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."
Showing posts with label Brian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brian. Show all posts
Thursday, November 5, 2015
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?
Masters, Part I
I pulled into the parking lot at 6am ready to start my shift as usual. It was Tuesday morning, so that means we'll have staff meeting after we've gotten the boys up and off to school. So my mind set was on getting the boys up in a positive frame of mind so that we don't have any up at the house to distract us during the meeting, and also on doing a quick cleaning job so that whatever admin staff comes up to join us, as well as any random social workers or lawyers won't think we're running an institutional pig sty.
I also like Tuesday mornings because I work with my buddy Mel, the next most senior staff member on the team. Mel has been around for about 3 years and is fun and easy to work with. Although I'd been here now for 11 years, it's still refreshing to start a shift with someone who has more than a few months' experience. He sets clear limits but also is able to enjoy himself around the kids and has a great sense of humor. So I was thinking that this would be a nice, easy morning.
Then I saw our house supervisor, Yolanda's car in front of the house. Damn! She's not supposed to be in until 8. The only reason she'd be here is because something is wrong. Maybe a kid needs to be hospitalized. Maybe Mel called in sick.
I walked in the house and was greeted by both Yolanda and Mel.
"What happened this time?" I asked.
"I just wanted to talk to you and Mel before the shift got started," said Yolanda. "It's important."
Aww, man. What did I do this time? I wondered. As we walked into her office, I quickly ran down any events of the last week that she might want to confront us about. Was it about sticking a push pin into the Quiet Room lock so that it sticks in the locked position? I really needed to walk out into the kitchen and eat my dinner while Brian was blowing out because he didn't like his mom's new girlfriend. Was it about giving fat-ass Rusty a plate of grapes for dinner while everyone else ate lasagna? Is it because I told Freddy, the sexual predator that his therapist, Sam was a "fucking moron" for letting Freddy bring up Macy's underwear ads to the house so that Freddy might "relieve all the pressure?" Whatever it was, I was in no mood to come up with creative explanations before I've had my coffee.
We all took a seat in Yolanda's office.
"I just wanted to talk to you guys before the day got going because you two are my most experienced staff and I need your help. You worked with that new Japanese chick yesterday, right? The one who did her observation, Myako? What did you think about her?"
I said, "Yeah, she was pretty meek. She's obviously one of those career students who thinks this experience will look good on her resume while she goes after her Master's. Completely misplaced. Maybe she'd do well with really young kids, but not here. Just the language barrier alone is enough to keep her from understanding what's going on here."
Mel piped in, "Oh, fo' sho'. On top of that, didn't nobody could understand what the fuck she be sayin'."
"That's what I thought too," said Yolanda. "But now we got Pete Post's stupid ass advocating for her to work here. He says we get some kind of state credit for having someone with a Master's degree working here and he won't listen to me when I tell him she's gonna wind up getting hurt, or getting someone else hurt. Plus, I'm not gonna go outta my way to change everything for her cuz she got some kind of 'chemical sensitivity.' Bitch has some kind of allergic reaction to chemicals and I ain't gonna change the way we clean the house just because of her. We gonna just have to change back soon as she quits anyways. I'm sick and tired of Pete Post trying to override everything cuz he got some kinda crush on some Asian bitch."
I was perplexed. "But...I thought he was doing Janette Stankin."
"He still is. But you know how you white boys are about Asian chicks."
"Right you are, Yolanda. I almost went against my own race."
Yolanda said, "Anyway, Pete Post fuckin went and hired her on the spot yesterday after her observation. She comes in this morning at 6:30"
Mel was incredulous. "The fuck? What? Hired her for our house? Aww, hell no!"
I just shook my head. "Dude..."
"That's why I want to talk to you two," said Yolanda. "I'm not saying to do nothing abusive, but you know it's not easy for new people to fit right in. I want her to know that she's new, this is a hard job, and she's not gonna fit right in, if ever. Know what I'm saying?"
Mel and I looked at each other. We looked at Yolanda. We understood.
Yolanda got up to leave. "Now I'm not saying for you to be abusive..." She left the room.
"Damn!" said Mel. I didn't never think I'd see Yolanda that upset. Guess I better start cleaning the house."
I nodded. "You know Pete Post doesn't know shit about support. I think once you get promoted to Admin, they stick a 'Fuck Your Staff' chip in your neck and let you run wild. I better get up Brian so he can work off some of those work detail consequences he earned last night."
I also like Tuesday mornings because I work with my buddy Mel, the next most senior staff member on the team. Mel has been around for about 3 years and is fun and easy to work with. Although I'd been here now for 11 years, it's still refreshing to start a shift with someone who has more than a few months' experience. He sets clear limits but also is able to enjoy himself around the kids and has a great sense of humor. So I was thinking that this would be a nice, easy morning.
Then I saw our house supervisor, Yolanda's car in front of the house. Damn! She's not supposed to be in until 8. The only reason she'd be here is because something is wrong. Maybe a kid needs to be hospitalized. Maybe Mel called in sick.
I walked in the house and was greeted by both Yolanda and Mel.
"What happened this time?" I asked.
"I just wanted to talk to you and Mel before the shift got started," said Yolanda. "It's important."
Aww, man. What did I do this time? I wondered. As we walked into her office, I quickly ran down any events of the last week that she might want to confront us about. Was it about sticking a push pin into the Quiet Room lock so that it sticks in the locked position? I really needed to walk out into the kitchen and eat my dinner while Brian was blowing out because he didn't like his mom's new girlfriend. Was it about giving fat-ass Rusty a plate of grapes for dinner while everyone else ate lasagna? Is it because I told Freddy, the sexual predator that his therapist, Sam was a "fucking moron" for letting Freddy bring up Macy's underwear ads to the house so that Freddy might "relieve all the pressure?" Whatever it was, I was in no mood to come up with creative explanations before I've had my coffee.
We all took a seat in Yolanda's office.
"I just wanted to talk to you guys before the day got going because you two are my most experienced staff and I need your help. You worked with that new Japanese chick yesterday, right? The one who did her observation, Myako? What did you think about her?"
I said, "Yeah, she was pretty meek. She's obviously one of those career students who thinks this experience will look good on her resume while she goes after her Master's. Completely misplaced. Maybe she'd do well with really young kids, but not here. Just the language barrier alone is enough to keep her from understanding what's going on here."
Mel piped in, "Oh, fo' sho'. On top of that, didn't nobody could understand what the fuck she be sayin'."
"That's what I thought too," said Yolanda. "But now we got Pete Post's stupid ass advocating for her to work here. He says we get some kind of state credit for having someone with a Master's degree working here and he won't listen to me when I tell him she's gonna wind up getting hurt, or getting someone else hurt. Plus, I'm not gonna go outta my way to change everything for her cuz she got some kind of 'chemical sensitivity.' Bitch has some kind of allergic reaction to chemicals and I ain't gonna change the way we clean the house just because of her. We gonna just have to change back soon as she quits anyways. I'm sick and tired of Pete Post trying to override everything cuz he got some kinda crush on some Asian bitch."
I was perplexed. "But...I thought he was doing Janette Stankin."
"He still is. But you know how you white boys are about Asian chicks."
"Right you are, Yolanda. I almost went against my own race."
Yolanda said, "Anyway, Pete Post fuckin went and hired her on the spot yesterday after her observation. She comes in this morning at 6:30"
Mel was incredulous. "The fuck? What? Hired her for our house? Aww, hell no!"
I just shook my head. "Dude..."
"That's why I want to talk to you two," said Yolanda. "I'm not saying to do nothing abusive, but you know it's not easy for new people to fit right in. I want her to know that she's new, this is a hard job, and she's not gonna fit right in, if ever. Know what I'm saying?"
Mel and I looked at each other. We looked at Yolanda. We understood.
Yolanda got up to leave. "Now I'm not saying for you to be abusive..." She left the room.
"Damn!" said Mel. I didn't never think I'd see Yolanda that upset. Guess I better start cleaning the house."
I nodded. "You know Pete Post doesn't know shit about support. I think once you get promoted to Admin, they stick a 'Fuck Your Staff' chip in your neck and let you run wild. I better get up Brian so he can work off some of those work detail consequences he earned last night."
Guru Lets Me In on a Joke
I pride myself on being able to get along with many different types of people, but I have to say getting along with Guru has been challenging from the very beginning. He has this very strange, "salt of the Earth" aura about him. He seems angry when he's not. He always wears sunglasses, even indoors. He yells, or slams down his hand on a table to begin a statement, then whispers the rest. The kids are both afraid of him and attracted to his mystical weirdness.
Guru taught me the expression "tip the house." If, say 4 or 5 kids are having tantrums at the same time, Guru would shout out, "Tip the house!" We would then know to bring all those kids into the Quiet Room together, as if we were tilting the house to one corner and the kids were marbles rolling into the Quiet Room, They would then receive the Guru treatment, which is about 2 hours of a silent Guru just staring as the kids would go through stages of yelling, fighting, and begging to come out and finally asking Guru if there was any way they could make up for their behavior as long as they could come out and relieve their overwhelming boredom.
Once, Guru was sitting with a few kids in the Quiet Room and I went to check in on him. I opened the door and found all the kids screaming and cussing at a seemingly oblivious Guru. Guru was wearing his "denim armor:" jean pants, denim longsleeve shirt, denim jacket, heavy black boots and a beanie cap.
I said, "Guru aren't you a little warm in here? Do you want to take a break?"
He exploded, "I LIKE IT HOT!" and then whispered, "No breaks. The only way to know what you're dealing with is when the kids are hot. It's the most productive part of the day. NO BREAKS!" and he just stared at me, or through me, from behind his sunglasses.
At the time I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but now, years of experience later, I do. For the most part, the kids repeat abusive behaviors that have been perpetrated on them, so when they have tantrums, or act out, it is usually a reflection of their previous abuse. When kids are "hot," the experienced counselor may realize that the kid is telling a story, in a strange way, of his life. He is letting you see the core of his turmoil.
It was a particularly "hot" time for a lot of boys across campus, so there was a lot of extra staff on hand to help out with the many outbreaks and eruptions of anger and violence. There were even a few administrators making the rounds, checking in and helping out. On this particular afternoon, Pete Post had dropped in and, since we had become "buddies" at the job fair, had decided to hang around with me as I prepared the boys a snack of chocolate pudding. Most of the boys were standing around the kitchen counter waiting as Pete Post was casually conversing with me.
"I think, to a large extent, that these fellows would respond in a much more healthy way during crises if their caretakers would display care and respect to them. Specifically, why do we put hands on, restrain and hold the kids down in order to teach them that fighting is wrong? Aren't we just perpetuating a cycle? These boys aren't unintelligent and if approached with intelligent and caring adults, they will respond in kind."
I said, "Okay Pete, but how long will the learning period be before the kids realize you are showing respect? Because that's the length of time that staff is going to be risking injury." I grabbed a banana. "Here, hand this to Richard."
Pete handed the banana to Richard. Richard was incredulous. "Why I gotta eat this? Gimme some pudding."
I said to Richard, "You know you have a week of snack restriction for stealing that box of Klondike bars and hiding them in your laundry basket."
Richard yelled at me, "I told you I didn't do that. My roommate set me up!"
"Next time you steal ice cream, eat it before it melts. That way next time staff does your laundry, we can't catch you with melted ice cream all over your clothes."
Richard exploded, "All y'all staff be lying bitches. I'monna hoo-ride this banana upside yo head, mutha-fucka!"
He was approaching Pete, banana held high. The rest of the boys quickly grabbed their puddings and got out of the way.
Pete said to Richard, "I think even you could agree that I cannot be the target of your ire."
Richard was about to hit Pete with the banana when, with a swiftness not seen in such big men, Guru appeared behind Richard and grabbed him by the arms.
"Not on my shift, not today." He looked at Pete. "Supervisor's office."
Pete followed Guru and Richard, who was flailing and trying to kick Guru, into the supervisor's office and shut the door.
One of the boys, Brian, said to me, "Stokie, have you ever been assaulted by a banana?"
Freddie, the sexual predator yelled from his permanent station, the living room table, "Whoa guy!"
Brian mumbled under his breath, "You fuckin' faggot, I didn't mean it like that."
I heard the door of the supervisor's office open up. It was Guru. He clapped his hands once, with surprising volume. "MR. JAYE!" He then spoke very softly, "I need some help with a problem. Can you assist me in here?"
I thought that they needed more help in restraining Richard, after all he was a pretty big kid. I ran over to Guru. "Let's go," I said as I opened the door and walked in.
I saw Pete Post and Richard both sitting on the couch. Pete sat with his legs folded with a smug, half-grin on his face. Richard was livid, red with anger. He had squashed the banana in his hands and had banana bits all over his hands and arms. He was yelling at Pete Post, "I'monna fuck you up bitch!" He hawked a loogie and spat in Pete's face.
I stepped forward in anticipation of Guru and I taking Richard and placing him in a prone restraint on the floor.
Just as soon as I moved, I heard Guru from behind me, "UH-UH. Come here."
He was in his familiar squat position. I was confused as to why Guru seemed uninterested in Richard's violence toward Pete. I though he liked it hot. I stepped over to him and turned to look at Richard and Pete Post.
Pete said to Richard, "You see Richard, I realize that you aren't really angry at me, are you?"
Richard scooped some banana bits from his arm and flung it into Pete's hair.
"I respect the fact that you are angry, however, spitting and throwing fruit at me will not address the issue."
Richard hawked another loogie and spat at Pete. It landed on Pete's purple, knit 80's tie.
"What I'm hearing you say is that you don't want a banana for snack." Richard spat at Pete, hitting him in the face.
"I hear your anger, Richard, and I respect it."
Hawk, ptew. Another face shot.
"This is no way to engage an adult, Richard. Now spit and banana can wash off easily. What's more important is that you know I care about you."
I said quietly, "What the fuck...?" I looked down at Guru who stared blankly at the proceedings. I looked at Pete Post who was being covered in spit and banana bits. I slowly squatted down with Guru. I whispered, "Looks like our hands-off approach still has a few bugs to be worked out."
Guru said, "You've already spent too much time off the floor. You got important things to do. Please inform our teammates that Pete Post is leading a seminar on the hands-off approach in here. I'm sure they would appreciate the education if you would ask them to rotate in here."
"It would be less than supportive of me to block our teammates from a teachable moment. I'll let them know right now."
It was a rare moment when I was able to appreciate Guru's subtle display of charm.
Guru taught me the expression "tip the house." If, say 4 or 5 kids are having tantrums at the same time, Guru would shout out, "Tip the house!" We would then know to bring all those kids into the Quiet Room together, as if we were tilting the house to one corner and the kids were marbles rolling into the Quiet Room, They would then receive the Guru treatment, which is about 2 hours of a silent Guru just staring as the kids would go through stages of yelling, fighting, and begging to come out and finally asking Guru if there was any way they could make up for their behavior as long as they could come out and relieve their overwhelming boredom.
Once, Guru was sitting with a few kids in the Quiet Room and I went to check in on him. I opened the door and found all the kids screaming and cussing at a seemingly oblivious Guru. Guru was wearing his "denim armor:" jean pants, denim longsleeve shirt, denim jacket, heavy black boots and a beanie cap.
I said, "Guru aren't you a little warm in here? Do you want to take a break?"
He exploded, "I LIKE IT HOT!" and then whispered, "No breaks. The only way to know what you're dealing with is when the kids are hot. It's the most productive part of the day. NO BREAKS!" and he just stared at me, or through me, from behind his sunglasses.
At the time I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but now, years of experience later, I do. For the most part, the kids repeat abusive behaviors that have been perpetrated on them, so when they have tantrums, or act out, it is usually a reflection of their previous abuse. When kids are "hot," the experienced counselor may realize that the kid is telling a story, in a strange way, of his life. He is letting you see the core of his turmoil.
It was a particularly "hot" time for a lot of boys across campus, so there was a lot of extra staff on hand to help out with the many outbreaks and eruptions of anger and violence. There were even a few administrators making the rounds, checking in and helping out. On this particular afternoon, Pete Post had dropped in and, since we had become "buddies" at the job fair, had decided to hang around with me as I prepared the boys a snack of chocolate pudding. Most of the boys were standing around the kitchen counter waiting as Pete Post was casually conversing with me.
"I think, to a large extent, that these fellows would respond in a much more healthy way during crises if their caretakers would display care and respect to them. Specifically, why do we put hands on, restrain and hold the kids down in order to teach them that fighting is wrong? Aren't we just perpetuating a cycle? These boys aren't unintelligent and if approached with intelligent and caring adults, they will respond in kind."
I said, "Okay Pete, but how long will the learning period be before the kids realize you are showing respect? Because that's the length of time that staff is going to be risking injury." I grabbed a banana. "Here, hand this to Richard."
Pete handed the banana to Richard. Richard was incredulous. "Why I gotta eat this? Gimme some pudding."
I said to Richard, "You know you have a week of snack restriction for stealing that box of Klondike bars and hiding them in your laundry basket."
Richard yelled at me, "I told you I didn't do that. My roommate set me up!"
"Next time you steal ice cream, eat it before it melts. That way next time staff does your laundry, we can't catch you with melted ice cream all over your clothes."
Richard exploded, "All y'all staff be lying bitches. I'monna hoo-ride this banana upside yo head, mutha-fucka!"
He was approaching Pete, banana held high. The rest of the boys quickly grabbed their puddings and got out of the way.
Pete said to Richard, "I think even you could agree that I cannot be the target of your ire."
Richard was about to hit Pete with the banana when, with a swiftness not seen in such big men, Guru appeared behind Richard and grabbed him by the arms.
"Not on my shift, not today." He looked at Pete. "Supervisor's office."
Pete followed Guru and Richard, who was flailing and trying to kick Guru, into the supervisor's office and shut the door.
One of the boys, Brian, said to me, "Stokie, have you ever been assaulted by a banana?"
Freddie, the sexual predator yelled from his permanent station, the living room table, "Whoa guy!"
Brian mumbled under his breath, "You fuckin' faggot, I didn't mean it like that."
I heard the door of the supervisor's office open up. It was Guru. He clapped his hands once, with surprising volume. "MR. JAYE!" He then spoke very softly, "I need some help with a problem. Can you assist me in here?"
I thought that they needed more help in restraining Richard, after all he was a pretty big kid. I ran over to Guru. "Let's go," I said as I opened the door and walked in.
I saw Pete Post and Richard both sitting on the couch. Pete sat with his legs folded with a smug, half-grin on his face. Richard was livid, red with anger. He had squashed the banana in his hands and had banana bits all over his hands and arms. He was yelling at Pete Post, "I'monna fuck you up bitch!" He hawked a loogie and spat in Pete's face.
I stepped forward in anticipation of Guru and I taking Richard and placing him in a prone restraint on the floor.
Just as soon as I moved, I heard Guru from behind me, "UH-UH. Come here."
He was in his familiar squat position. I was confused as to why Guru seemed uninterested in Richard's violence toward Pete. I though he liked it hot. I stepped over to him and turned to look at Richard and Pete Post.
Pete said to Richard, "You see Richard, I realize that you aren't really angry at me, are you?"
Richard scooped some banana bits from his arm and flung it into Pete's hair.
"I respect the fact that you are angry, however, spitting and throwing fruit at me will not address the issue."
Richard hawked another loogie and spat at Pete. It landed on Pete's purple, knit 80's tie.
"What I'm hearing you say is that you don't want a banana for snack." Richard spat at Pete, hitting him in the face.
"I hear your anger, Richard, and I respect it."
Hawk, ptew. Another face shot.
"This is no way to engage an adult, Richard. Now spit and banana can wash off easily. What's more important is that you know I care about you."
I said quietly, "What the fuck...?" I looked down at Guru who stared blankly at the proceedings. I looked at Pete Post who was being covered in spit and banana bits. I slowly squatted down with Guru. I whispered, "Looks like our hands-off approach still has a few bugs to be worked out."
Guru said, "You've already spent too much time off the floor. You got important things to do. Please inform our teammates that Pete Post is leading a seminar on the hands-off approach in here. I'm sure they would appreciate the education if you would ask them to rotate in here."
"It would be less than supportive of me to block our teammates from a teachable moment. I'll let them know right now."
It was a rare moment when I was able to appreciate Guru's subtle display of charm.
Entry 29: Brian, The Struggling Thespian
Every once in a while, we are presented with unique opportunity to help a child develop some advanced skills outside of the agency, in the community. These events have to be highly structured and supervised, of course, but if a kid has really made a significant amount of progress, it is possible that we can sign him up for some community classes sponsored by the city, such as ceramics or drama classes.
One such opportunity presented itself in the person of Brian, my Special Kid who struggles with sexual identity. He had been with us almost 3 years and we were beginning to plan for his transfer to a lower level of care. He and I had made a lot of progress coming to terms with the fact that his hypochondriac, gay, fat mom who allowed her lovers to beat Brian just might not ever be available to him to just be a mom.
One hint was that she had converted Brian's old room into a shrine for All Things Rainbow. Any painting, flag, window art, kite or piece of shit doo-dad that had a rainbow on it was crammed into the small room leaving no room for other things like, say, Brian's bed. Brian's dad was unavailable for the foreseeable future due to a previous commitment in a facility for the criminally insane. So, foster care seemed to be a good option for Brian, and he was accepting and moving in that direction.
For the entire time that he has been staying with us, Brian has had a penchant to add a little extra drama to whatever he did. His blowouts were peppered with rants such as
"What I need from you is a goddamn positive male role-model, not a fat, drunk idiot!"
or
"Who the hell do you think you are, my dad? I had a dad and look where he left me. With you!"
He returned from an outing to an amusement park one evening, and declared in a tortured yet resolved whisper, "I guess it's just my fate in life to be hurt. I asked a girl for her number and after she gave it to me, she pinched my ass. Once again, staff left me alone to be sexually abused."
When rewarded with public acknowledgement or praise, he would bite his knuckle and force a tiny tear out of his eye. So, as his Special Counselor, it was not rocket science to assume that he could benefit from and enjoy some community acting classes.
It was summer, I had gotten him all signed up and we were driving the van to the community theatre where the classes were being held. Brian was nervous and chatty, doing his best impersonation of a straight, normal 13-year-old. He was wearing a brand new outfit we had purchased from Ross Dress for Less, a 2 sizes too big button down baseball jersey and some huge black jeans, and the ubiquitous-in-the-group-home, daily polished, sometimes black-marketed high topped basketball shoes with the one name: Jordans. In other words, he was wearing the outfit that screamed out, "Hey everybody! I'm from the group home!"
He actually did quite well in the class. Sure he was nervous and overly-hyper, but he was enjoying himself, oblivious to the stares and smirks he was getting from his peers. The instructor had the kids go through all kinds of activities, miming, theatre games, improvisation. At one point, the group was acting out a scene where Brian ultimately got shot and he flung himself to the stage floor with a flourish. When it was all over, he and I were walking back to the van.
"Uh, Stokie, can I talk to you about something important?"
"Of course, that's what I'm here for."
"Well, remember that scene when I got shot? Well look."
He lifted up his loose fitting jersey and just below his navel, where his pants should have been but weren't because they were sagging far below his Pokemon boxers was a huge piece of wood about six inches long and an inch wide, sticking out from his belly. He said, "I think I got a splinter."
"Jesus Christ, Brian, that's not a splinter, that's a goddamn spike. What the hell happened?"
"When I dove on the stage, a big piece of wood cracked off and stuck in me. You know," he said with a quiver, "It's really starting to hurt."
"Why didn't you say something, Brian? That happened about a half an hour ago."
"I was embarrassed someone would laugh at me. I didn't want to make everyone stop just because I got a piece of wood got stuck in my stomach."
The whole time we were talking, all I was thinking was that I should distract him momentarily and yank the wood out when he wasn't expecting it.
I said, "So, tell me about that scene again," and at the same time grabbed the wood and gave it a stiff tug. I pulled the stick and Brian's pudgy tummy bent out but did not release the stick. Brian screamed in pain.
"You motherfucker! What's wrong with you? Can't you see I need professional medical attention?"
I felt terrible and sick to my stomach. However, I thought that it would be a favor to both of us if we didn't have to sit around in the emergency room all day so I motioned toward him with a determined look in my eye. He yelled, "Oh hell no!" and ran.
I grabbed him from behind, spun him around. I blocked his hands with one arm and with the other, grabbed the stick again and yanked, much harder than before. Brian screamed and fell to the ground. The stick didn't budge. I said,
"You know, I think you have a point about the medical attention," and drove to the hospital.
In the emergency room, the nurses numbed up the area (lots of shrieking and knuckle-biting on Brian's part) and pulled out the stick. Brian calmed down and I was standing at the nurses' station gathering up some paperwork. One of the nurses pulled me aside and said,
"You know, if anything like that happens again, you might just consider distracting him and then yanking it out yourself. Might save you a trip to the hospital."
I nodded in mock interest. "Oh, yeah. I wish I would have thought of that."
One such opportunity presented itself in the person of Brian, my Special Kid who struggles with sexual identity. He had been with us almost 3 years and we were beginning to plan for his transfer to a lower level of care. He and I had made a lot of progress coming to terms with the fact that his hypochondriac, gay, fat mom who allowed her lovers to beat Brian just might not ever be available to him to just be a mom.
One hint was that she had converted Brian's old room into a shrine for All Things Rainbow. Any painting, flag, window art, kite or piece of shit doo-dad that had a rainbow on it was crammed into the small room leaving no room for other things like, say, Brian's bed. Brian's dad was unavailable for the foreseeable future due to a previous commitment in a facility for the criminally insane. So, foster care seemed to be a good option for Brian, and he was accepting and moving in that direction.
For the entire time that he has been staying with us, Brian has had a penchant to add a little extra drama to whatever he did. His blowouts were peppered with rants such as
"What I need from you is a goddamn positive male role-model, not a fat, drunk idiot!"
or
"Who the hell do you think you are, my dad? I had a dad and look where he left me. With you!"
He returned from an outing to an amusement park one evening, and declared in a tortured yet resolved whisper, "I guess it's just my fate in life to be hurt. I asked a girl for her number and after she gave it to me, she pinched my ass. Once again, staff left me alone to be sexually abused."
When rewarded with public acknowledgement or praise, he would bite his knuckle and force a tiny tear out of his eye. So, as his Special Counselor, it was not rocket science to assume that he could benefit from and enjoy some community acting classes.
It was summer, I had gotten him all signed up and we were driving the van to the community theatre where the classes were being held. Brian was nervous and chatty, doing his best impersonation of a straight, normal 13-year-old. He was wearing a brand new outfit we had purchased from Ross Dress for Less, a 2 sizes too big button down baseball jersey and some huge black jeans, and the ubiquitous-in-the-group-home, daily polished, sometimes black-marketed high topped basketball shoes with the one name: Jordans. In other words, he was wearing the outfit that screamed out, "Hey everybody! I'm from the group home!"
He actually did quite well in the class. Sure he was nervous and overly-hyper, but he was enjoying himself, oblivious to the stares and smirks he was getting from his peers. The instructor had the kids go through all kinds of activities, miming, theatre games, improvisation. At one point, the group was acting out a scene where Brian ultimately got shot and he flung himself to the stage floor with a flourish. When it was all over, he and I were walking back to the van.
"Uh, Stokie, can I talk to you about something important?"
"Of course, that's what I'm here for."
"Well, remember that scene when I got shot? Well look."
He lifted up his loose fitting jersey and just below his navel, where his pants should have been but weren't because they were sagging far below his Pokemon boxers was a huge piece of wood about six inches long and an inch wide, sticking out from his belly. He said, "I think I got a splinter."
"Jesus Christ, Brian, that's not a splinter, that's a goddamn spike. What the hell happened?"
"When I dove on the stage, a big piece of wood cracked off and stuck in me. You know," he said with a quiver, "It's really starting to hurt."
"Why didn't you say something, Brian? That happened about a half an hour ago."
"I was embarrassed someone would laugh at me. I didn't want to make everyone stop just because I got a piece of wood got stuck in my stomach."
The whole time we were talking, all I was thinking was that I should distract him momentarily and yank the wood out when he wasn't expecting it.
I said, "So, tell me about that scene again," and at the same time grabbed the wood and gave it a stiff tug. I pulled the stick and Brian's pudgy tummy bent out but did not release the stick. Brian screamed in pain.
"You motherfucker! What's wrong with you? Can't you see I need professional medical attention?"
I felt terrible and sick to my stomach. However, I thought that it would be a favor to both of us if we didn't have to sit around in the emergency room all day so I motioned toward him with a determined look in my eye. He yelled, "Oh hell no!" and ran.
I grabbed him from behind, spun him around. I blocked his hands with one arm and with the other, grabbed the stick again and yanked, much harder than before. Brian screamed and fell to the ground. The stick didn't budge. I said,
"You know, I think you have a point about the medical attention," and drove to the hospital.
In the emergency room, the nurses numbed up the area (lots of shrieking and knuckle-biting on Brian's part) and pulled out the stick. Brian calmed down and I was standing at the nurses' station gathering up some paperwork. One of the nurses pulled me aside and said,
"You know, if anything like that happens again, you might just consider distracting him and then yanking it out yourself. Might save you a trip to the hospital."
I nodded in mock interest. "Oh, yeah. I wish I would have thought of that."
Entry 27: Brian's Future Plans
Each counselor is assigned one or two Special Kids with whom we work closely, create target goals, go take Special Time off campus and in general act as their advocates. This Special relationship has many benefits, one of which is the kids sometimes tell you things they've never told anyone else.
My Special kid at the moment, Brian (13) has been with us almost 3 years and is getting ready to graduate from the program and live with relatives other than his adoptive, fat, abusive gay mom. Brian also struggles with his own sexuality, which means that his homosexuality is obvious to everyone except him. One quiet day, during Special Time, we enjoyed this gem of a conversation:
Him: Do you ever wonder what it'll be like after I graduate?
Me: You mean like, will you ever come to terms with your true self?
Him: You're always kidding around.
Me: Not always.
Him: I mean like, would you ever want to visit me just to see how I'm doing or just to hang out for a while?
Me: Oh yeah, of course I would. I'm planning on doing that anyway, and I'm glad you're thinking about it too.
Him: Well, I've been thinking about it a lot, and I'm just wondering what you would tell everyone after you got back. I mean, I know you can't keep a secret with the staff, but would you have to tell all the kids too?
Me: I'm starting to feel uncomfortable with this conversation. I don't like talking about keeping secrets. Why can't you just ever say what's on your mind? And no, I'm not keeping any secrets.
Him: Okay. Here goes. Picture yourself coming to visit me and you're kind of dressed up but not really dressy, just kind of better than you usually dress at work. Just looking really nice. And you knocked on the door and you knew you had the right address so you knew I had to live there. Then somebody opened the door but it wasn't me. It was a really pretty lady with long flowing hair and a really pretty dress with flowers, the kind you can almost see through but not quite. And you said, "Oh excuse me, Miss, I thought Brian lived here." And the lady said, "I am Brian. But they call me Brianna now."
Me: This disturbs me on so many levels I don't even know where to begin.
Him: Sometimes I just think I'm more like a girl than a boy. And just tell me the truth. Somebody told me that there was a way to turn boys into girls and girls into boys. Is that true? Have you ever done that for any of your old Special kids?
Me: I don't think the county would appreciate my helping you in that way.
Him: Well I heard there was a way.
Me: Have you told your therapist any of this stuff?
Him: Why would I tell him? That's my private business. We just play board games.
Me: Anyway, what else do you think you'd like to do when I visit, hang out at the mall?
Him: Well I don't know. Do they have that kind of dress at Macy's?
My Special kid at the moment, Brian (13) has been with us almost 3 years and is getting ready to graduate from the program and live with relatives other than his adoptive, fat, abusive gay mom. Brian also struggles with his own sexuality, which means that his homosexuality is obvious to everyone except him. One quiet day, during Special Time, we enjoyed this gem of a conversation:
Him: Do you ever wonder what it'll be like after I graduate?
Me: You mean like, will you ever come to terms with your true self?
Him: You're always kidding around.
Me: Not always.
Him: I mean like, would you ever want to visit me just to see how I'm doing or just to hang out for a while?
Me: Oh yeah, of course I would. I'm planning on doing that anyway, and I'm glad you're thinking about it too.
Him: Well, I've been thinking about it a lot, and I'm just wondering what you would tell everyone after you got back. I mean, I know you can't keep a secret with the staff, but would you have to tell all the kids too?
Me: I'm starting to feel uncomfortable with this conversation. I don't like talking about keeping secrets. Why can't you just ever say what's on your mind? And no, I'm not keeping any secrets.
Him: Okay. Here goes. Picture yourself coming to visit me and you're kind of dressed up but not really dressy, just kind of better than you usually dress at work. Just looking really nice. And you knocked on the door and you knew you had the right address so you knew I had to live there. Then somebody opened the door but it wasn't me. It was a really pretty lady with long flowing hair and a really pretty dress with flowers, the kind you can almost see through but not quite. And you said, "Oh excuse me, Miss, I thought Brian lived here." And the lady said, "I am Brian. But they call me Brianna now."
Me: This disturbs me on so many levels I don't even know where to begin.
Him: Sometimes I just think I'm more like a girl than a boy. And just tell me the truth. Somebody told me that there was a way to turn boys into girls and girls into boys. Is that true? Have you ever done that for any of your old Special kids?
Me: I don't think the county would appreciate my helping you in that way.
Him: Well I heard there was a way.
Me: Have you told your therapist any of this stuff?
Him: Why would I tell him? That's my private business. We just play board games.
Me: Anyway, what else do you think you'd like to do when I visit, hang out at the mall?
Him: Well I don't know. Do they have that kind of dress at Macy's?
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