***ALL IDENTIFYING DETAILS CHANGED TO PROTECT CONFIDENTIALITY*****
Some of you already know that in my “real life” I'm a school counselor and therapist. Today there’s a picture of a bruise on my phone.
I took that picture hours earlier, holding my too-accurate iPhone up near my student’s face. The white blink of the flash made her recoil as if from another blow.
We have bruises this time. We didn’t last time.
I make the call the Child Welfare after she goes to the nurse for a belated and symbolic ice pack, neck drooping like a dehydrated flower, chewing a granola bar—my usual panacea. My finger is rock steady punching in the number I almost have memorized; but my voice trembles when I report Uncle yet again.
The intake worker is impressed by my professional language, fancy words I say in that shaky voice, words like “trauma” and “pervasive atmosphere of threats of violence” and “struck with a closed fist”—enough to tell me she’s moving the case from Monitoring Status to Open Investigation. What does that mean? I ask.
A new case worker. Someone will be investigating, the intake worker says. In the next few days. Is the child in imminent danger? If so, I should call police. They deal with those cases. (Ah, the dance between Child Welfare and Law Enforcement—such an awkward tango.)
She implies I should know and be able to determine these things. Imminent danger? What is that exactly? The child’s world is pretty damn imminent— a world peopled by threats, deprivations, screaming, long afternoons filled with chores. The uncle has gotten better at hitting in other ways since our eyes are always on him, finding subtler means until, like a drunk on a bender, he falls off the nonviolence wagon.
Imminent danger. I guess I don’t think Uncle is going to kill her today; or even kill her at all. But yes, it’s danger. And it’s always imminent.
I hang up and go through the rest of my steps, an automated checklist of the The System: notify my principal. Write up the faxed-in report. Email the photo to my principal so she can forward to police if she decides to call them. We’re still on the fence about that, and calling Child Welfare hasn’t really helped us decide.
Calling the police really pisses Uncle off, and still nothing happens when they go and don’t see enough blood; they call Child Welfare. Uncle goes to Anger Management class and he doesn’t hit for awhile… but now she has blisters on her hands from chores, and he says they can’t spare the gas to drive her to her beloved soccer practice.
But no, he’s not hitting. Technically. Temporarily.
I’m not blaming anybody but Uncle here. It’s an overwhelmed and underfunded system, I’m a little cog in it, and it was never intended to take the place of a healthy family. I don’t want her to go to foster care with those accompanying risks and traumas any more than she wants to.
I just want Uncle to stop hurting and psychologically torturing her. Can anyone make that happen? I’m coming to the inevitable conclusion that no one can. It makes the headache behind my eyes settle into acute.
I end up having to look at the photo.
Delicate shades of mauve and blue, a tiny blush of pink, the bloom of broken blood vessels is mottled as markings on the throat of an orchid. It’s strangely beautiful as an abstract pattern taken out of context—the surface of the skin velvety and firm, purpling beneath like the hint of corruption on an overripe peach.
Hours later after work, several aspirin and a shower beginning to help me recover, the photo ambushes me again when I turn on my phone. I feel my stomach clench—I meant to delete it, or something.
Or something.
I can’t bring myself to delete it, even for my own comfort. It’s a relic of her suffering, something I want to carry, as if in doing so I can somehow lighten her load. I can put the photo somewhere else, though, so I don’t see it every time I turn on the damn phone. But burying it deeper under layers of smiling dogs, sunset vistas, and loop-shouldered family portraits, my usual photo choices—feels like a betrayal.
I know it’s a form of survivor guilt.
I know it doesn’t help her.
I know it, and I keep it anyway. But I do hide it deep.
She’ll come to school again tomorrow, and I’ll help her work her feelings out with some art and play therapy. We’ll end the session with a granola bar, a symbolic gift of sustenance that usually works to lift her spirits. (We therapist/writers see symbolism and metaphor everywhere.)
I wish I could send my protagonist Lei and and badass lovable Rottweiler Keiki out on a home visit. Maybe I'll write that into my next book. Thinking about Lei kicking Uncle's ass makes me feel a little better. Maybe the written word is stronger than the fist? So far, for me the jury's still out on that but writing about it helps me keep going to work armed with nothing but tissues and granola bars.
How have you handled it when you came across a kid being abused?
I’m normally not a proponent of violence, but there are definitely plenty of people in this world that I would love to see have the fear of god (or whatever) beaten into them. Sounds like uncle would be a good candidate for that list.
I sic angels on them in my prayers and Lei on them in my prose! Ha!
We are foster parents, and we have transitioned from caring for school-aged children to fostering infants. When we had older children brought to stay with us, this is what I told myself when they went back to their family:
I did the best I could for them while they were here. I loved them and cared for them and made sure they were clean and fed and well dressed and on time to school and appointments. I took them places like museums and aquariums and libraries, and let them hang around in their jammies on Sunday mornings. We made popcorn and watched movies and went to the beach and for long walks and out for ice cream. They know they are important, and that they are loved.
And then I would pack a suitcase with their clothes clean and folded, their favorite shampoo, their stuffed animals and books, and they would drive away with their head held higher and their spirit stronger.
They had a glimpse of what life can – should – be like for a child. And they carry that memory in their heart. Sometimes a goal, sometimes a dream, sometimes a distant memory when they are feeling scared and alone. But they know it’s out there, and that what is happening to them is wrong – and that they deserve better. The time you take in your office, to make them feel safe, to listen, take a picture, make a phone call, share a granola bar……these things remind that child that she matters. That she is important. That no, she is not crazy, children should not live like that. And in the end, honestly, that is the thing she will remember, and carry with her – that she deserves better, and that school is a safe place where people care about her and are there to help her. That way, she’ll keep showing up. Education is going to be her ticket out.
Your share brought tears to my eyes. You’re braver than I am! Such respect. Thanks again, I get so depressed sometimes, and what you say is so true.
At least bruises are things people can see. Some kids don’t have bruises to show. Not on the outside, anyway. But you know that. I couldn’t do your job, Toby. I’m glad there are people like you in the world.
People really, really want to heal themselves if given a place to do it, and children are amazingly resilient. It’s the chronic stuff that really gets to me!
That is one of the most difficult areas in which to work I can imagine. I once said to someone that I felt a society had one measure of its humanity – the degree to which it loves children. In your world you see the best of it and the worst. God help you. With respect and admiration is how I see you.
The one that will always haunt me the most happened while I was volunteering for the Humane Society, I took the scratch & dents – the animals that were abused and had become sick and/or injured, typically by neglect. Virtually all the animals we took in were abused – though not often physically. Neglect is a form of abuse that is hard to define, and even harder to prove. in any home where an animal is not getting it’s essential needs met, you can bet that any child in that home isn’t either.
So this day, I walked in to the thrift shop that is our headquarters, and the manager introduced me to a woman she said had been there for four hours, trying to figure out what to do with a cat that had gotten into the drop panel over their converted garage ceiling and had kittens. I was the first person to drop in who was able to help her out, so I jotted down the address and my daughter, then 13, and I headed over, expecting we’d be picking up a mom and some tiny kittens to foster – nothing more. When I got there, the woman had already put the mama and two ot the four kittens in the cat carrier we’d loaned her. The kittens didnt’ look good, so I thought I’d better get in and get the other two out and get going ASAP.
We walked into a spotlessly clean house, and I immediately knew something was wrong. In a corral in the middle of the living room stood a pair of one year old twins, who howled and reached out as soon as they saw their mother. Lining the corral were 10 bottles of formula in varying states of empty. The woman ignored them and headed out to the garage. Remembering that I’d just been told the woman was at the thrift shop for 4 hours, and seeing no sign of another person – surely someone would have come to see about the howling – I said “Stay with them.” to my daughter, and followed the woman into another scene that felt completely wrong. The spot the cat had supposedly had her kittens was directly over, and less than 18 inches from where her husband’s heavy metal band practiced five nights a week. “That didn’t happen” was my immediate reaction. Next she took me to her teenage son’s bedroom. There wasn’t a thing in it except for a bed, a throw rug, a dresser and a chair. In the closet were a few pieces of clothing and one form of entertainment ( a ball or something) there were two books on the nearly empty dresser. It’s always a bad sign when a child’s room doesn’t show their personality – this one showed no personality at all. She said one of the kittens had disappeared in this room earlier in the day, so I proceeded to help her look for it. We undid the bedding and turned over the mattress and then the box springs. She chatted all the while, about the cats and her kids ( because I kept asking). She was quite open about it. The older kids were split 50/50 with her ex, but still, there should have been some indication a human lived in that room.
The twins, she revealed, had eaten one of the kittens, that the mother, in her efforts to get away from the music had brought to the living room corral. This and other comments suggested the twins were never out of that corral. They were, BTW, still fussy, so I went to check on them, hoping the woman would follow and do something, and also to buy time enough to get my head around what I’d just heard. She did follow, but instead of so much as glancing in the twin’s direction, she put on a dvd. The twins screamed bloody murder. I decided to keep the woman talking and see if she could tell me something truly incriminating. But after an hour and a fruitless search for the missing kitten, she’d only told me things that were legal, no matter how reprehensible. I decided that we really had to leave and get the mama and kittens somewhere we could have a good look at them. As it happened, there really wasn’t much left in them and though I drove straight to the vetrenary ER both kittens died before we got there, and the mother was so starved she likely followed. I was so rattled by the math that kept running through my head – she had left those babies for hours, not just then, but had to have done it before for them to have eaten a kitten. It ws all terribly, terribly wrong.
What to do? The Humane society didn’t know. Maybe I shoudl have called the ASPCA. The first child abuse case in US history was tried under their auspices – they had a little girl declared a dog in order to pull it off. Because we had no laws to protect children. I called all my friends hwo might have any connection to child protection agencies. Our government agency – DEFACS – is so notorious our governor once announced that no one should send any child to them, so I really did not want to go that route. I knew, from the press and I knew from people I spoke to over this incident, and, I knew from what the woman herself told me, that DEFACS would walk in, see a clean house and declare my complaint unfounded. Apparently she’d been reported before. If a child isn’t bruised and if the house is clean, no crime has been commited. That is what I was told by everyone I spoke to.
I let it go, but my mind and heart never have. I was left with hoping this woman’s teens or someone else closer to the situation takes action, and that none of her kdis pass it along. This and other things have taught me we really have no agency that looks out for children who are abused other than by physical or sexual violence. Yet other forms of abuse are far more damaging. Daffodil hit it dead right when she said that often ALL we can do is maximize whatever time we have with an abused child, to enrich their lives in whatever way we can. That’s hard to do with a one year old, but it’s certainly possible to make an impact on an older child, so long as some small part of them remains open and curious. Keep tying and trying and trying, and know that you ARE helping. Perhaps it doesn’t help a particular child you worked with much, but talking about it might lead to helping another,
Thank you so much for sharing this story. I feel like, with these stories, we build a collective awareness. We see. We know. We witness. We call when we can. We exert our collective social pressure for change.
And knowing people care does help the kids have hope and persevere.
That was a horrible, horrible tale. God, I’m sorry you experienced it… and yet, when we turn away, it doesn’t make the truth that these things go on less true. We just don’t see them anymore, for our won comfort, and I can’t help but feel the cowardice of that.
I have had occasion in the last couple years to do therapy with children deprived like these twins were who are later adopted; their ability to bond and interact with their new families and other people is often deeply damaged. We call it Reactive Attachment Disorder and it’s heartbreaking for the adoptive family and tough as hell to treat. I’m seeing some breakthroughs though, with adoptive parents who just won’t give up.
That’s what it takes from all of us…
a heartbreaking story. I ‘ll hope and pray that she will be safe and happy soon.
I know she’s resilient and kids find comfort in the moments they feel good and safe. Helping make school and sports those kinds of places will help her long term when she’s able to get out of this situation, maybe make a better future and not repeat the cycle!
Thank you. Constant reminders and awareness of child abuse is necessary, although I doubt it affects H&W procedure. (How many “studies” does it take to solve “what could we have done differently?”) I don’t understand why the process of cutting through the piles of red tape justifies ignoring the signs that puts children’s lives in jeopardy. Can’t we error on the side of justice for at risk children? Is it unreasonable to think that during this age and time that fewer children will die at the hands of adults?
I just keep trying. We all just keep trying. And vote for more $$ for services, and tell your legislatures– because funding cuts are first and worst to these invisible populations.
I’m a huge fan of retaliating against evil people with violence, especially when innocent children are being hurt. I remember my mother screaming at our much, much older sibling after one particularly brutal “play” fight in which he beat us bloody. My mother broke inside at that point. By the time it was over the abusive older sibling was on the ground, cowering and covering his head from the blows, crying out that he would never hurt us again. Her response, screamed in the best mama-bear growl I’ve ever heard, was, “You’re damn straight you’re never going to hurt my children again! You think hitting is funny??? I’m sure as hell having fun, how about you?!?”
No. I guess it’s not really the answer, but I, for one, would love to go pay Uncle a visit myself. And bring some of my inmates with me!
LOL Lei and Keiki are in agreement! Thanks for the brave and honest share, abuse happens between kids a lot of the time too!
I would love to see someone kick the shit out of her uncle and make him work until he has blisters. I was abused when I was a child, and DFACS didn’t intervene until it was almost too late, and even then, the intervention was never enough. I defaulted to the route of tears and prayers then, because I felt helpless, and now I just report things in hopes that real help will happen.
Alas, Amberr, I think things are much like they were when you were growing up in terms of “the system.”
Mahalo for caring. Just reading your story makes me mad so I can only imagine what you are struggling with and what the child is having to survive. Something no child should have to deal with. She is fortunate to have you in her life.
Insane world. I just found out that 1 in 4 women have experienced sexual abuse (and 1 in 6 men) – do you think that jives with your experience? It just seemed such a high #, but then things like abuse/pain/death – all taboo things in this society. I am glad we live in a time when we can more openly share.
Yes, Courtney, these are the most current statistics. Most abuse is never reported, let alone prosecuted.
Oh, this makes me sad, and angry, and I want to come to her rescue, Toby.
Uncle is insecure, broken, and a little hurt child himself, but that saddest part is that he’s leaving bruises that are much deeper than physical ones.
Unless your young friend is given and is able to receive love that comes deep from the soul, she is likely to never break free from this. Does she have any positive influences around her in her family or friends. Can she move out of her situation? How old is she?
Paul, it’s so great you care. I have done and continue to do all I can to help this family, including bring in physical resources from a nonprofit, pay for her sports fees, match her with a community mentor from a local church. It looks from the “investigation” that Uncle is going to do another round of Anger Management. Maybe this time it will work…but in the meantime she has people who care, activities that get her out of the home, and a lot of eyes on the situation. At the end of the day I think that’s truly all we can do.
What I want people to get out of this is not to turn a blind eye,but to take action, reach out, make those phone calls. It’s no magic wand but it’s something. Even continuing to care costs us something, and the children feel that.
Aloha and thanks
Toby
I had to stop reading the comments because I started to cry. Sometimes I hate the people of this world. I can’t understand why people are so cruel.
Thanks for writing this. I worked with kids on Maui for several years and although I never saw physical signs of abuse, the kids talked a lot about getting “slaps and lickins”. I know a lot of people approve of that method of parenting but I don’t agree. I would always tell the kids I worked with that I raised my sons without ever spanking them – using other forms of guidance like time outs, clear communication, respect, alternative options…My sons were always well behaved and turned into amazing young men. I would tel the kids at work that they can raise their kids differently – that they don’t need to hit their kids. Their eyes would get big and they would nod in agreement. Having your child respect you is very different than fearing you, in my opinion. Thanks for your courage in exposing this sensitive topic.
Thanks for doing what you can. That’s what this is all about.
Aloha
Toby
This made me cry 🙁
I hate that there is nothing you can do. But I will say that sometimes other people ARE to blame other than the abused. Like people who call in things that are NON issues that end up tying up hours of Child Services time because they are obligated to go out and deal with this. So while they are sitting around one house, exchanging eye rolls with one another that they were even called, there is a child somewhere sitting in a room full of dirty diapers, not being fed for days at a time (this happened recently near where I live).
Of course, I definitely blame the abuser more than anyone else, because without them, we wouldn’t even need this system. But I would also say to anyone out there who does care about these things, pay attention and do not make calls unless you mean them. By all means, if you have an inkling something is wrong, call. But never, ever make a call for false reasons. You could be risking a child’s life when you do that.
other than the abuser*
you know, sometimes my dyslexia results in typos at the worst times 🙁
Anyway, I’m glad you are doing something about this. I wish there was something more everyone could do about things like this.
You make a very good point. I’ve never made an irresponsible call, I always call parent with any concerns I have… except when I know that will end up in bruises or other hidden abuse. But you raise a good point. I’ve seen the worst kinds of abuses of “the System” during custody battles. So wrong. Still hurts the kids.
I was a welfare caseworker for fourteen years. I heard so many sad stories and saw so many abused children. Yes, I did place many calls to Child Protective Services in those years. It’s not easy dealing with the system and it doesn’t always work.
Most people probably don’t realize that 31 developed countries have outlawed corporal punishment of children (that’s physical, psychological or emotional punishment/abuse of children from infancy to 18 years). But in the U.S. corporal punishment is still legal in 20 states. We need to push those remaining 20 states to make corporal punishment illegal. It won’t stop the abuse, but it will be a step in the right direction.
I did NOT realize that, and in a shocking followup, the “investigator” assigned to the case advised Uncle “just don’t hit the kids with objects as it tends to leave bruises. If you hit them use your hand.” He seemed to think this was educating Uncle on discipline. I was…um. Well. i can’t really form a sentence about it just now.
I understand that many don’t believe in corporal punishment, however there is a difference between that and abuse. Using a spanking as a disciplinary tool (again only one tool,,,must use others) and punching your kid in the face are two different things!! My husband and I have been dragged into court by a disgruntled ex-wife over a spanking when this Uncle can’t seem to be removed from this kid’s life when he leaves her face bruised. Every parent makes decisions that shape their child’s future, bad or good. It is not fair that parents attempting to instill values in their children thru spanking get lumped together with those who use their kids as punching bags and work them to the point of blisters. Meanwhile mothers who let their children cry all day and starve for hours are considered fit. Child abuse needs to be redefined!!
Dear Toby,
I have never dealt personally with child abuse the way you have, but my son did have a friend with a very difficult home life. He didn’t mention it until both boys were grown-if only I had known.
You and the children will be in my prayers that the abuse stops and you find a way to cope and help them even when they system ties your hands.
Blessings,
Marianne
I’m a little late to this party. Don’t give up, Toby. I was consistently abused when I was younger, but I lived in a society where it wasn’t polite to look too deeply into the affairs of others – especially when such inquires could lead to an upset. Looking back with the perspective of an adult, I now recognize that I had a deep seeded need for someone to care about my cuts and bruises. Child Welfare may never respond the way they should, but it is highly probable that your perseverance shows more care than what that child will encounter for years to come. You’re doing a great job. Compassion in action is what these kids need to see.
Thank you for sharing, Jillian, and letting me know this.
Aloha!