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 kiddosĀ  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.

 

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.