Besides being upset with me, Mary's
workers were becoming more and more upset with her and blamed most
of the problems she was having on her. They would often reprimand her
when she came to the court house for her 60-day hearings. I hated
this. Not that I didn't think Mary was partially responsible for the
problems she was experiencing. She was. But then we all bore some
responsibility for this placement gone terribly wrong, and I hated
that no one would admit this. None of us were free from blame for
what was happening to her, but her workers continued to blame her (or
me) and took no responsibility themselves for the mess she was in. I
hate it when we blame children for everything. Part of their behavior
is due to our behavior — a lot of it actually — and we
can't expect them to take responsibility for their actions if we
don't model this by taking responsibility for ours.
Mary was the one who was locked up, who
was not allowed to come home, and who was continually kicked out of
one group home after another. She didn't need anyone telling her it
was her fault. After a year and a half of getting kicked out of
nearly 20 group homes, this message was clear to her. And it was
starting to look like she was blaming herself more and more for
something that was less and less her fault. She was a victim of an
inexperienced team — there was no doubt about this. None of us were
able to help her at this point. The difference, though, was that some
of us admitted this and some of us didn't; and if there was ever an
instance of a child feeling completely out of control of her life, it
was Mary in the group homes.
She didn't like what was happening to
her any more than we did. She didn't like the way she was acting, and
she desperately wanted to improve and get better. But she didn't know
what she was supposed to do to get better or what she had done to get
into the predicament she was now in. How could she — she was given
a different behavioral plan every month with an ever-changing list of
criteria to master in order to succeed. And often by the time she
figured out what that criteria was, she would be moved again. But I
don't think anyone knew this but her lawyer and me. And I wondered if
her corrections officer and social worker actually talked to Mary
when they visited her — and by talking to Mary, I mean listening
to Mary. I found the answer to this, however, during one of their
visits to her while she was at Forest Ridge.
Her corrections officer and social
worker (SW) drove to Forest Ridge one afternoon to visit Mary. They
told Karen (Mary's mother) and me ahead of time that they were going
to be having a conference call with Mary when they got there and that we
should wait at home by the phone for them to call us when the meeting
began. For some reason they wanted us to be in on their meeting with
Mary. This was on a day I was going to be visiting Mary anyway, and
after our call, I was going to drive down to Forest Ridge to see her.
We got the call from her workers. Karen
and I were both in Mankato on the phone, and Mary's CO, her SW, and
Mary were in a room at Forest Ridge in Iowa. The SW started the
meeting by mentioning how upset she and everyone else was with the
way Mary had been behaving and that she was frustrated that she
had to take a whole day off just to drive down to Mary's group home
to let her know this. She wanted her to know she wasn't going to
tolerate this behavior of hers any longer, and she told her that she
wouldn't have to move so often if she would just "buckle down
and try harder." She told Mary that her mom and dad felt the
same way (even though I didn't) and that we were listening in on the
speakerphone and would be telling her the same things.
Her workers then proceeded to go around
the room. I was writing all of this down. First the CO told Mary what
she thought:
"The reason you're here is to
work on your social skills and I'm upset with you for not getting
better. If you don't get better things are going to get worse. The
ball is in your court. You aren't acting your age. You're acting like
a preschooler. I feel like we're spinning our wheels. It's time to
grow up! This is a big fat waste of everyone's time! It's time to
grow up, Mary!"
It was then the social worker's turn
and she basically told Mary the same thing — that she wished Mary
would straighten up and try harder to be a good kid because she was
making life really hard for her and she had other cases besides
Mary's but hers was taking most of her time and on and on.
And then it was Karen's turn: "You
just need the willpower to get this done. To do better." I
don't know if Karen really wanted to say these things or not, or if
she felt pressured to.
By then I was appalled by what they
were doing to my daughter, and I could picture her sitting in that
room feeling smaller and smaller and worse and worse with every comment they made — her expression changing from one of
joy upon first finding out that her Mom and Dad were on the phone, to that
of a sad child who believed she was all the things they were saying
to her.
It was my turn to speak and her social
worker said, "John, what would you like to say to Mary?"
I had a lot to say, but it wasn't to Mary. I wanted to reprimand
them for what they were saying to my daughter, but all
I said was,
"I don't have anything to say
right now. I'll see Mary later today and I'll talk to her then."
There was this awkward silence, and
then they ended the meeting. I don't know why they set up a meeting
like this in the first place, but now I'm wondering if they wanted to
put me on the spot and make me have to denigrate my daughter in front
of them. And I wondered if the speakerphone was more for them to hear
me, then for Mary to hear us.
When I saw Mary later that day, I
apologized for what everyone had said to her. She was still visibly
shaken from all of this and wondered if she was in trouble for
something or if it meant she was going to have to stay longer, or
what. She didn't know what that crazy meeting meant. How could she?
How could any child? I tried to help her make sense out of it, but it
absolutely broke my heart to hear them say these things to her like
they did — basically reprimanding her for having a mental disability.
This was just the worst, and I almost started crying myself when they
started in on her like they did. They probably think this is
how you talk to children who aren't doing what you want them to —
you yell at them.
0 comments:
Post a Comment