November 15th 2011
Dear Tommy*,
When I first met you, I expected a monster. After a report was made regarding a four year old, knife-wielding, out of control little boy, I don’t know how one would expect anything different. But instead of a terror who just needed to be disciplined- a polite, eager-to-please, wide-eyed boy stood in his place.
Your lack of anxiety towards me, a complete stranger, was endearing. Your hugs and “I love you’s” pulled on my heart strings. It was only a minute before an unsettling feeling set in that told me that your mannerisms are not out of pure four-year-old cuteness but a result of your being shifted from house to house, caregiver to caregiver dozens of times in your short life. Strangers are normal to you and attachments to people you have bonded with have probably been broken time and time again.
When I did my home visit at the residence where you are currently staying, you were there. You were in your room, quietly playing with legos. You were on an all-day time out for being naughty the night before. But when I came in, you hurriedly escaped your little prison to give me a hug and say hello. If it wasn’t inappropriate, I would have given you a huge hug back. Instead, I had to give you an arm around the back and leave it at that. You were told to get back into your room. Soon after, you asked if you could come out to use the bathroom, proudly exclaiming afterwards that you had washed your hands all by yourself. There was no praise, only “you better not have left pee on the seat!” as a response. You sat silently at a plastic, dirty table and chair set with a single peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch which you gulped down in a nanosecond. You quietly went to put your plate in the sink and get ready for your nap which you agreed to with a meek “okay”, something I’ve never, ever witnessed a four year old do.
And I’m left to wonder.
Wonder just how naughty you were the night before to deserve an all-day punishment.
Wonder if you heard your caregiver when she told me she doesn’t even like kids.
Wonder if you were still hungry after that sandwich, which went down so fast.
Wonder if you ever receive praise; ever get told what a good boy you are.
I wonder about your past and I wonder about your present and I worry for your future.
Every time I have seen you, I have witnessed the most intense desire to receive attention. To be noticed and acknowledged, to be held and to be played with. I think you’ve already started to notice that if you want to get attention, you have to do naughty things. And I wouldn’t blame you for doing them.
Your case is not the most horrific I’ve seen. Not by a long shot. But it is one I know will haunt me for years to come. And I’m terrified that when you are an adult, someone will be saying “the system failed this child.” But in a sick, twisted way, it’s unfortunate you are safe. Your physical safety means my hands are tied. You cannot be removed because the adults in charge of parenting you are not doing a good job. Bad parenting isn’t a crime. And I acknowledge with a heavy heart that you’re likely to go untouched by the system all through your childhood because you’re being raised “just well enough”.
I hope that you remain resilient. I hope my prayers don’t land on deaf ears. Because right now, that’s all I can do for you. I’m sorry I’m failing you and I can’t do anything about it.
Signed,
Your CPS worker
No comments:
Post a Comment