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?

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."

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.

Entry 37: The Beginning of the End, part 1

As you are by now well aware, all of us group home counselors are completely professional, always focused on the well-being of the kids. Ok, so maybe that is a slight exaggeration.

The truth is, like in any profession, the mind begins to wander sometimes. During the times we are with the kids, there is usually too much going on to lose focus. However, our weekly staff meetings can be some of the more mundane activities we face, so it is no wonder we need to find distractions to keep ourselves occupied.

At the moment, our staff is equally balanced between males and females - six of each. One of the inside jokes we males like to mention to each other is that it's very important to balance out the staff between guys and girls because not only can we exhibit proper family role models for the children, but it also gives us something interesting to look at as the shift wears on. And believe me, in an atmosphere where at any time you run the risk of getting assaulted, peed on, cussed at and spit on, just about anything that meets the minimum requirement of being the opposite sex qualifies as being interesting to look at.

Every Tuesday is staff meeting day. While the kids are at school, every staff who works on every shift comes in for 4 hours to discuss important issues, work on treatment plans, listen to social workers present new clients and examine our own effectiveness on the floor. ("On the floor" means working out in the open with the kids. The House Supervisor might use it like this: "Staff, please try not to cuss when you're out on the floor," or, if you're like Toby, you might say it while unlocking the door to the staff office, "Staff, I'm going to be off the floor for a few minutes," which means you're about to go take a dump.) Staff meetings are held at the large kitchen table around which we are all seated.

Just before one of the staff meetings, I was talking to Mel, one of my favorite teammates, in the staff office. Mel was closing his eyes and shaking his head, "Dawg, I'm not saying I'm gonna try to set the kids off so they blow out, but damn, dude, have you ever proned some kid with Trixie? (Trixie is a hot red-head) Blood, when that hottie bends over, just take a look back. Her pants sag down and her thong and all her shit is hangin' out for the whole world to see. Me and her proned Freddie's stupid ass this morning and I'm telling you...damn!" Mel didn't need to remind me, it's not like I never noticed this job's little rewards. Mel went on, "Dude, everybody's sitting down. Call me in two minutes."

"Mel, you're a fucking pervert, plus you're making me late." Actually I didn't mind.

Mel cringed and laughed as he walked out of the staff office and off to the staff meeting. After two minutes, I used the staff office phone to call the phone line in the kitchen. When it rang, I heard Mel jump up, "I'll get it!" I hung up just as Mel answered, "Hulla? Oh, let me check." He walked in to meet me in the staff office.

"Oh, man, blood, you gotta go out there to staff meeting!"

"Yeah, well that's the general idea, Mel," I laughed.

"Dawg, it's not just Trixie's thong, that crazy-ass bitch Leslie got one too, only leopard stripe, plus Katrina's wearing her lace red one."

"Mel, you're fucking crazy but I love you. We better go out."

As we walked out to take our places, I walked behind the women he was talking about and noticed that everything he described was true. Sad, but true. Life's little pleasures are amplified in this kind of environment.

Mel mentioned "Crazy-ass Leslie." She came aboard at Trixie's recommendation, but Trixie soon renounced her allegiance to Leslie. Trixie said she thought Leslie was cool at first, but she soon found out, as we all did that Leslie is a little unbalanced. Trixie told me that she started getting worried when they went out one night, went bar hopping and Leslie wound up dropping her pants and taking a piss out in the middle of a busy intersection. Later, Trixie would find Leslie in her house, uninvited, when she would come home from work. Now that Trixie has told Leslie that she's not allowed in her house uninvited, Leslie has taken up driving by the group home, slowing down and giving Trixie the evil eye, and driving off. And this is on Leslie's days off!

I had noticed that something was amiss with her when I pulled into work one afternoon and she burst out of the house yelling, "Stokie! My favorite person! I love you!" She ran up to me sat on my foot and hugged my leg. This woman was actually humping my leg. I thought for a second that it was nice that she had a crush on me and I felt a bit of an ego stroke. After all, she is kinda cute. But that thought was overcome by my next thought that this person thinks it's ok to greet someone by humping his leg, and not just that, but in public. "Oh Stokie, thank you so much for being you!"

"Leslie, you need to get the fuck off my leg. This isn't how normal people act. Get the fuck off."

"But you're my favorite person..." I shook her off my leg and she lay there in the street. "God, Stokie, you don't have to be like that..."

I walked into the house. Scott, a big, good looking baseball player was at the stove cooking what he liked to call "Sloppy Scotts," his version of Sloppy Joes.

I said, "Scott, I think that Leslie's fuckin crazy, man. Or she has a crush on me or something."

Scott put down his spatula and looked at me. "Aw, man! Don't tell me she humped your leg, too! I never had someone do that to me til now!"

It is in this context that after the staff meeting, I found myself with Mel and Toby discussing the Ultimate Group Home Counselor.

Mel was holding court. "Ok, if you put Trixie's ass together with Katrina's tits, that would be so dope."

"No!" said Toby. "Katrina's too damn lazy. Put Stephanie's ass with Trixie's tits."

"Yeah," said Mel. "She's got a nice little backyard. But she got to have a head, dawg."

Mel said, "Leslie's head, dude. Listen. Trixie's tits, you can't beat those. Stephanie's ass and Leslie's head. Stokie, how 'bout that? Leslie's head, what do you think?"

I said, "As long as it keeps it's fucking mouth shut, I'm ok with it."

"Cool," said Mel. "Then we got it. The Ultimate Group Home Counselor."

Later that afternoon, I was sharing the shift with Mel, Trixie and Leslie. It was our recreation hour and Mel and I were watching the activities from the back porch while Trixie was playing frisbee on the rec field and Leslie was watching a group of boys play basketball at the adjoining courts. We both happened to be watching as Leslie got up and walked over to a heavy, wooden baseball bat that had been left on the field. I thought that it was a good idea of her to remove it and keep it safely from the boys. She picked it up and walked over to a basketball that had also been left on the field. She picked up the ball, tossed it up in the air and swung at it. She missed. Undeterred, she tossed it up and swung again.

This time she hit it. The ball didn't move. The bat ricocheted back and slammed her in the side of the head. Mel and I ran down as we watched her lose her balance and fall to her knees. When we arrived she was bleeding from her ear.

She was taken by ambulance to the hospital and I heard that she had suffered a concussion. As time went on, I also heard that she had some kind of lack of balance condition and chronic headaches. I also heard that the worker's compensation payout for her was enormous.

Entry 25: Freddy Meets His Match

As staff, we are constantly trying to teach the kids what it means to have appropriate personal boundaries. Basically put, we teach them when and where it's okay to touch somebody. So, when I walk into the house to start a shift, a boy like Freddy, the door-humping sexual predator, may come running up, arms wide open, ready to give me a hug.

Instead of saying something like, "Get the fuck away from me you freak, why don't you go screw the kitchen sink," I demonstrate Appropriate Boundaries. I say,

"No, Freddy, a hug is not appropriate now. How about an elbow?" And we touch elbows.

I might give another kid a hand-shake. Or another gets a one-armed side-hug. You get the idea. We role model strict personal boundaries for kids who come from places where there are no limits at all. Otherwise, they can go from zero to sexual in no time.

All of this is everyday, common practice. So you can imagine my surprise when Jackson, a counselor from the unit next door, walked right in, past me and two other staff without saying a word and proceeded to give Freddy of all people, a full body hug complete with stroking hands up and down his back.

Now Jackson and I have already had a couple of run-ins. I had walked over to the unit next door which houses the campus' youngest kids to borrow some eggs one morning and observed Jackson bouncing one of the boys on his lap. I asked one of the other staff on shift why he was allowed to do this and was told not to worry, he does it all the time. It's okay, I was told, because the kids here are younger and don't have the same issues. That may sound okay on the surface, but none of these are normal kids, not even the youngest ones.

On another occasion, I went next door to borrow some Band-aids, turned the corner to the staff office hallway and saw Jackson and a resident standing face to face, or more like waist to waist, and suddenly jump back, obviously startled to see me. I pointed in Jackson's face and said, "You shouldn't be anywhere near kids. I'm going to try my hardest to get you fired." He said in his non-chalant drawl, "Aw c'mon man, you're just being sensitive, man." I informed his supervisor who assured me that she would talk to him about the incident. With this history, it was all the more shocking to see him brazenly walk in and feel Freddy up.

The other staff and I looked at each other and our jaws dropped. I couldn't help but call out, "Hey, get your hands off of him!" When the other boys looked up to see what I was talking about, several of them yelled,

"Whoa!"

"Whoa guy!"

"Inappropriate!"

"I'm not like that."

"Whoa guy!"

'Whoa guy' is a saying I've only heard in the group home. It means, "Something sexual is going on. Even though I'm pretending not to like it, I really do. So if anybody propositions me soon, I might not say 'no'." It is usually screamed while pointing at the offenders and staring at the staff in mock-disbelief.

I have learned to dread hearing the call of "Whoa guy!" because it usually means you're in for a lot of work trying to keep the buds of romance from blooming. This night would be no different.

So there we were watching helplessly as Jackson the Perv mauled Freddy. In the span of 10 seconds he was undoing months of hard work on our part, keeping Freddy from touching other kids, teaching him to keep his masturbating within the confines of the bathroom and not during community group, teaching him that household objects are not romantic pleasure toys. I had the sick feeling you get when you hear chalk screeching the blackboard. It was like a cat getting rubbed backward.

"I need to talk to you right now," I said as I separated the two like a referee pushing away two heavyweights who have locked up in the ring. I brought Jackson into the staff office. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I demanded.

"Aw, man, what's wrong with you now?"

"Freddy's the most sexualized kid on this campus. You walk in here like you own the place, don't acknowledge any of the adults and proceed to feel Freddy up. You don't think that's going to get him riled up?"

"Okay, fine. I acknowledge you. Hello." He was waving. "Happy now?"

"Get the fuck out of here! Your supervisor's going to hear about this." Jackson scampered out.

I then noticed that the other staff had gathered around to listen to the confrontation. We were all there in the staff office. Nobody out on the floor!

We rushed out and sure enough, Freddy was gone. I told the other staff to check all the doorways while I go check the broom closet. No luck. I asked one of the staff members if he was sure he checked inside the Quiet Room. He said he looked in there but didn't see anything. I rushed over to double check. The staff didn't see anything because he just glanced inside, he didn't check behind the door! Freddy was there alright. He was licking and kissing the wall, had his eyes closed, his hand down his pants. He was quickly mumbling, "C'mon baby, oh yeah just like that, you know you like it baby."

"Hey Freddy, why don't you go into the bathroom and do that?" I tried to say this calmly and without letting on that I was disgusted.

"Hey Stokie get the hell out of here!"

"No, really man. This is not the appropriate place to do that. If you need to masturbate, go into the bathroom and do it in private." This is a recurring conversation with Freddy.

"I don't do that anymore and you know it."

"You're doing it right now!"

"I am not. I just had an itch is all. Besides, when I do it in the bathroom I can't go all the way."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. It just doesn't work right."

"Have you tried using lotion?"

"Yes. Well, not really. Okay, how?"

"You just put some on your hand and use that same hand to masturbate." We went to the hygiene closet, I gave him a bottle of lotion and ushered him to the bathroom. "Just give it a chance, Freddy, you'll see."

A couple of minutes passed and I figured Freddy was doing what millions of teenage boys were doing all around the world. In a weird way, I was glad that I could teach him something useful, something that may keep him from harming another human being in the long run. Perhaps, in this small way, I was helping Freddy to adjust, which would benefit the community, improve humanity.

Freddy burst out of the bathroom with a flourish. Shirt off, boner pitching a tent under his boxer shorts, he ran to the center of the living room, proud as a peacock. He held his lotion-covered hand high in the air. "Hey Stokie! Is this enough lotion?"

Up came the pitiful, yet predictable call of the wild.

"WHOA GUY!!"

"Inappropriate!"

"Whoa! I'm not like that!"

"WHOA!!"

Jackson left the agency about 2 months after that. Under increasing scrutiny from his co-workers, he said that he felt "hassled" and didn't need to put up with our "Gestapo-like intrusions". The thing that bothers me is that he is now the head teacher at another special education school.

Entry 21: Sometimes I Worry About Staff

If ever these kids could pull their heads out long enough to look around and gain some life perspective, they would realize that there are several people in their lives who work for them, day after wretched day, to help them better adjust to society. Among these fine people, all operating at various levels of competence, are social workers, probation officers, program supervisors, clinicians, nurses, the house counselors of course, and the all-important agency therapist.

Now who am I to question the effectiveness or integrity of the agency therapist? After all, they are the ones who have spent years studying for their advanced degrees, while I did not. They are the ones who spend an hour a week playing sandbox in their office with the kids, while I do not.

But let me just assert my opinion that if I were an up and coming therapist, perhaps the star of the psych department at school, a real go-getter with plenty of ambition, I am not sure that this agency, with its low wages, shrinking benefit package, low rate of success and an assured chance of being assaulted on the job would be my first choice of employers. Or my second, or even my tenth for that matter. The sad fact is, the agency struggles to recruit and employ just about anyone with an MFCC next to his or her name.

At any rate, each kid is assigned a fine therapist with whom they can talk about their feelings, discuss goals or just generally trash the office while the therapist mumbles something about, "Oh, are you trying to tell me you're angry? Here, try digging in the sandbox."

One of my favorite therapists is Sam. At 70, Sam is flamboyant, wears turquoise earrings, bracelets and rings, smells of amber oil, wears rainbow suspenders and socks with his Birkenstocks. He is also very sensitive. Remember Freddy, the kid who likes to straddle doorknobs in search of sexual pleasure? Well, he was one of Sam's clients and Sam's response when he heard about Freddie's doorknob abuse, "What's wrong with the way he masturbates? You know, not everyone gets off in the missionary position."

When you've been working here as long as I have, you can't help but pick up some of the kids' lingo, and using it yourself. Your English becomes spiced up and dumbed down with ghetto street-talk. "Original Gangsters be rollin' on dey dubs," "fools ain't got no hops," and, "you bes' back off 'fo' you git slapped in yo mouf!" The stuff of idiots, I know, but we all wind up with a phrase or two.

As I happened to be helping two of Sam's clients with their homework, Sam walked in the house to pick up one of them for his weekly therapy session. As he strode up, I said, "Check it out, it's a O. G. hangin' with his posse."

Sam's eyes widened and his face got red.

"How dare you be so rude to your elders?"

"Well, it's really just a sign of respect, Sam."

Sam was indignant. "I think not. I think it's up to the person to give you permission to call them an Old Geezer."

With that, he turned on his heels, and stomped out as loudly as his Birkenstocks could slap the floor.

Entry 13: Jim Beam's "Special" Diet

Yolanda, our House Supervisor, was in a dither.

"Damn it, I wanna know what's goin' on. Something's goin' on with some of these boys, you can just tell. I can feel it, somethin' sexual is goin on and I wanna know what. That means you staff need to be lookin out better. I don't want it to be easy for these boys to be havin' sex, I want it to be hard. So we gotta make it hard for them. Be standing in the doorways, following them around the corners, listening in to what they be sayin' to each other. Now what the hell is goin' on on Sundays?"

Oh, here we go. I work on Sundays, Yolanda does not. I'm in charge of the shift on Sundays, so now, just like so many other staff meetings like this one, Yolanda is going to end up asking me to explain something that happened on the shift. She and I agree on just about everything in terms of supervising the boys, and she sometimes prods me to spell out this agreement during staff meetings. It's not a bad strategy to show the rest of the staff that even though we don't always work together, we are still on the same page.

She continued, "If it's not one thing goin' on, it's another. If it ain't creepy-ass Freddie sneaking around preying on the little boys, its Michael and Francis playin' Santa Claus sittin' in each others' laps. Now what I wanna know is how Jim Beam managed to eat some more thumb tacks and ain't no one was around to stop him. He told me he ate them on Sunday, and I wanna know: Is it true? And if it's true, how come didn't no one stop him?"

Jimmy Beam has a history of eating sharp and dangerous objects. He will usually threaten to do so when he can't get his way or he gets a consequence, like a time-out that he doesn't agree with.

Staff will say, "Jimmy take a time out, you can't cuss in here."

"Nope, I'll eat glass. You can't stop me either cuz that's abuse. I'll eat this battery, I did before. I don't care, you can't take care of me, I'll eat this tack. Fuck you, bitch, I'll eat it then I'll die and you'll get fired and it'll serve you right because you're a cracker-ass white-Elvis looking ho."

I have indeed seen him eat glass and rocks and pins. I have taken him to the doctor myself and the doctor always tells me that Jimmy will probably pass it without any problems, and he always has.

Yolanda's question obviously fell on me. "You know what? It could be true. I was playing chess with him that afternoon in the living room, you know how he likes that one-on-one attention. Well, you probably read the incident report about Freddie humping the back of the couch? Well, Freddie somehow got behind the couch and laid down behind it. By the time I noticed he wasn't sitting on station, he must've been well into it. I heard Mel start yellin, 'I know you ain't fuckin' no furniture!" and I jumped up to get him out of there. It turns out he had his pants down to his ankles and was humping the space in between the couch and the floor. You know how the kids go fuckin' ballistic when they see something like that going on, well they did, and we had to try and shut the house down and get Freddie into the Quiet Room at the same time. You know that's a nightmare with 4 staff for 10 boys. Jimmy started threatening to eat something, but I wasn't really listening to him because I was dealing with Freddie's naked ass at the time. I think Jimmy must've eaten some tacks off the bulletin board as he was going back to his room. I know he was pissed off about it because stupid-ass Freddie took all my attention away from Jimmy."

This is my job.

"Well, I don't want no kids havin no sex with each other no more," Yolanda said. "I'm just sick and tired trying to explain how our kids somehow manage to get it on with each other because we ain't payin' attention. I would rather have someone fuck the damn couch instead of one of his peers. We know who the sexual kids are and they should be our first priority."

With that, the staff meeting was over, it was time to go pick up the boys from school and time for my teammates and me to work the evening shift. Yolanda's speech was effective; we all seemed to have a good head of steam going into the shift, agreeing on our sight lines, which parts of the house each of us would be supervising, and which kids seemed most likely to offend. And that shift was tight, too. There wasn't any wiggle room for any kids to get out of our sights and the shift ran like clockwork. By 10pm, we were tired, but at least we had a great day. No incident reports, clean house, all boys asleep. All we had to do now was give Night-Awake staff the summary of the day, and we were out of there. The four of us all greeted the Night-Awake at the kitchen counter and proceeded to give him a brief explanation of the day's events.

About 5 minutes into this discussion, we heard a blood-curdling scream come from one of the bathrooms. Mellow Bill and I ran to the bathroom and opened the door.

I was completely aghast at what I saw. There was J'Michael, sitting naked on the toilet. On the floor was a huge, bright red puddle of blood. In J'Michael's hand was his dick, spurting an impossible amount of blood all over him and the toilet. J'Michael was screaming in agony, "I'm gon' die! I'm gon' die!"

"Holy shit! What happened?" I thought he might have been stabbed.

"I, I...I was jacking off too hard!" was his reply.

I had to think about this for a minute. Now, when I was a teenager, say 13 or 14, I jacked off a lot. And, I jacked off pretty hard sometimes. But I'll be damned if I ever jacked off so hard that my dick exploded in my hand. No, this was a first for me.

At any rate, this really was a medical emergency, so we wrapped him up in a sheet and Bill rushed him off to the hospital.

This left one hell of a mop up job for me. As I mopped and cleaned, I could only ponder what had really happened to poor J'Michael's dick. The answer was to come by way of Jim Beam's teasing voice. I looked toward his doorway and saw just his arm sticking out, waving a pair of blood soaked tighty-whities.

"Oh Stokie! I think you better take me to the hospital, too! I told you I was gonna eat those tacks!"

Entry 9: Meet Freddy, the sexual predator

Freddy is what happens when a crack whore has a child. Freddy has been a sexual predator since he first got here. He has to be isolated from his peers, can't sleep with a roommate, and eats separately.

During group where all the kids gather on the couches, Freddy sits at the separate table and I let them know what the day's schedule will be like (same schedule every day for the last 12 years, but somehow none of the retreads can remember it). I looked up to see Freddy sitting on his chair with his back arched, eyes closed and twisting the shit out of his nipples.

This I had not seen before. I responded with a "Jesus Christ, Freddy!" He came to, let go of one nipple and gave a non-chalant, "What?" He forgot to let go of the other nipple.

This is not Freddy's only "vice." For instance, I wasn't the first person to discover Freddy, naked from the waist down, swinging from the bathroom door, fingers interlocked on the top of the door, each thigh resting atop a doorknob so that when he made thrusting movements, the latch would massage his prostate.

Nor have I been the last.