did you do? All he had to do was set the table! I can't believe it Miyako, if you weren't sure, you should have asked."
I turned to Brian, "Into the Quiet Room."
I turned back to Miyako, "Me and Mel are gonna take Brian to the Quiet Room because he's violent. Can you clean up this mess? The mop bucket is in the laundry room. Then after that you're gonna have to write an incident report."
As Mel and I walked Brian across the house, I asked him, "Brian, why did you do that?"
"I always do that to damn newcumbers. They don't understand shit."
I spent about 5 minutes with Brian in the Quiet Room. I never had to shut the door and lock him in it because he was pretty calm. I said, "Well Brian, I think you should apologize to Miyako. I have to get the other kids ready for school."
Brian, unwilling to relinquish this valuable one-on-one time said, "No way, she should apologize to me."
"Well, I'll go get her so you can apologize anyway."
I walked out and called Miyako, "Hey, can you come here and sit with Brian for a while? He wants to apologize. Thanks." She came over and had a seat next to Brian. As I left, they were just sitting, staring at each other silently.
Mel and I went about our business of helping the kids get up and eat breakfast. I noticed my eyes were burning and I could practically taste the chemicals in the air. "Damn Mel, one of these days you're gonna have to give me the recipe for that mop water."
"Little bit of this, little bit of that," said Mel. I opened up all the windows. This was getting painful, even for me.
By now, most of the kids were ready for school and I decided to check on Brian and Miyako, since I hadn't heard anything in a while. I rounded the corner to the Quiet Room and was surprised to see Brian and Miyako sitting in the same positions facing each other, still quiet, only this time, Brian was casually, yet continuously spitting on Miyako. Now I'm all for hazing, but this was way too much.
"Oh hell no, Brian!" I walked up past Miyako, picked up Brian and shoved him into the Quiet Room and locked the door. "Miyako! You need to call for help when something like that happens! Go to the staff office bathroom and get cleaned up." She scampered off. Mel poked his head in to see what was going on.
"Dude, this is worse than I thought," I said. "Don't do anything else, she really doesn't have a clue." I was feeling pretty bad that we had taken Yolanda's bait. I felt like a pawn in someone else's battle. But this day was just beginning.
Canned Ass
It was a beautiful Sunday morning in Spring. This morning's team consisted of myself, Mel, Guru and a brand new staff named Candace, who, and I'm being as sensitive and as politically correct as possible, was a fat dyke. She wore her opinions on her sleeve and injected any conversation with her sexually and politically charged agenda.
Plus, she had terrible hygiene. When she did a sleepover, she didn't change the sheets. The next sleepover, Mel, would complain that someone had eaten cheese in the staff bed. The first time I worked with her, I walked into the house and asked her (after she had gotten up) if she had cleaned the staff bathroom, as is the sleepover's job.
"Oh, yeah, I cleaned it."
"Cool," I said, and walked in to take a piss. I noticed that, in fact, nobody had cleaned the bathroom and there were pubic hairs in the bathtub. Why would she lie about something like that? When I came out, she said, "I'm gonna kick back in the staff office for a while since we don't get the kids up for an hour."
This pissed me off forever. I walked over to Kyle's room and announced, "If there is anyone who needs to work off their work details so that they can go out on the outing this morning, they had better get up and clean the staff bathroom, especially if their name is Kyle."
Kyle walked out rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, Stokie? I'll do it. I wanna go on the outing."
"Great Kyle. Go knock on the staff office door and tell Candace that you need to clean the office for work details. She'll help you with the rest."
Kyle banged on the office door until Candace opened it. "Hi Candace, I need to clean the staff bathroom for work details. Can you supervise me?"
"But the staff bathroom is clean already," said Candace.
Kyle took a look and said, "No it's not!" He was laughing. He grabbed the 409 from under the sink and sprayed it all over the sink, toilet and bathtub. He took a rag and wiped everything spic and span. "See Candace? Now it's clean. Easy as that."
I yelled from the kitchen, "Thank you Kyle! Just another training session, that's all!"
"I hear that, Stokie. Place was humming!"
"Dude, sometimes you shine so bright. No more work details, thank you."
She walked out and looked at me. "Do you have a beef with me?"
I said, "No, Candace, nothing me and Kyle can't handle."
I had heard that a kid had asked her the other day if she was gay.
"I'm not gay, I'm queer," was her answer.
It was time to get the boys up, which on Sunday morning is not a big deal and can be done in a very casual and slow manner. The staff were split up in different sections of the house and were helping various boys hop to. Mel and I were having fun with Brian, who you remember is not only conflicted about his own sexual orientation, but also comes from a household with two moms. Brian wanted to get one of us staff to go out and buy him a bandanna which he wanted to wear on his head.
I told him, "Why don't you go ask Mel if it's more cool to wear it around your neck. That's the way Mel always wears it when he goes out."
In a moment Brian returned and said to me, "Mel wants to know if you think I'd look better in a bandanna that is 'cool blue' or 'flaming red."
And so it went until Brian came back to me and asked, "Can a person be so fat that their ass eats their underwear?"
"Brian, I don't know how your brain is malfunctioning, but I need you to calm down."
"Okay, Stokie, but I think Candace is wearing a Mercedes Benz sign on her ass."
"What are you talking about, Brian?"
"Just look," he said pointing to Candace, who was squatting down to help Freddy, who didn't need any help, tie his shoe. Her jeans had sagged down to reveal her fat, pimply ass-crack decorated with a string thong that resembled the Mercedes Benz sign. I rolled my eyes and groaned.
Brian went on. "Not only that, but she's flirting with me, and I think that's inappropriate. Every time I walk by, she shakes her tits at me and I think she's trying to make me get excited. Can you tell her that I'd never want to have sex with her because she's fat and ugly?"
"Brian, I can promise you that she's not flirting with you. You're completely fabricating the whole thing. I tell you what, I will talk to her about..."
Just then I realized what Brian was talking about. Candace got up and turned around and walked into the kitchen. As she did, her big, bra-less, pendulous tits shook all around the house and into the hearts and minds of just about every resident in it. I wanted to strangle her for being so naiive. Freddy got up and waved his hand by his nose, "Whoa! Her shit smells like hamsters!"
"Brian, you may not have said it in the most appropriate way, but I know exactly what you're talking about and I am going to help you. I will talk to her right away and get her to make a change, but what I need from you, right now, is to stay in your room until I can get her to make the change. Can you do that?"
"Sure Stokie, no problem. Thanks for helping me. I hate it when big fat bitches shake their tits at me and make me want to have sex with them. The last thing I'm gonna do is start screaming, 'GUACAMOLE!! GUACAMOLE!!"
It was too late. Brian had lost it. Much like 'Whoa guy,' 'guacamole!' was something a kid would yell out to let everyone know that sex was in the air. Strangely, after yelling it, Brian calmly walked back to his room and sat down on his bed.
However, it was enough to get the rest of the house really agitated; voices grew louder, kids became less and less compliant, there was more irritation.
I needed to to talk to Candace immediately. But how? I was thinking that I couldn't say, 'Hey Candace, your floppy boobies are fucking with the kids' minds.' I was actually thinking that she would try to bring a harassment suit against me or the agency if I tried to talk to her myself, so I first called the Administrative Backup so I could get some support (and a witness) that the confrontation was appropriate. Our Backup today was Mike, the Supervisor for the house next door. I went to the staff office and called him.
"Mike, dude, I need some help. You know that new staff, Candace?"
"Biggums?" asked Mike.
"Yeah, well she showed up this morning without a bra..."
"Oh please don't make me come over there, Stokie."
"You gotta come over. The kids are getting all fucked up about it and I don't want to talk to her myself because I'm afraid she'll sue the agency."
"Good point. I'll be right over."
As Mike arrived, the boys were getting more and more agitated. When I walked out to greet Mike, Francis was asking Candace, "Hey Canned Ass, do you drive a Mercedes? Hee!"
Candace was oblivious. "I use public transportation as much as possible."
"Whoa, guy!" Francis ran back to his room.
Mike said, "Candace, we need to talk to you in private. Would you join us in the staff office?" The three of us walked in and shut the door behind us.
I began, "Candace, I called Mike here so that I could have some Administrative support when I tell you what I have to tell you. I didn't want to confront you alone."
"Confront me? There's nothing to confront me about. What are you talking about?" She put her hands on her waist which pulled her shirt tighter around her tits. I tried to maintain eye contact and not wince. At the same time, I could hear yelling out on the floor.
"Well, the thing is, you're not exactly dressed appropriately for the job. I mean, some of these boys have been sexually abused and any hint of sexuality can set them off. I'm sure you've read their case histories by now, right?"
"I was gonna read those on my free time. But I'm not dressed inappropriately. Since when are jeans and a t-shirt inappropriate?"
"When you're not wearing a bra, that's when," said Mike. "And you're obviously not."
"No I'm not," said Candace. "And I can't think of a better way to teach kids, especially kids who've been abused, that the human body is beautiful. We're all just people you know, and
the human body is a beautiful thing."
"Not here it isn't," said Mike. "Here it's a provacative set-up. You can't be out on the floor like that. Did you bring a bra?"
"No I didn't. I didn't think this was such a draconian, backward thinking organization."
I heard Guru's booming voice,"TIP THE HOUSE!"
"Mike, I gotta go out there and help out, it's just the two of them out there. I'm sure you can finish up without me." I winked at him and he tried not to laugh.
When I came out of the staff office, I saw boys running everywhere. Guru was at the Quiet Room door holding residents in while Mel was catching the out-of-control boys and bringing them to Guru. My Sunday was ruined.
There were cat-calls of "Canned Ass!" "Whoa, guy!" and "Guacamole!" along with the usual crotch grabbing and overt finger sucking. Where to start?
I went over to Brian and Rudy's room and stood in their doorway so they couldn't get out. As far as I could see, Guru and Mel had about 6 boys over in the Quiet Room and there were a few who had turned on the TV and were watching without any problem.
I saw Mel run out of the Quiet Room Area, catch one of the kids, Manuel, and walk him to the Quiet Room. Manuel was a funny little Mexican, pudgy and bossy. Whenever you gave him a direction or a time out or generally said something he didn't like, he would respond with,
"I don't HAVE TO! I'm gonna TELL! Then you're going to JAIL! Cuz I'm gonna call the COPS! And then they're gonna SHOOT YOU! Because I know the number to nine one ONE!" He was so authoritative, fat and pompous about it that I nicknamed him "El Presidente."
Mel led him by the collar and handed him off to Guru who was standing by the Quiet Room door, holding the lock so that the 5 or so other residents could not come out. As Guru took hold of El Presidente, and as Mel left the area, some of the boys in the Quiet Room managed to push the door partially open. Instinctively, Guru pushed the door, and El Presidente into it. This action scraped El Presidente's face against the door. El Presidente was yelling at Guru,
"You're gonna go to JAIL! I'm gonna tell on your ABUSE! My dad's gonna come here and SHOOT YOU!"
On the other side of the house, I saw Candace emerge from the staff office, arms folded, and walk out to her car. Mike came out after her and told me, "I already called for back-up so there will be more staff here soon. What do you need me to do?"
I said, "Go help out Guru. He's got too many kids in the quiet room and he's by himself. Mel and I will watch the floor."
It took about an hour and a half for the house to calm down. Even then, there was a tenuous and uncomfortable sexualized feeling in the house. Candace never came back.
After lunch, I took most of the boys out onto the back porch to play basketball. Every now and then I would glance inside to see what was going on. At one point, I saw El Presidente on the phone. I figured that he had gotten permission from another staff to call his family. As it turned out, all of us staff had thought the same thing, wrongly.
In a few minutes, a sheriff's car pulled up to our house. The deputy knocked on the door and said, "Is there a staff here named Guru? May I talk to him please?"
El Presidente had called 911 and said Guru had hit him and thrown him on the floor. El Presidente had scrapes on his face to "prove" it. Although Guru had explained to the deputy what had happened, technically the intervention was illegal because Guru was handling the kid by himself. After interviews were conducted, Administrative staff called to the house and El Presidente immediately transferred out of our agency and into a temporary shelter, Guru was put on Administrative leave. I can't tell you how difficult it is to lose a seasoned staff member like that. Maybe the only thing harder is to dispel the belief in the residents that all staff are abusive.
Two weeks later, Guru had been transferred to the "transition house," the house for 17 and 18 year olds whose programs do not require hands-on. If they act up, you just evacuate the house and call the sheriff. I ran into Guru not long after he had been put out to pasture.
"Guru, I'm really sorry about what happened. When the whole house is blowing out like that, it's just impossible to go by the book."
Guru was philosophical. "I've been here 17 years, I may be here 17 more. This is what I was born to do, and I'll keep on doing it as long as I'm able." He pushed out his eyes for effect, took a long draw on his cigarette and stared out into the distance. I had to wonder if Guru was thinking the same thing as me. How could we have all been so stupid as to let El Presidente and a staff named Candace who had been here for all of 2 minutes mess up the career of a dedicated staff who had been here for 17 years?
Plus, she had terrible hygiene. When she did a sleepover, she didn't change the sheets. The next sleepover, Mel, would complain that someone had eaten cheese in the staff bed. The first time I worked with her, I walked into the house and asked her (after she had gotten up) if she had cleaned the staff bathroom, as is the sleepover's job.
"Oh, yeah, I cleaned it."
"Cool," I said, and walked in to take a piss. I noticed that, in fact, nobody had cleaned the bathroom and there were pubic hairs in the bathtub. Why would she lie about something like that? When I came out, she said, "I'm gonna kick back in the staff office for a while since we don't get the kids up for an hour."
This pissed me off forever. I walked over to Kyle's room and announced, "If there is anyone who needs to work off their work details so that they can go out on the outing this morning, they had better get up and clean the staff bathroom, especially if their name is Kyle."
Kyle walked out rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, Stokie? I'll do it. I wanna go on the outing."
"Great Kyle. Go knock on the staff office door and tell Candace that you need to clean the office for work details. She'll help you with the rest."
Kyle banged on the office door until Candace opened it. "Hi Candace, I need to clean the staff bathroom for work details. Can you supervise me?"
"But the staff bathroom is clean already," said Candace.
Kyle took a look and said, "No it's not!" He was laughing. He grabbed the 409 from under the sink and sprayed it all over the sink, toilet and bathtub. He took a rag and wiped everything spic and span. "See Candace? Now it's clean. Easy as that."
I yelled from the kitchen, "Thank you Kyle! Just another training session, that's all!"
"I hear that, Stokie. Place was humming!"
"Dude, sometimes you shine so bright. No more work details, thank you."
She walked out and looked at me. "Do you have a beef with me?"
I said, "No, Candace, nothing me and Kyle can't handle."
I had heard that a kid had asked her the other day if she was gay.
"I'm not gay, I'm queer," was her answer.
It was time to get the boys up, which on Sunday morning is not a big deal and can be done in a very casual and slow manner. The staff were split up in different sections of the house and were helping various boys hop to. Mel and I were having fun with Brian, who you remember is not only conflicted about his own sexual orientation, but also comes from a household with two moms. Brian wanted to get one of us staff to go out and buy him a bandanna which he wanted to wear on his head.
I told him, "Why don't you go ask Mel if it's more cool to wear it around your neck. That's the way Mel always wears it when he goes out."
In a moment Brian returned and said to me, "Mel wants to know if you think I'd look better in a bandanna that is 'cool blue' or 'flaming red."
And so it went until Brian came back to me and asked, "Can a person be so fat that their ass eats their underwear?"
"Brian, I don't know how your brain is malfunctioning, but I need you to calm down."
"Okay, Stokie, but I think Candace is wearing a Mercedes Benz sign on her ass."
"What are you talking about, Brian?"
"Just look," he said pointing to Candace, who was squatting down to help Freddy, who didn't need any help, tie his shoe. Her jeans had sagged down to reveal her fat, pimply ass-crack decorated with a string thong that resembled the Mercedes Benz sign. I rolled my eyes and groaned.
Brian went on. "Not only that, but she's flirting with me, and I think that's inappropriate. Every time I walk by, she shakes her tits at me and I think she's trying to make me get excited. Can you tell her that I'd never want to have sex with her because she's fat and ugly?"
"Brian, I can promise you that she's not flirting with you. You're completely fabricating the whole thing. I tell you what, I will talk to her about..."
Just then I realized what Brian was talking about. Candace got up and turned around and walked into the kitchen. As she did, her big, bra-less, pendulous tits shook all around the house and into the hearts and minds of just about every resident in it. I wanted to strangle her for being so naiive. Freddy got up and waved his hand by his nose, "Whoa! Her shit smells like hamsters!"
"Brian, you may not have said it in the most appropriate way, but I know exactly what you're talking about and I am going to help you. I will talk to her right away and get her to make a change, but what I need from you, right now, is to stay in your room until I can get her to make the change. Can you do that?"
"Sure Stokie, no problem. Thanks for helping me. I hate it when big fat bitches shake their tits at me and make me want to have sex with them. The last thing I'm gonna do is start screaming, 'GUACAMOLE!! GUACAMOLE!!"
It was too late. Brian had lost it. Much like 'Whoa guy,' 'guacamole!' was something a kid would yell out to let everyone know that sex was in the air. Strangely, after yelling it, Brian calmly walked back to his room and sat down on his bed.
However, it was enough to get the rest of the house really agitated; voices grew louder, kids became less and less compliant, there was more irritation.
I needed to to talk to Candace immediately. But how? I was thinking that I couldn't say, 'Hey Candace, your floppy boobies are fucking with the kids' minds.' I was actually thinking that she would try to bring a harassment suit against me or the agency if I tried to talk to her myself, so I first called the Administrative Backup so I could get some support (and a witness) that the confrontation was appropriate. Our Backup today was Mike, the Supervisor for the house next door. I went to the staff office and called him.
"Mike, dude, I need some help. You know that new staff, Candace?"
"Biggums?" asked Mike.
"Yeah, well she showed up this morning without a bra..."
"Oh please don't make me come over there, Stokie."
"You gotta come over. The kids are getting all fucked up about it and I don't want to talk to her myself because I'm afraid she'll sue the agency."
"Good point. I'll be right over."
As Mike arrived, the boys were getting more and more agitated. When I walked out to greet Mike, Francis was asking Candace, "Hey Canned Ass, do you drive a Mercedes? Hee!"
Candace was oblivious. "I use public transportation as much as possible."
"Whoa, guy!" Francis ran back to his room.
Mike said, "Candace, we need to talk to you in private. Would you join us in the staff office?" The three of us walked in and shut the door behind us.
I began, "Candace, I called Mike here so that I could have some Administrative support when I tell you what I have to tell you. I didn't want to confront you alone."
"Confront me? There's nothing to confront me about. What are you talking about?" She put her hands on her waist which pulled her shirt tighter around her tits. I tried to maintain eye contact and not wince. At the same time, I could hear yelling out on the floor.
"Well, the thing is, you're not exactly dressed appropriately for the job. I mean, some of these boys have been sexually abused and any hint of sexuality can set them off. I'm sure you've read their case histories by now, right?"
"I was gonna read those on my free time. But I'm not dressed inappropriately. Since when are jeans and a t-shirt inappropriate?"
"When you're not wearing a bra, that's when," said Mike. "And you're obviously not."
"No I'm not," said Candace. "And I can't think of a better way to teach kids, especially kids who've been abused, that the human body is beautiful. We're all just people you know, and
the human body is a beautiful thing."
"Not here it isn't," said Mike. "Here it's a provacative set-up. You can't be out on the floor like that. Did you bring a bra?"
"No I didn't. I didn't think this was such a draconian, backward thinking organization."
I heard Guru's booming voice,"TIP THE HOUSE!"
"Mike, I gotta go out there and help out, it's just the two of them out there. I'm sure you can finish up without me." I winked at him and he tried not to laugh.
When I came out of the staff office, I saw boys running everywhere. Guru was at the Quiet Room door holding residents in while Mel was catching the out-of-control boys and bringing them to Guru. My Sunday was ruined.
There were cat-calls of "Canned Ass!" "Whoa, guy!" and "Guacamole!" along with the usual crotch grabbing and overt finger sucking. Where to start?
I went over to Brian and Rudy's room and stood in their doorway so they couldn't get out. As far as I could see, Guru and Mel had about 6 boys over in the Quiet Room and there were a few who had turned on the TV and were watching without any problem.
I saw Mel run out of the Quiet Room Area, catch one of the kids, Manuel, and walk him to the Quiet Room. Manuel was a funny little Mexican, pudgy and bossy. Whenever you gave him a direction or a time out or generally said something he didn't like, he would respond with,
"I don't HAVE TO! I'm gonna TELL! Then you're going to JAIL! Cuz I'm gonna call the COPS! And then they're gonna SHOOT YOU! Because I know the number to nine one ONE!" He was so authoritative, fat and pompous about it that I nicknamed him "El Presidente."
Mel led him by the collar and handed him off to Guru who was standing by the Quiet Room door, holding the lock so that the 5 or so other residents could not come out. As Guru took hold of El Presidente, and as Mel left the area, some of the boys in the Quiet Room managed to push the door partially open. Instinctively, Guru pushed the door, and El Presidente into it. This action scraped El Presidente's face against the door. El Presidente was yelling at Guru,
"You're gonna go to JAIL! I'm gonna tell on your ABUSE! My dad's gonna come here and SHOOT YOU!"
On the other side of the house, I saw Candace emerge from the staff office, arms folded, and walk out to her car. Mike came out after her and told me, "I already called for back-up so there will be more staff here soon. What do you need me to do?"
I said, "Go help out Guru. He's got too many kids in the quiet room and he's by himself. Mel and I will watch the floor."
It took about an hour and a half for the house to calm down. Even then, there was a tenuous and uncomfortable sexualized feeling in the house. Candace never came back.
After lunch, I took most of the boys out onto the back porch to play basketball. Every now and then I would glance inside to see what was going on. At one point, I saw El Presidente on the phone. I figured that he had gotten permission from another staff to call his family. As it turned out, all of us staff had thought the same thing, wrongly.
In a few minutes, a sheriff's car pulled up to our house. The deputy knocked on the door and said, "Is there a staff here named Guru? May I talk to him please?"
El Presidente had called 911 and said Guru had hit him and thrown him on the floor. El Presidente had scrapes on his face to "prove" it. Although Guru had explained to the deputy what had happened, technically the intervention was illegal because Guru was handling the kid by himself. After interviews were conducted, Administrative staff called to the house and El Presidente immediately transferred out of our agency and into a temporary shelter, Guru was put on Administrative leave. I can't tell you how difficult it is to lose a seasoned staff member like that. Maybe the only thing harder is to dispel the belief in the residents that all staff are abusive.
Two weeks later, Guru had been transferred to the "transition house," the house for 17 and 18 year olds whose programs do not require hands-on. If they act up, you just evacuate the house and call the sheriff. I ran into Guru not long after he had been put out to pasture.
"Guru, I'm really sorry about what happened. When the whole house is blowing out like that, it's just impossible to go by the book."
Guru was philosophical. "I've been here 17 years, I may be here 17 more. This is what I was born to do, and I'll keep on doing it as long as I'm able." He pushed out his eyes for effect, took a long draw on his cigarette and stared out into the distance. I had to wonder if Guru was thinking the same thing as me. How could we have all been so stupid as to let El Presidente and a staff named Candace who had been here for all of 2 minutes mess up the career of a dedicated staff who had been here for 17 years?
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