As staff, we are constantly trying to teach the kids what it means to have appropriate personal boundaries. Basically put, we teach them when and where it's okay to touch somebody. So, when I walk into the house to start a shift, a boy like Freddy, the door-humping sexual predator, may come running up, arms wide open, ready to give me a hug.
Instead of saying something like, "Get the fuck away from me you freak, why don't you go screw the kitchen sink," I demonstrate Appropriate Boundaries. I say,
"No, Freddy, a hug is not appropriate now. How about an elbow?" And we touch elbows.
I might give another kid a hand-shake. Or another gets a one-armed side-hug. You get the idea. We role model strict personal boundaries for kids who come from places where there are no limits at all. Otherwise, they can go from zero to sexual in no time.
All of this is everyday, common practice. So you can imagine my surprise when Jackson, a counselor from the unit next door, walked right in, past me and two other staff without saying a word and proceeded to give Freddy of all people, a full body hug complete with stroking hands up and down his back.
Now Jackson and I have already had a couple of run-ins. I had walked over to the unit next door which houses the campus' youngest kids to borrow some eggs one morning and observed Jackson bouncing one of the boys on his lap. I asked one of the other staff on shift why he was allowed to do this and was told not to worry, he does it all the time. It's okay, I was told, because the kids here are younger and don't have the same issues. That may sound okay on the surface, but none of these are normal kids, not even the youngest ones.
On another occasion, I went next door to borrow some Band-aids, turned the corner to the staff office hallway and saw Jackson and a resident standing face to face, or more like waist to waist, and suddenly jump back, obviously startled to see me. I pointed in Jackson's face and said, "You shouldn't be anywhere near kids. I'm going to try my hardest to get you fired." He said in his non-chalant drawl, "Aw c'mon man, you're just being sensitive, man." I informed his supervisor who assured me that she would talk to him about the incident. With this history, it was all the more shocking to see him brazenly walk in and feel Freddy up.
The other staff and I looked at each other and our jaws dropped. I couldn't help but call out, "Hey, get your hands off of him!" When the other boys looked up to see what I was talking about, several of them yelled,
"Whoa!"
"Whoa guy!"
"Inappropriate!"
"I'm not like that."
"Whoa guy!"
'Whoa guy' is a saying I've only heard in the group home. It means, "Something sexual is going on. Even though I'm pretending not to like it, I really do. So if anybody propositions me soon, I might not say 'no'." It is usually screamed while pointing at the offenders and staring at the staff in mock-disbelief.
I have learned to dread hearing the call of "Whoa guy!" because it usually means you're in for a lot of work trying to keep the buds of romance from blooming. This night would be no different.
So there we were watching helplessly as Jackson the Perv mauled Freddy. In the span of 10 seconds he was undoing months of hard work on our part, keeping Freddy from touching other kids, teaching him to keep his masturbating within the confines of the bathroom and not during community group, teaching him that household objects are not romantic pleasure toys. I had the sick feeling you get when you hear chalk screeching the blackboard. It was like a cat getting rubbed backward.
"I need to talk to you right now," I said as I separated the two like a referee pushing away two heavyweights who have locked up in the ring. I brought Jackson into the staff office. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I demanded.
"Aw, man, what's wrong with you now?"
"Freddy's the most sexualized kid on this campus. You walk in here like you own the place, don't acknowledge any of the adults and proceed to feel Freddy up. You don't think that's going to get him riled up?"
"Okay, fine. I acknowledge you. Hello." He was waving. "Happy now?"
"Get the fuck out of here! Your supervisor's going to hear about this." Jackson scampered out.
I then noticed that the other staff had gathered around to listen to the confrontation. We were all there in the staff office. Nobody out on the floor!
We rushed out and sure enough, Freddy was gone. I told the other staff to check all the doorways while I go check the broom closet. No luck. I asked one of the staff members if he was sure he checked inside the Quiet Room. He said he looked in there but didn't see anything. I rushed over to double check. The staff didn't see anything because he just glanced inside, he didn't check behind the door! Freddy was there alright. He was licking and kissing the wall, had his eyes closed, his hand down his pants. He was quickly mumbling, "C'mon baby, oh yeah just like that, you know you like it baby."
"Hey Freddy, why don't you go into the bathroom and do that?" I tried to say this calmly and without letting on that I was disgusted.
"Hey Stokie get the hell out of here!"
"No, really man. This is not the appropriate place to do that. If you need to masturbate, go into the bathroom and do it in private." This is a recurring conversation with Freddy.
"I don't do that anymore and you know it."
"You're doing it right now!"
"I am not. I just had an itch is all. Besides, when I do it in the bathroom I can't go all the way."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. It just doesn't work right."
"Have you tried using lotion?"
"Yes. Well, not really. Okay, how?"
"You just put some on your hand and use that same hand to masturbate." We went to the hygiene closet, I gave him a bottle of lotion and ushered him to the bathroom. "Just give it a chance, Freddy, you'll see."
A couple of minutes passed and I figured Freddy was doing what millions of teenage boys were doing all around the world. In a weird way, I was glad that I could teach him something useful, something that may keep him from harming another human being in the long run. Perhaps, in this small way, I was helping Freddy to adjust, which would benefit the community, improve humanity.
Freddy burst out of the bathroom with a flourish. Shirt off, boner pitching a tent under his boxer shorts, he ran to the center of the living room, proud as a peacock. He held his lotion-covered hand high in the air. "Hey Stokie! Is this enough lotion?"
Up came the pitiful, yet predictable call of the wild.
"WHOA GUY!!"
"Inappropriate!"
"Whoa! I'm not like that!"
"WHOA!!"
Jackson left the agency about 2 months after that. Under increasing scrutiny from his co-workers, he said that he felt "hassled" and didn't need to put up with our "Gestapo-like intrusions". The thing that bothers me is that he is now the head teacher at another special education school.
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