It is almost seventeen years since I first walked into my job here at Children Services. I remember standing at the time clock with my friend, Donna, totally clueless about a government agency, let alone Children Services. Donna and I are still here, the only remaining two people in our start group. Donna is a legal secretary now, and I am the Records Supervisor. It occurred to me that my family probably doesn’t really know what I do. (I love my job!) (Except for May.) I haven’t written here in a while because I’ve been so wrapped up at work and when I get home, I just want to vegetate, play Bejeweled and watch the screen in chat. (May is really tough for me.)
While at work, I field questions from customers (we don’t call them clients anymore because it is politically incorrect.…yep, that’s the Welfare Way.) I get calls from people wanting to know if I can look in their files and see who has custody of their children, (You don't know that???) from people who want to know who their worker is, ("some lady was here and took my kids! Who was it? --- Let me get this straight---Someone was at your home, removed your children and you don’t know who it was??????). Some people just want to complain that "you people" need to do your job and ‘why did you take my kids when my neighbor/friend/relative, fill in the blank, beats her kids?’. Then there is always the call from the crack mom who lost her kids about ten years ago and just now realizes it. Try explaining that one! (I love my job.)
One of the best parts of my job is doing the adoption searches. Children can seek their biological parents at age 21. I cannot provide names, only the court can authorize that, but I can give them all the medical and social history in the file. Most are easy….young unwed mom, no financial support, looking out for her child so that he/she may have a more fulfilling life with parents who can provide. However, there are always those severe abuse/neglect cases and it’s really difficult sometimes to relate a history to the adopted person without sounding bias. "Just the facts, Ma’am" as Joe Friday would say. However, no matter how you put it, ie ‘lack of bonding’, ‘poor supervision’, ‘chronic alcohol abuse’, the child still gets the picture that Mom/Dad didn’t care a lick for him, so much so, that the state had to step in and take permanent custody. There was the one time I had to tell an adopted person that her father was extradited to another state on murder/rape charges and is still in prison. (That was a tough one, but I love my job!)
The law is very clear about not sharing identifying information about the parents to the adopted child; however, there is a big gray area when it comes to siblings. Siblings should never be separated anyway. However, as often was the case in the 50s, 60s, and 70s, you were lucky to find an adoptive parent to take one child, let alone several children. Soooooo….when it comes to siblings searching for siblings, I can stay within the law and still help. I once had a call from a man (a captain in the military) who was searching for family history on his parents. When I pulled the file, I noticed he had a sister who requested the same information several years prior. After thinking, getting advice and reading the law, I made a decision to call the sister (without revealing any identifying information) and told her that I had reason to be in her file and wondered if she wanted any contact with a brother. She was ecstatic and couldn’t believe one of her brothers made contact. I sent her the forms to file and did all the paperwork for her and the brother. Making a very complex and long story short, all seven….yes, seven siblings are now in contact with one another. They are scattered all over the country and have managed to meet each other for a big reunion as well as many of their relatives. (I love my job!)
I run a check on every person who wants to be a foster parent, either publicly or privately funded. I send the person the results. Sometimes they don’t understand why that little cocaine problem a couple years back might hold them back.,..or how that little stint in jail for drunk driving might factor in..,.or the fact that their own children were in foster care might be a problem. A recent one tried to gloss over the fact that she was arrested at the airport with 1K of coacaine in her bra. I try, as best as I can, to explain why some of these things might be a problem. If they aren’t happy with the answer, I help them fill out Complaint and Review paperwork. (I love my job.)
And then there is May. May is really trying for me. Continued tomorrow.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Saturday, April 23, 2005
...men, go figure
There are some things you just don’t hear about when it comes to women. You’ve all heard them……"Stupid Criminals", "Kuckleheads in the News", "Weird and Bizarre". I read the AP news every morning (yes, at work, but don’t tell Uncle Sam).
Intermingled with murders, the war, Muslim extremists and politics, they usually have one story of something really stupid, more than not, perpetrated by a man. There was the man who wrote his bank robbery note on the back of his phone bill and handed it to the teller. Obviously, the police had no trouble tracking him down. Now a woman would choose a lovely soft shade of lavender lightly scented paper and write " Would you please be so kind to hand over all your money? Thank you." And remain anonymous.
I’m sure you heard about the gang that was ripping off a chain of stores in New Jersey. They eventually got caught after robbing one store; however, they will be charged with multiple robberies. Why? Apparently, they were taking pictures and videos of themselves while they were committing the crimes. Really! Would a woman stop to take videos of her self in the midst of cleaning out a store? I mean, c’mon….lugging heavy items around with sweat pouring down her face and then taping it?….I think not.
The best, however, is the story of a man (in Boston, I believe) who decided to rob a Taco Bell. Yes, a Taco Bell. What did he hope to get…enchiladas? The police found him running from the fast food restaurant, stark naked, with melted cheese covering his shoulders and head. Good grief! Can you imagine a woman dunking her head in melted cheese? And really, does orange go with any shade of hair color at all??? And what lipstick matches Cheez Whiz? Gotta be a "man-thing", huh?
Intermingled with murders, the war, Muslim extremists and politics, they usually have one story of something really stupid, more than not, perpetrated by a man. There was the man who wrote his bank robbery note on the back of his phone bill and handed it to the teller. Obviously, the police had no trouble tracking him down. Now a woman would choose a lovely soft shade of lavender lightly scented paper and write " Would you please be so kind to hand over all your money? Thank you." And remain anonymous.
I’m sure you heard about the gang that was ripping off a chain of stores in New Jersey. They eventually got caught after robbing one store; however, they will be charged with multiple robberies. Why? Apparently, they were taking pictures and videos of themselves while they were committing the crimes. Really! Would a woman stop to take videos of her self in the midst of cleaning out a store? I mean, c’mon….lugging heavy items around with sweat pouring down her face and then taping it?….I think not.
The best, however, is the story of a man (in Boston, I believe) who decided to rob a Taco Bell. Yes, a Taco Bell. What did he hope to get…enchiladas? The police found him running from the fast food restaurant, stark naked, with melted cheese covering his shoulders and head. Good grief! Can you imagine a woman dunking her head in melted cheese? And really, does orange go with any shade of hair color at all??? And what lipstick matches Cheez Whiz? Gotta be a "man-thing", huh?
Friday, March 18, 2005
...on being Duncan
Duncan is my six-year-old Springer Spaniel. He is your typical ADHD dog, full of spunk and continually on the move. The minute you say "leash" or "walk", he is all over the house searching for the leash. The moment I go to my sock drawer and withdraw a pair of white socks, he knows we are heading out and drives me crazy barking, yipping, running to the door, all the while dragging his red leash.
Two days ago on Wednesday, I brought him in and he could barely make it up the steps. He merely came in, lay down and whimpered occasionally. He stopped drinking water and stopped eating. A dog biscuit has been in the middle of my living room floor for two days, which is unheard of in this house, since he inhales all food sources immediately. For the first time in six years, Wednesday night, he did not jump on my bed to sleep. He did get up once in awhile and walk around, but without purpose and very slowly. Today, Friday, is the first day ever, he did not greet me at the door with tail wagging, stupid grin on his face and the mid-waist jumps.
He was where I left him this morning, lying on his blanket by my bed. It took me a full five minutes to coax him up and to walk around a bit. Even my husband was concerned on how we would even get him in the car since it appeared that his legs/hips/back was bothering him immensely. Jim went downstairs and made a special box so that we could transport him to the vet. The minute this dog was in the back seat, he was out of the box and all over the car. He had a complete personality change, jumping all around, wagging his tail and doing his normal "I’m in the car now I have to act bad" act. By the time we got to the vet, he was excited and more animated than I have seen him in the last 48 hours. Jim and I are just staring at each other in shock and his quick recovery. We even thought about just leaving and canceling the appointment, but decided to see it through, especially since he hasn’t eaten in two days.
While waiting for the doctor, I kept telling Duncan that he should at least have the courtesy and decency to act sick. Gheez…what a Bozo. When Dr. T. came into the room, there was Duncan, all smiles, waiting to see him. As we described his symptoms, which sounded as though Duncan was at death’s door, he was busy sniffing, jumping and running around. I was just mortified at taking up the good doctor’s time.
However, Dr. T. took all of this as a good sign and smiled, and informed us that from his observations, there was a good chance that his diagnosis was not of a neurological nature but more in the trauma area, such as a pulled muscle. The best course of treatment was to give Duncan a shot and then some pills for a few days, to see how things work out. He explained that the adrenaline kick of being in the car and at the office, probably masked the pain Duncan had been experiencing. The adrenaline rush probably wouldn’t mask something more serious. Very good news, considering the night before I was in tears, not knowing what to do for my baby.
Naturally, the first thing Duncan did upon returning home was drink from the toilet and eat his dog biscuit. At least now I’m not looking at that lonely dog bone in the middle of my floor any longer. So, there you have it…. Duncan, "the great imposter but I love all this attention" dog. Much loved, by the way.
Two days ago on Wednesday, I brought him in and he could barely make it up the steps. He merely came in, lay down and whimpered occasionally. He stopped drinking water and stopped eating. A dog biscuit has been in the middle of my living room floor for two days, which is unheard of in this house, since he inhales all food sources immediately. For the first time in six years, Wednesday night, he did not jump on my bed to sleep. He did get up once in awhile and walk around, but without purpose and very slowly. Today, Friday, is the first day ever, he did not greet me at the door with tail wagging, stupid grin on his face and the mid-waist jumps.
He was where I left him this morning, lying on his blanket by my bed. It took me a full five minutes to coax him up and to walk around a bit. Even my husband was concerned on how we would even get him in the car since it appeared that his legs/hips/back was bothering him immensely. Jim went downstairs and made a special box so that we could transport him to the vet. The minute this dog was in the back seat, he was out of the box and all over the car. He had a complete personality change, jumping all around, wagging his tail and doing his normal "I’m in the car now I have to act bad" act. By the time we got to the vet, he was excited and more animated than I have seen him in the last 48 hours. Jim and I are just staring at each other in shock and his quick recovery. We even thought about just leaving and canceling the appointment, but decided to see it through, especially since he hasn’t eaten in two days.
While waiting for the doctor, I kept telling Duncan that he should at least have the courtesy and decency to act sick. Gheez…what a Bozo. When Dr. T. came into the room, there was Duncan, all smiles, waiting to see him. As we described his symptoms, which sounded as though Duncan was at death’s door, he was busy sniffing, jumping and running around. I was just mortified at taking up the good doctor’s time.
However, Dr. T. took all of this as a good sign and smiled, and informed us that from his observations, there was a good chance that his diagnosis was not of a neurological nature but more in the trauma area, such as a pulled muscle. The best course of treatment was to give Duncan a shot and then some pills for a few days, to see how things work out. He explained that the adrenaline kick of being in the car and at the office, probably masked the pain Duncan had been experiencing. The adrenaline rush probably wouldn’t mask something more serious. Very good news, considering the night before I was in tears, not knowing what to do for my baby.
Naturally, the first thing Duncan did upon returning home was drink from the toilet and eat his dog biscuit. At least now I’m not looking at that lonely dog bone in the middle of my floor any longer. So, there you have it…. Duncan, "the great imposter but I love all this attention" dog. Much loved, by the way.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
...monologue on the Monologues
I went to see the Vagina Monologues last night with a couple of girlfriends. One friend, Margene, is very heavy into the theater, often acting as director, stage manager or actress. Our mutual friend, Jodie, a boisterous, extremely earthy actress, was a member of the troupe. Many people do not realize that the Monologues are put on in local areas as benefits to help abused and battered women. Much of the play has any woman, no matter what age, in tears from laughter. What we want to articulate and proclaim, yet only whisper to our girlfriends, is up there, out there, soft and loud, for all to hear.
Many times during the play, the tears were from sadness. A sadness that only a woman can relate with her sisters. I was extremely touched by the monologue from a woman who had been repeatedly raped, tortured and brutalized in Bosnia. Her innocence and love of life cruelly shattered, when her village was attacked. I urge any woman, no matter what age, to see this hysterical, yet poignant, discourse on the vagina (yes, I said it!) I would also strongly urge any man who has loved a woman or plans on loving a woman see it. It just might open his eyes a bit to who we really are.
Many times during the play, the tears were from sadness. A sadness that only a woman can relate with her sisters. I was extremely touched by the monologue from a woman who had been repeatedly raped, tortured and brutalized in Bosnia. Her innocence and love of life cruelly shattered, when her village was attacked. I urge any woman, no matter what age, to see this hysterical, yet poignant, discourse on the vagina (yes, I said it!) I would also strongly urge any man who has loved a woman or plans on loving a woman see it. It just might open his eyes a bit to who we really are.
...beginnings
We are defined by our experiences and our experiences are based on our perceptions. However, perceptions are flawed, limited and based solely on our previous experiences. Therefore, our perceptions are in error, before we even begin the experience.
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