Grief

Yesterday I told a kid that his only living parent, his mother, died. I have been working with this individual for a year and a half, he’s one of few kids that I have known and worked closely with for my entire involvement in the criminal justice system. I met him when he was 13. I’ve spent time with him in juvenile detention, at school, at behavioral health treatment centers, in his home, at bookstores, applied for jobs, went to the gym, and, of course, have had countless conversations and visits with his mom.

I put my hand on his shoulder as I watched his face go from happiness that I was visiting from out of town, to confusion, to sorrow when a member of his support team told him his mother had passed. I had my hand on his shoulder while he wept as he spoke with a relative on the phone who was weeping as they consoled him from afar. We listened to music, played video games, and went on a walk where I told him about grief. I explained to him how people may try to say comforting things that actually come across as painful and hurtful, how people may look at him funny, or talk weird to him because they are avoiding making anyone feel uncomfortable, and how people may not talk about his mom without him talking about her first. We shared memories about his mom, he processed despair that both of his biological parents are now dead, and I checked if he was going to try and hurt himself throughout this process. He shrugged.

See, this kid has survived watching his parents drink themselves to death. He himself has survived hospitalization for suicide attempts. Yup, plural. Three, to be exact. He does not believe in a higher power, he does not have a source of hope for his future, and he feels disconnected from everyone except… His mom. He found motivation to do well in looking to his mom. He found comfort in talking to his mom. His mom told him that she loved him. He was working (successfully) on his sobriety for his mom. And she’s gone. I am terrified that soon he will be, too. You see, each day – scratch that – each hour this kid is still alive is an answer to prayer.

I don’t have a happy ending to this one, folks. He’s still alive, and that’s solace enough for me tonight.

Daily Grind

It’s been four months of my personal experience being a community supervisor for the sake of child rehabilitation and community safety. It feels like it has been much, much longer. I have definitely underutilized this wonderful resource of writing to cope with the trauma, relapses, and dysfunction that has become my “daily grind”. Poetry seems to be my favorite outlet, so here it goes:

One of my kiddos is preparing to go to college this month

Yesterday I taught him how to type, go online, and check his email

He is concerned and unsure, his impoverished childhood had no computers

You would have thought I was trying to teach him braille

One of my kiddos just had surgery for birth control

I took her to the doctor – she was relieved and freed

From the pressure she feels daily under her mother and friends

As they compare her to all those around her who succeed

One of my kiddos  was ordered to inpatient treatment

He just turned thirteen – his biggest threats are his mother and brother

He hasn’t been sober since he was seven

Being raised by a frail grandmother

One of my kiddos is homeless with a child

His mom’s car was repossessed, so he lost his employment

He failed all his classes when his parents were evicted

Yet we applaud for his 3 month sobriety – such accomplishment

These are my people, this is my caseload

I am witness to success, trial, fear, and life plans slowed

Some days I feel as though I could implode

Yet how beautiful a gift I have been bestowed

To walk with these kids down their tough and trying roads.

 

Your Perfect Little Mold

Alternative high schools. What an absurd idea. “Let’s take all of the kids who struggle in school, and socially isolate them in a room. When they continue to act out because they just spent an entire day with other children who have behavioral disorders, let’s socially isolate them in building of their own, where they can learn and feed off of one another.”

Sure, I get it. Education is precious, and we don’t want difficult kids taking all of the attention and time from teachers. In special education and for children with learning disabilities, this is essential for some kid’s success.

But why is it the solution for kids who don’t have¬† a learning disability, they just had a particularly tough time dealing with the divorce of their parents, or fell in with the wrong crowd, or had a horrific childhood and lack proper outlets?

I have a kid on my caseload who is good at basketball. I mean really good. He’s 6’3″, and knows how to play ball. He was removed from the public high school in the boundary zone of his home (for misdemeanors) and placed in an alternative school almost entirely lacking any extracurricular activities whatsoever. Because of the State we live in, he is still eligible to participate in extracurricular activities in the public school that is in the boundary zone of his home. Too bad this is the school that rejected him and kicked him out.

Basketball tryouts are today and tomorrow, and this kid has to meet with the principal before the school will allow him to even tryout. He has the paperwork done, he is ready to go. They don’t even remember this kid and don’t trust him. None of his charges are against the school. They are making it near impossible for him to even try to have this opportunity as he fights to be perfect so he might be allowed to re-enroll in their perfect little school.

I wouldn’t be so angry if this wasn’t the second kid on my caseload to be pushed so far to the limit and tested so heavily that the teen is given no choice but to cave in. When you look hard enough for flawed behavior, you will find it eventually, even if you are creating it in your mind.

Teenagers are amazing. They are unique, they are dangerously individualistic, they are hilarious, they are curious, and they are messy. Teenagers who are on probation are no different. They may be rougher around the edges, and lack trust in adults who say they care about them. They may need a few extra chances, and they may just need a little irrational hope to scoot them through their days. The kids on my caseload are no less valuable than the non-probation kids who are simply interrogated less, luckier, live in a wealthier neighborhood, or wear less baggy clothes. They still dream, they still have goals, and they still have some hope left in them for their future – until a school says “we don’t trust you enough to let you play ball, and by the way you cannot play anywhere else either.”

Sorry my kid doesn’t fit your perfect little mold.

Parents

Parents are designed to support and guide

To love and protect, care and provide

Their journeys begin in hospitals and crib-sides

First steps, giggles, chubby legs and a first bike ride

Their children’s accomplishments fill them with pride

They love and they give and, eventually, they die.

Being in parent’s arms should make one feel fortified.

Yet sometimes horror and misfortune collide.

Some parents make children feel petrified

Does a parent’s childhood ridden with abuse make that justified?

There is no test that makes you certified,

So maybe we can just call it misguided?

The stories I have heard would make anyone mortified

I wish there was a way to purify

Make right, reverse, remove pain, and provide

A reason for hope, to fight, and to change tides

So I will pray and petition, press in, and open wide

My heart and ears and fiercely stand by the side

Of each child I meet regardless of social divides

And let them know it’s okay to cry.

 

 

 

 

We’re Dying Anyways

“Get ready, this girl will talk your ear off” said my co-worker sarcastically as he introduced me to a new kid I was getting on my caseload. My co-worked had assumed that this girl was low-risk and shy after working with her for a few months. Sheila (name changed for obvious reasons) went unnoticed and brushed off as an easy kid on the caseload.

Multiple weeks later, and I have discovered that Sheila is neither shy nor low-risk. Testing positive for marijuana, sneaking out in the middle of the night to be with her drug-addicted boyfriend, ditching school, and dressing provocatively; Sheila actually told me “I’ve gotten away with so much while on probation” when I questioned how long she has been maintaining this behavior. And she decided to trust me.

I was driving Sheila home about one month into being her Probation Officer. As we walked to the car, I noticed she looked quite sad. After some digging, she tearfully revealed disappointment in herself, and the burden of “measuring up” that her mother makes her feel she must do. “I am just a mess-up” she said, as she wiped tears off her face. Pressing in, I discovered that Sheila lives her life under constant comparison to others while in her home, fear of being alone, and a proclivity to self-destruction.

Asking why Sheila continues to turn to drugs, she said “I like drugs. They make me be able to not think for awhile.” Insightful, Sheila identified that she is with her boyfriend because she is not certain who is was by herself. “He’s just like a drug- he makes me stop feeling and I use him to self-destruct.” When questioned about her future, she replied, “I don’t really care honestly, we are all going to die anyways so we might as well just chill.”

Sheila loves to rap. She loves animals. She’s good at science. Sometimes she writes poetry and lyrics. She plays Fortnite. She’s great at cooking. She loves her siblings. There’s a lot of work to go with this girl, and I cannot wait to continue to peel back the layers of her thoughts with her as she allows me to ask serious questions, lets me praise and encourage her, and listens when I push her to think differently and more critically than she allows herself to think.

Here’s to conversations that push one another to not just accept the status quo for ourselves, and to being willing to get a little uncomfortable for the sake of another.

Potentially Interesting

Today a kid on my caseload got drunk in the back of his school and decide to jump over the school’s back fence to leave. When I asked him about it, he said, “I just didn’t want to be there anymore.” Fair point.

A kid on my caseload that was in juvy told me that they had pretended to be suicidal their first night detained just because they wanted a staff to waste their time sitting 1-1 with them and he knew the right things to say. I tried not to laugh, but these kids are so clever in their payback.

As I tried to think of what my next post should be, I realized that maybe the day to day stories aren’t long or filled with philosophically deep thoughts. Sometimes they are short, sweet, and ridiculous. And sometimes they are short, sad, and incomplete.

I have a very young kid who smokes because he doesn’t “feel funny anymore” when he uses marijuana. I’m not positive that he is even aware of the long-term effects of his choices, or his time on probation.

I have another kid who smokes because every time he gets close to sobriety and back to playing his favorite sport (which he is still getting recruitment letters from college for even though he hasn’t played for a year), his older brother walks into his room with weed and pressures his brother to take a hit, resetting his fight against addiction. DCS won’t get involved because he is old enough to walk away.

This job is full of short stories that are part of much, much, larger stories. As I begin to write this blog, though, I am realizing that most of my stories are very sad. Unfortunately, this is the reality of many kiddos coming from lower socioeconomic status and criminogenic families. My interactions each day with these kids are amazing opportunities to learn perspectives that I may never have learned it from before, and this blog is an opportunity to give others the same choice to see something from a perspective that they may have never considered before. Here’s to having funny stories to share with you later.

Instantaneous Authority

The last six years of my life include school, one year of work experience (outside of random college jobs where I came home smelling like various foods with residue of cranky customers), and then I was promoted to Juvenile Probation Officer. Let me tell you, there was an abrupt transformation in the way people handle themselves around me.

The strangest thing about this instantaneous authority is the default that people have to automatically lie to me. Arresting people is really hard, actually, as a probation officer. We do not have the authority to just slap handcuffs on a person solely because they are being a dick. We also do not have authority to arrest anyone that is not on probation. It’s even against policy for us to detain as a first response- it is required to try “detention alternatives” first. They hand me a badge and then, all of a sudden, I am seen as a threat to people and they fortify invisible walls all around themselves.

I can understand this, to an extent. I report to the judge, and even people who have never even tickled the court system with acts of rebellion want judges to approve of them, generally. There seems to be a sad reality of masks and deceit that initially shape the relationships that are created between my probationers, their families and myself. Not exactly a platform for reformation and restoration.

I am fighting against this stigma of “Officers are out to get you”. When addressing a kid, I try to fill our conversation with empowerment. The kids I work with are smart, often times hilarious, loving, loyal, living life to [their idea of] the fullest, and are dreamers. Regularly I encounter kids who are unaware of any of these facts about themselves. Their parents or guardians are just as much a part of my mission. They have been fighting this fight longer than I have, and usually have fought the battle in their own lives, too. Parents are usually the support that breeds success, and sometimes the tools that destroy. I get to intervene and converse with the entire family tree to identify gaps that are essential for these kids to discover and then meet their goals. I wanted to say dreams, but the sad reality of the typical probation demographic is that they need to know they are capable of reaching a goal before they can conceptualize dreaming for their future.

Sobriety and change cannot happen without honesty. Honesty requires trust. This is the epitome of “easier said than done”, and I will continue to fight against the systematic current of “us and them” to foster change and hope within the criminal justice system.