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.

 

 

 

 

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.