I've seen this look on too many faces over the years.
Sometimes I hate my job as a school counselor and therapist.
Something bad happened over the weekend to one of my student clients. Her face is unusually shuttered, eyes down, monosyllabic answers to my questions, denials that anything more than a “fight” happened at home.
She's in 4th grade, and has been through this before and knows what to say and what not to say. Her eyes beg for rescue and, at the same time, are resigned as one of Seligman's dogs in a cage, shocked again and again into silence.
I do the visual check of all extremities for bruises. I tell her I'm concerned, I'm going to call home and find out more about what happened, talk to mom and see how I can help. Then comes the animation, the frantic tears:
“No! No! I'll get in trouble! I have my backpack packed and I'm just going to run away if he hits me!”
“Did he hit you this time?”
“No. But he might.” Eyes skittering away.
I have nothing to go on, not enough to make a call to an already-overwhelmed agency that I know by now only responds to actual blood and bruising. I send her back to class with a granola bar. My own stomach is churning.
Later in the day the other counselor calls me. The younger sister, a kindergartner and not yet conditioned to the cage, has spilled the beans on the beating she got over the weekend. She wants to know if I agree we should call.
“Yes! Yes!” I say. “Yes!”
So we do. The hounds of “the system” are loosed.
I wish I thought they had some teeth.
I want to hit something.
Instead I take a brisk walk in my ever-present exercise shoes and do some breathing exercises. Tell myself the usual: I'm just one person, I do my part, I have to trust the system, I have to trust God to take care of these children.
But I have no confidence anything much will happen. I've been here before, I've made the call before, and years later I'm still comforting the same kid with a granola bar.
This is why Lei, my main character, exists. Nothing tees her off like child abuse. She doesn't take a walk and do breathing exercises about it, either. She hunts 'em down and drags 'em in. She puts the fear in them that they put in others. She makes the cycle of abuse stop by stopping the abuser.
As for me, the only punching I do is a few phone numbers. But maybe it will be enough this time.
This is the part I hate about working with kids. When they need help and you KNOW they need help, and no one with the power to help will do anything. When all a call to CPS nets is an angry parent yanking the child out of public school to “homeschool” (HA!) because we “snitched” on them.
My character Eve serves much the same purpose for me as your Lei does for you.
It’s a great outlet. Eve and Lei should get togehter for a play date… doing target practice!
I hate to say this but Child Protective is the last place I would call. Not only are they overwhelmed but they serve poorly. Sorry, I know this is not a popular opinion but the more we let agencies in the family, the more we lose our families. Sigh! No easy solutions, I know. Taking the children may be worse for them.
Hi Sonia, I agree with everything you said, but in my position I’m a “mandated reporter.” Fortunately I’m in a position to follow up and support and monitor the situation through the relationship I’ve built with the family. I hope to work through this with them.
Ow :/
yep.
So, what to do? I called CPS several times before I retired from teaching. I thought the law required me to do so-I was “mandated to do so”. So, I did. But, no broken bones, blood, or obvious bruising. Just a long slow process into hopelessness. GRRRR! ARGH!!!!
You have to do what you have to do, and sometimes the call is enough to make the abuse stop without the kids leaving the home. We always want that.
This is why I wrote a young adult novel, WHY I TOLD.
Going to look it up, thanks for sharing!
I’m a houseparent in a group home for kids removed from their homes by CPS so I understand your pain- I get them, help them heal, get their grades up, teach them proper hygiene, and as soon as they aren’t a mess any more they are usually sent back home- maybe other family- or a foster placement (we get a lot of kids from abusive or unable to cope foster placements) Here in Arizona you only need to have a reasonable belief something is wrong- no proof needed. You never know what simply being there might mean for a child in that situation, keep up the good work.
Also I need to read your book- several times I’ve said because I listen to the kids talk about what has happened to them I should be allowed to kill people. It seems fair to me.
Thanks so much for the amazing comment and share! I salute you! I don’t think removal is always the answer…but it’s so hard to make change for some people, they love their addictions more than their kids. I’ll let you know when my book comes out!
Aloha
What an incredibly difficult situation for you. I feel for you. It’s so hard because you want to let the child know you care and yet you don’t want to put them in a worse situation then they’re already in. Speaking as an abuse survivor, I really needed someone to step in, even if I thought I didn’t want anyone and I told everyone that I could handle things. Follow your instincts. I’m glad you stepped in and called. Know that you did some good. Even if nothing happens, the child will know that someone recognized the signs and gave a shit.
Kudos to you for caring.
And thanks for sharing you were a survivor. It’s brave to do that. We write from our wounds, so often.
I couldn’t have been more than 20 or 21 on the day I pulled into a parking space and while my friend ran into the store and while I waited in the car I noticed the car next to me had a couple of little boys in the back seat who looked like they were being rambunctious, but then I realized that they were being beaten with a stick by a middle-aged woman in the front seat who had turned around and was leaning over the back of the seat. Broad daylight on a Saturday afternoon. It had stopped by the time my friend returned, and I told her about what I had seen. Her mother was a social worker in our town, so we talked to her and she explained who I should call and what my options would be. She strongly suggested that I not make an anonymous call, because if I give them my name and number, the case worker was required to report his or her findings back to me. Armed with a description of the people involved, the make, model, location and license plate of the car I did call. Less than a week later I received a return call from the case worker who told me they had contacted the people in question and that the woman had been the children’s grandmother, and yes, she carried a stick in her purse so she could have it handy for just such a purpose. That was well over 30 years ago and the shock of that incident still lingers in my being. I have also had the displeasure of needing to share the name and number of our local women’s shelter to a new neighbor who sat in my kitchen soothing her bruises with conversation and hot coffee. She never called and her children suffered for it for too long a time. The school system had been active on the children’s behalf on many occasions, but it was years before the family finally dissolved. Heartbreak.
I have to wonder how many people know of children who are being beaten and abused but are not willing to make a call to social services.
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil was for good men to do nothing. – Edmund Burke