I Read the News Today, Oh Boy

I have been working here long enough to have the dubious privilege of reading about some of our former charges in the newspapers. And as you can imagine, the stories are never for something good like winning awards, getting elected or making a pro sports team. So you can imagine my reluctance when, as I walked into work one day, one of the a.m. staff members held up the local paper and asked, “Have you seen this yet?”

I really dreaded what I was about to read. Thoughts came rushing in of the other newsworthy events that our “graduates” have committed during my career here:

-A black kid from the worst part of the ghetto was placed here, swore for 4 years that when he was discharged he was going right back home to sell crack. He said he wanted to get rich just like his big brother. The newspaper reported that he was shot to death right outside of his house a week after he was discharged.

-Another kid, placed with us after being sexually abused for years by his mother and sister wound up strangling his sister to death after leaving us.

-Another kid was found drowned in a creek with toxic levels of meth in his blood.

-Another kid tied up an 84 year old woman and beat her with her own cane until she told him where her credit cards were. He was arrested an hour later at the mall trying to buy cd’s with her card.

So, yes, it was with some trepidation that I picked up the paper to read “Two Group Home Boys Hold Off Police for Hours, Suffer Hypothermia in Lake.”

I sighed in relief.

Stokie “Well that’s not too bad,” I said. I looked around the house. “Am I to assume that Michael and Francis will be needing to be picked up from the Hall?”
Staff “Francis will, but Michael’s still at the hospital. You have to pick him up there.”
Stokie “Well, fine. But how the hell did they get out to the lake?” I wondered.
Staff “They slipped out last night right after dinner. We had half the campus looking for them. We searched everywhere: the freeway, the school kitchen, Toys R Us, everywhere. Maybe when you see them, you can ask them.”
Stokie “Yeah, maybe I’ll just work some of that Stokie Jaye magic.” And that’s just what I set off to do.

Wouldn’t be a good idea to pick them both up at the same time. Unless you have several staff with you, the kids will get right back into their bravado routine and probably try to escape or do something equally as stupid. I decided to first pick up Francis at the juvenile hall we call “The Country Club,” bring him back to the house, then go get Michael at the hospital.

I checked in at the front desk of the hall, and waited until they led Francis out. As he opened the door and limped toward me, I could see that he was caked in mud, clothes ripped beyond use. He was wearing county issued paper slippers.

Stokie “Where are your shoes?” I asked.
Francis “Fuck if I know. If I had them I’d still be running. ‘Stead these fuckin’ neeger cops made me lose ‘em.”

The guard, a large man of the “neeger” persuasion stepped up. “Apparently, your boy here lost them in the mud on the shores of the lake. That mud there is about 4 feet deep.”

Francis “The bastard cops made me lose ‘em and now I got this!” He took off his paper wrap and showed me cut and bloodied toes and soles.
Guard “Oh yeah, and them reeds can be awful sharp can’t they, boy?”
Francis “Shut the hell up neeger wardie bitch, before you get sued!”

I could see that Francis might not be in the best mood to talk about the previous night’s exploits. In the van, I decided to give it a try, “Gosh Francis, I’m glad you’re okay. The whole campus was looking for you last night. You guys are really good AWOLers. How’d you do it?”

Francis liked it when you told him he was good at something. “Hee! I knew it. Everyone was looking all over the place, so we didn’t go nowhere. You know that metal circle down by the school basketball courts?”

Stokie “You mean the sewer?”
Francis “Yeah, that. We got in it and just stayed there til morning. Then we walked to the lake.”
Stokie “So you two spent the night in the sewer.”
Francis “Whoa guy, why do you have to say it like that? I’m not like that. And I’m not gay, either. Plus, we really fucked up those cops. That’ll teach them not to mess with us.”
Stokie “Oh God, what did you do?”
Francis “Well they seen us on the road near the lake and they tried to get us, but we had too many rocks and then we ran through all them bushes — that’s where we lost our shoes–and they couldn’t see us and we got in the lake.”
Stokie “Wait a minute. You guys can’t swim, what do you mean you got in the lake?”
Francis “We walked out up to our noses so we could still breathe and they couldn’t do nothing cuz they couldn’t get in the water. They’re all bitches, anyway. That’s why they got that fuckin’ boat, cuz they’re bitches.”
Stokie “Oh Jesus Francis! You mean they had to get a boat?”
Francis “And a fuckin’ helicopter cuz the boat couldn’t see us neither. That’ll teach them not to mess with us hoo-riders. It was only cuz the helicopter seen us that they grabbed us with the boat. But I’m calling Johnnie Cochran and suing cuz that’s police brutality and they can’t put hand cuffs on you and throw you on the floor of a boat.”

I thought about that for a while, taking it all in.

Stokie “Francis?” I said, staring very seriously.
Francis “Now what?”
Stokie “You know I already talked to Michael,” I lied.
Francis “Goddammit! We didn’t have sex in the sewer! Plus it wasn’t my idea. He’s the one who said it already smelled like shit. Besides, I ain’t no fag. Just because you have sex with boys doesn’t mean you’re a fag, goddammit!”
Stokie “Never said you were, Francis. Never said you were.”

As you are by now well aware, all of us group home counselors are completely professional, always focused on the well-being of the kids. Ok, so maybe that is a slight exaggeration.

The truth is, like in any profession, the mind begins to wander sometimes. During the times we are with the kids, there is usually too much going on to lose focus. However, our weekly staff meetings can be some of the more mundane activities we face, so it is no wonder we need to find distractions to keep ourselves occupied.

At the moment, our staff is equally balanced between males and females – six of each. One of the inside jokes we males like to mention to each other is that it’s very important to balance out the staff between guys and girls because not only can we exhibit proper family role models for the children, but it also gives us something interesting to look at as the shift wears on. And believe me, in an atmosphere where at any time you run the risk of getting assaulted, peed on, cussed at and spit on, just about anything that meets the minimum requirement of being the opposite sex qualifies as being interesting to look at.

Every Tuesday is staff meeting day. While the kids are at school, every staff who works on every shift comes in for 4 hours to discuss important issues, work on treatment plans, listen to social workers present new clients and examine our own effectiveness on the floor. (”On the floor” means working out in the open with the kids. The House Supervisor might use it like this: “Staff, please try not to cuss when you’re out on the floor,” or, if you’re like Toby, you might say it while unlocking the door to the staff office, “Staff, I’m going to be off the floor for a few minutes,” which means you’re about to go take a dump.) Staff meetings are held at the large kitchen table around which
we are all seated.

Just before one of the staff meetings, I was talking to Mel, one of my favorite teammates, in the staff office. Mel was closing his eyes and shaking his head, “Dawg, I’m not saying I’m gonna try to set the kids off so they blow out, but damn, dude, have you ever proned some kid with Trixie? (Trixie is a hot red-head) Blood, when that hottie bends over, just take a look back. Her pants sag down and her thong and all her shit is hangin’ out for the whole world to see. Me and her proned Freddie’s stupid ass this morning and I’m telling you…damn!” Mel didn’t need to remind me, it’s not like I never noticed this job’s little rewards. Mel went on, “Dude, everybody’s sitting down. Call me in two minutes.”

“Mel, you’re a fucking pervert, plus you’re making me late.” Actually I didn’t mind.

Mel cringed and laughed as he walked out of the staff office and off to the staff meeting. After two minutes, I used the staff office phone to call the phone line in the kitchen. When it rang, I heard Mel jump up, “I’ll get it!” I hung up just as Mel answered, “Hulla? Oh, let me check.” He walked in to meet me in the staff office.
“Oh, man, blood, you gotta go out there to staff meeting!”
“Yeah, well that’s the general idea, Mel,” I laughed.
“Dawg, it’s not just Trixie’s thong, that crazy-ass bitch
Leslie got one too, only leopard stripe, plus Katrina’s wearing her lace red one.”
“Mel, you’re fucking crazy but I love you. We better go out.”

As we walked out to take our places, I walked behind the women he was talking about and noticed that everything he described was true. Sad, but true. Life’s little pleasures are amplified in this kind of environment.

Mel mentioned “Crazy-ass Leslie.” She came aboard at Trixie’s recommendation, but Trixie soon renounced her allegence to Leslie. Trixie said she thought Leslie was cool at first, but she soon found out, as we all did that Leslie is a little unbalanced. Trixie told me that she started getting worried when they went out one night, went bar hopping and Leslie wound up dropping her pants and taking a piss out in the middle of a busy intersection. Later, Trixie would find Leslie in her house, univited, when she would come home from work. Now that Trixie has told Leslie that she’s not allowed in her house uninvited, Leslie has taken up driving by the group home, slowing down and giving Trixie the evil eye, and driving off. And this is on Leslie’s days off!

I had noticed that something was amiss with her when I pulled into work one afternoon and she burst out of the house yelling, “Stokie! My favorite person! I love you!” She ran up to me sat on my foot and hugged my leg. This woman was actually humping my leg. I thought for a second that it was nice that she had a crush on me and I felt a bit of an ego stroke. After all, she is kinda cute. But that thought was overcome by my next thought that this person thinks it’s ok to greet someone by humping his leg, and not just that, but
in public. “Oh Stokie, thank you so much for being you!”

“Leslie, you need to get the fuck off my leg. This isn’t how normal people act. Get the fuck off.”
“But you’re my favorite person…” I shook her off my leg and she lay there in the street. “God, Stokie, you don’t have to be like that…”

I walked into the house. Scott, a big, good looking baseball player was at the stove cooking what he liked to call “Sloppy Scotts,” his version of Sloppy Joes.

I said, “Scott, I think that Leslie’s fuckin crazy, man. Or she has a crush on me or something.”
Scott put down his spatula and looked at me. “Aw, man! Don’t tell me she humped your leg, too! I never had someone do that to me til now!”

It is in this context that after the staff meeting, I found myself with Mel and Toby discussing the Ultimate Group Home Counselor.

Mel was holding court. “Ok, if you put Trixie’s ass together with Katrina’s tits, that would be so dope.”
“No!” said Toby. “Katrina’s too damn lazy. Put Stephanie’s ass with Trixie’s tits.”
“Yeah,” said Mel. “She’s got a nice little backyard. But she got to have a head, dawg.”
Mel said, “Leslie’s head, dude. Listen. Trixie’s tits, you can’t beat those. Stephanie’s ass and Leslie’s head. Stokie, how ’bout that? Leslie’s head, what do you think?”
I said, “As long as it keeps it’s fucking mouth shut, I’m ok with it.”
“Cool,” said Mel. “Then we got it. The Ultimate Group Home Counselor.”

Later that afternoon, I was sharing the shift with Mel, Trixie and Leslie. It was our recreation hour and Mel and I were watching the activities from the back porch while Trixie was playing frisbee on the rec field and Leslie was watching a group of boys play basketball at the adjoining courts. We both happened to be watching as Leslie got up and walked over to a heavy, wooden baseball bat that had been left on the field. I thought that it was a good idea of her to remove it and keep it safely from the boys. She picked it up and walked over to a basketball that had also been left on the field. She picked up the ball, tossed it up in the air and swung at it. She missed. Undeterred, she tossed it up and swung again.

This time she hit it. The ball didn’t move. The bat ricocheted back and slammed her in the side of the head. Mel and I ran down as we watched her lose her balance and fall to her knees. When we arrived she was bleeding from her ear.

She was taken by ambulance to the hospital and I heard that she had sufferred a concussion. As time went on, I also heard that she had some kind of lack of balance condition and chronic headaches. I also heard that the worker’s compensation payout for her was enormous.

I’ve always said that in this environment there is one thing that is completely predictable: the unpredictable outrageousness of the kids. If there is one thing you can rely on, it’s
the variability of insanity. Anyone who has worked in this type of group home for any length of time can tell you that there will be at least one crazy event a day. You just accept it.

That said, the things that are less acceptable are the varying reactions and behavior modification strategies of the staff. Even less acceptable is the incompetence of the therapists who try to work out their own issues by projecting them onto their clients. However, the most unacceptable reality we as group home counselors face is the absolute, uncompromising lack of support by the administration.

Every month the administration hosts an “in-service.” That is, the administration is credited money from the involved counties for holding an in-service. Whether or not an in-service is actually held every month seems to be dependent on whether anyone in the administration is actually prepared to present one. They usually occur about once every 3 months, give or take.

An in-service is basically a training meeting meant to keep the counselors, house supervisors and therapists up to date on issues such as behavior mod, medications, issues and trends in the psychology world. One of my favorites was when a nutritionist was invited to talk about healthy eating habits and we were treated to donuts and punch as refreshments. Talk about being unclear on the concept! Donuts and punch are provided at pretty much every in-service.

One of the nice things about the in-services is that the responsibility of taking care of the kids falls on the school staff. No matter what the circumstances, the school staff is expected to handle anything that comes up. It is the one time when the group home counselors will not be relied upon to handle the problems that come up at school, which is usually the case.

From the very beginning of this particular in-service, you could tell something was different. For one, all of the upper management administrators were there, and they all had very concerned looks on their faces. Not only that, as we filled the second floor conference room which overlooks the newly renovated arboretum and fountain, everyone noticed the head honcho himself, Ryan Brayhill, front and center, preparing to speak. I had never actually seen or met Mr. Brayhill,I had only seen his picture in our newsletter, usually dressed in his suit and tie. His conspicuous absence was generally interpreted as an indifference to the lowly group home counselors and their concerns. Here, he was dressed in jeans and a leather bomber jacket, obviously dressing down to more easily relate with us lower-category workers. This must be bad news.

The presentation was carefully staged. Ricky Kingsley, the head of the Recreation Department stepped up to speak. I had known Ricky from way back, when he started off as a group home counselor, like me. In fact, everyone knows him pretty well, he is very personable and well-liked due mainly to the fact that he could relate to us because he actually was one of us. It was a good plan, if not an obvious one, to have him start off this meeting to help us ease in to whatever the difficult news would be.

He began, “I just want everyone to know that the decisions that have been made in the last several meetings were very difficult and we have had nothing but your well-being as counselors and as people in mind.” I know how hard it is to do your job and I totally sympathize with your concerns, but I’m afraid we have had to make some tough choices due to budget cuts. If anyone wants to talk about it after the meeting, I’ll be available and open to any of your thoughts. With that, I’d like to introduce Ryan Brayhill, who is the CEO of the organization. Mr. Brayhill?”

“Oh, great,” I thought. I was sure he was going to announce a reduction in the food budget, or how we couldn’t afford outings anymore, or some such ridiculous decision.

He stepped up, flanked by all the higher ups of the administration. “These are hard times for all the non-profits across the state and country. We are really at the mercy of the bureaucrats at the state capitol when it comes to our annual budget. Not only that, but being a non-profit, we rely on donations to a large extent, and they are drastically down. So I wanted to come down here myself to let you know the kinds of cuts we’re making. It’s painful to announce, but after a lot of deliberation, I think it’s the right decision. What will be happening is that we are going to make an adjustment in your benefits package. From now on, we will be making cuts in your medical coverage; we will ask you to contribute to half of your coverage, and we will no longer be covering care for your dependents…blah, blah, blah.”

I looked around the room. I thought about what these cuts would mean to the people here. Many of these counselors and House Supervisors have kids. I have two kids myself. The room was silent for a moment, everyone letting the news sink in. Then Yolanda, our House Supervisor, was the first to speak.

“So Mr. Brayhill, I want to make sure I’m understanding this right. What you’re saying is, you expect us to take care of somebody else’s kids, but you’re not going to help us take care of our own kids. That’s what you’re saying, right?”

Mr. Brayhill looked annoyed. “No, that’s not what I’m saying, I’m saying this whole process has been very difficult…”

“But not as difficult as it will be for us to get our kids coverage. Is it any wonder that staff turnover is so high? It’s decisions like this that make staff want to find other jobs. I mean, I love working with these kids, but I won’t be able to do it unless I can get coverage for my own.”

Yolanda had made an excellent point, one I completely agreed with. I felt compelled to speak, as well.

“Mr. Brayhill, how can you come down here and tell us this stuff while, during the last month, we’ve sat and watched that nice new white fence go up around the horse stables? I mean, couldn’t you have used that money to help us out? And what about the horses? Why would you choose to improve the lives of animals over the humans who actually do the work?”

Mr. Brayhill was turning red with frustration. “Hey! Let’s get one thing straight. That fence was paid for by a private donor who specified that it go to the horses. I would have loved to use that money for you all…”

I interrupted, “Then it should be your job to explain to that donor that there are greater needs around here than a nice new fence for the horses when the front line staff who do all the work are suffering. Why didn’t you tell the donor that, Mr. Brayhill?”

“I’m not going to stand up here and let some group home counselor tell me how to do my job. At least you should appreciate the fact that I’m telling you personally. I didn’t have to do that, you know.”

Sloppy Scott spoke up. “You know what I heard? I heard that we’re the only ones who are getting cut like this. Is that true? Why aren’t the administrative staff getting their fair share of the cuts?”

Apparently that was enough for Mr. Brayhill. He turned and yelled at Scott, “I think it’s a fucking shame that you counselors keep getting injured on the job, which is costing us hundreds of thousands of dollars!”

The room was once again silent, most of our jaws had dropped at Brayhill’s outburst. Just then, heavy, stomping, and sloshing footsteps could be heard on the steps. Then, a familiar sounding voice exclaiming, “Aw, fuck yeah! Donuts!” We all turned to look and saw Kyle, shirtless and soaking wet pounce on a donut box and pull out an eclair. He then turned and saw the room full of staff just as he was about to stuff the eclair into his mouth. He was momentarily stunned, but quickly composed himself.

“What’s up, bitches? I’m fuckin’ AWOL, now what?” He began to run around the room, expecting someone to chase him. No one moved. He stopped at the front of the room, next to Mr. Brayhill. He waved his soaking shirt in the air and pointed at various staff. “Fuck you, fuck you, oh yes, and fuck you, and especially fuck you…” He then held the eclair down at his crotch, squeezed out the custard and jammed the whole thing in his mouth. Still, not one counselor flinched or moved a muscle.

Janette Stankin, the Clinical Supervisor agitatedly said, “Well someone has to stop him!” and approached Kyle. Kyle ran out of the back door, out on to the veranda and disappeared down the breezeway. Janette ran after him, oblivious to the fact that no one else was participating in the chase.

At that moment, more footsteps on the stairs. Then, “Oh, shit, dude, there’s donuts!” Two of the school staff walked into the room. Seeing that there was a meeting in progress one asked, “Oh! Yeah, we’re looking for Kyle. He ran out of class and took a dip in the fountain.”

Half the room pointed to the back door. “Thanks man, he’s probably going back for another swim.” The two left out of the back door and disappeared.

All eyes returned to Mr. Brayhill.

“Typical group home bullshit,” he said as he turned and exited down the stairs.

I don’t think any 15 minutes in the history of the organization did more to lower staff morale than that meeting.

After that fated in-service, we all made our way back up to our respective units to resume our staff meetings. Echoing in all our heads were Mr. Brayhill’s final words, “Typical group home bullshit,” which made us realize that neither the group homes nor their employees were anywhere near the Administration’s top priorities.
As we settled into our seats, our unit’s House Supervisor, Yolanda said, “So, someone from the Administration is supposed to come up and join us to help us talk about our feelings regarding the cuts in benefits. I think it’s Pete Post who’s coming to join us.”
Gus said, “Talk about our feelings? What does that mean? Does that mean we get any say in the budget cuts?”
“No,” said Yolanda. “All that’s a done deal.”
“Is anything we say gonna make any difference at all in the decision making process?”
“No.”
“Then can we tell him to kiss our black asses and get the hell outta here? I mean, we got important work to do and he wants to come up here and waste our time talking bout, ‘Oh you gotta talk about your feelings.’ What the fuck for, they don’t give a shit anyway.”
“Well, you can tell him to kiss your ass if you want, that’s what everyone’s thinking anyway.”
Pete Post was walking down the path to our unit. Pete Post is now in charge of hiring and training new staff. He’s a youngish guy, about 26. His typical work outfit, and this day was no different, is this: a blue or purple longsleeve button down shirt with a purple, squared off, knit cotton tie from the early 80’s, tight black jeans hiked up above his navel and revealing his black socks, and black Converse lowtops. Ever since he started doing the Clinical Director, Janette Stankin, his ass and his waistline has been expanding (Janette is known for her wonderful cheesecakes, and from the looks of things, Pete has indulged in more than a few.) Still, Pete wears the same pants as he did 5 years ago, so as his waist expands, his pants get tighter and higher. He is, in fact, working on his own male cameltoe. He can be seen during the lunch hour walking up and down our expansive driveway either talking or singing to himself, eyes barely open, with a half grin on his face. He has a way of talking to people which at once confuses them and also places him on the technical crew of his high school drama department, the kind of guy who probably repeated Monty Python skits ad nauseum in a bad British accent. In other words, Pete Post is a top-tier dweeb. He sat down with us and began.
“May I assume that there is a general feeling of negativity, which although understandable, and yet in my opinion possible to overcome, is pervasive, something to which the present company all subscribe?” He had is elbows on the table, tapping his fingertips together in a show of thoughtfulness.
Gus turned to me. “The fuck he say?”
Now I suppose one of the things that makes me a good counselor is my ability to understand many different forms of communication. I’m able to easily relate to many different types of people, from the MIT computer nerd to the hardened ghetto dweller.
I said, “He’s asking if everybody thinks the Administration is fucking us over.”
“Tell him we said, ‘Hell yes.’”
Pete went on. “These current changes are indeed lamentable, however, there are other program adjustments to which we can look forward in a positive light. I am referring to my own personal philosophy that the last thing our charges need is for us to repeat the abusive patterns to which they may account their tenure here. I, and a few other administrators are excited at the prospect of creating a program in which we no longer put hands on the kids unless it is an absolute necessity. Imagine the increased amount of respect the children would ascribe to us under such a program adjustment.”
Yolanda was irritated. “Pete, you been talking about that for a year now, don’t no one agree with you and I’ll be damned if anyone in this room agrees with you now. If you want to make some positive changes, you should think about how you gonna recruit some staff members who are gonna stay long enough to learn the job and earn the kids’ trust. I don’t know where you be pickin up these new staff, but some don’t even speak English well enough to talk to the kids, some don’t seem to be trained to know when it’s time to put hands on. That’s one of the reasons staff be getting hurt on the job. Sometimes I think you be telling new staff to never put hands on, and putting us veteran staff in danger when you know some new staff not gonna help you out when things get physical.”
Pete said, “My ususal mantra regarding that kind of statement bears repeating, I think. And that is: I am always open to suggestions and ideas when it comes to recruiting new staff.”
I felt compelled to add my two cents. “Dude, do you ever go to those college job fairs? I’m sure you could find some competent psychology majors who could help us out. I live right near the University. I could totally help out and post some flyers or whatever.”
I thought I saw Pete’s goofy grin turn into an almost wry smile. “Thank you Stokie, I’m glad you said that. There is a job fair going on this Thursday at the University. Of course I would be happy to accept your help and invite you to put your money where your mouth is and accompany me there. If memory serves, this will not interfere with your work schedule.”
I looked around the table. Everyone was nodding and grinning at me, knowing I had opened my big mouth once again.
Gus turned to me again, “Now what?”
I said, “I’m going to a job fair with Pete Post.”
Gus just chuckled and shook his head.

Two days later, there I was sitting at a booth with Pete Post at the University’s job fair. The administration had hired a professional photographer a couple of years ago so that we could have nice pictures of our kids looking appropriately cute and needy in a display for recruiting purposes. We had those photos displayed along with a big banner with the organizations name on it. There were a lot of students there looking for jobs and I felt really hopeful and upbeat about our chances.
As each student walked by our booth, Pete Post would be tapping his fingers together in his display of thoughtfulness and say, “Greetings, for what are you seeking?”
I sat and watched as each student would furrow their brows and keep walking. Still, each time someone walked up to us Pete would repeat,
“Greetings, for what are you seeking?”
“Greetings, for what are you seeking?”
I thought, ‘Jesus Christ, no fucking wonder.’ Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. I said to Pete, “Dude, is that what you always say to people? You know, not everyone talks like that.”
A student walked up. I said, “Hi, do you like working with kids? You might enjoy finding out about our program, here’s our brochure, blah, blah, blah…”
Pete said to me, “This is an activity to which you seem well-suited.”
“Yeah, well I’m also well-suited to having a few beers when this is over.”
“Agreed. I would second that prospect and would enjoy sharing the experience with you.”
“Dude, I didn’t say you were coming with me. Now repeat after me, ‘Hi, do you like working with kids’…?”

I’m so tired of the Language of Therapy. I think part of my frustration with it stems from the way our therapists use it with the kids. They never seem to set any limits with the kid, they never say simple things like, “No. We’re not going to talk about Doritos again. We’re going to talk about your family.” They just engage the kid in any lame-ass fantasy, whim or accusation to discover the different ways the kids’ thought processes work, which is understandable, but they end up getting so caught up in the drama of it that they lend credence to the boys’ twisted thoughts.

It happens all the time. A kid and therapist return from therapy and the therapist pulls me aside and says, “Can I confront you? During therapy Freddy made some pretty strong accusations against you and I just wanted to find out if it was true. He said…” and then will list one of these things:

‘Staff is talking about his mama’ or
‘Staff is getting into bed with him in the middle of the night’ or
‘Staff is walking around naked in the middle of the night’ or
‘Staff lets him watch porno movies in the middle of the night’ or
‘Staff stole his allowance’ or
‘Staff won’t let him eat’ or
‘Staff is beating him up when no one is looking’ or
‘Staff is drinking whiskey during the shift.’”

The therapists hate me because I won’t even address the issue anymore. I always respond with the same answer, “I can’t believe you’re going to charge the county for 50 minutes of this shit.”

I suppose, at the very least, the house therapy groups lend some structure to the conversation and teach the kids the basic language tools to express themselves. It works like this: All the residents and staff will sit on the couches which have been positioned in a circle. The house therapist, in this case Nancy, will begin with a prompt. Imagine a skinny, meek looking woman with huge glasses from the 70’s and scraggly, multi-shades of grey long hair which hasn’t been brushed all week. She’s sitting on the edge of her chair, bent over her knees with her hands clutching her ankles. In a nasally, whiney voice she says, “I think now is a good time to honor ourselves with some put-ups. You know, instead of put-downs? Duane, can you start us off with a put-up for someone?”

Duane “Well I’m sick and tired of my roommate because I have to put up with his piss all over the toilet.”
Nancy “Mmm, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh. So, how does that make you feel?”
Duane “Makes me feel like kicking his ass.”
Nancy “Oh, mm-hmm, uh-huh, I see. I mean, what kinds of feelings do you get when you see pee-pee on the toilet?”
Duane “I feel inappropriate.”

A chorus of ‘Whoa-guy!’ from the audience of children.

Nancy “Oh, mm-hmm, yeah. So what I hear you saying is you don’t like to see pee-pee on the toilet because it makes you feel inappropriate. Mm-hmm, yeah, mm-hmm. Can you turn to Jim and tell him how it makes you feel when you see pee-pee on the toilet?”

Duane, feeling a surge of empowerment, embraces the opportunity to express his feelings to Jim, “Jim, if you piss on the toilet again, I’m gonna kick your ass. Say I won’t.”

Nancy “Um, well, okay. That’s a start.”

Jim raises his hand, “Scuse me? That wasn’t a put-up.”

Nancy “Mmm, yeah. You know something? I was thinking the same thing. And how does that make you feel?”

Jim “I feel like you should make Duane give me a put-up instead of kicking my ass.”

Nancy “Yeah, okay, okay. But what emotion comes up for you when he threatens you?”

Jim “Unsafe.”

Nancy “So what I hear you saying is that when Duane threatens you, you feel unsafe instead of safe. Good. Good. Good. Maybe you can turn to Duane and let him know how it makes you feel when he threatens you.”

Jim “Duane, if you kick my ass, I’m gonna tell everyone that you took the encyclopedia in to the bathroom and jacked off to that Statue of David thing.”

Chorus: “Whoa guy!”

And so it goes. Therapy groups often end in a fist-fight in which case the therapist will silently slip out while the house staff breaks it up, deals with containment, and tries to put the house back together.

The Language of Therapy isn’t just limited to the kids’ therapy groups. As staff, we have found ourselves relying on it during staff meetings to help us express our feelings toward our teammates, as well. It may start off with the staff gathering together on the couches and the therapist beginning with, “Can I make an observation? Would that be okay? I feel tense. I feel like there’s some tension, you know, that icky tense feeling? I’m feeling like if there’s something that needs to be put out there, then we should just go ahead and put it out there, you know? To talk about it so we can take care of our own selves, you know, to honor our own feelings. Because sometimes that’s lost. Am I off base here?”

In a shaky voice, Rachel, a short, heavy young female staff member with enormous breasts begins. “Well, sometimes I think that the tone of the house is too male-dominated, like when Toby grabs the kids and yells at them, I don’t think that’s nurturing.”

Toby is a big, muscular guy with a flat-top and looks like a Marine. He is clearly irritated. “These kids don’t respond to nurturing. They need structure and discipline. That’s the way my dad raised me. If I got out of line with him, he hit me, and maybe I didn’t like it but hey, it worked. I’d never talk back to an adult the way these kids talk back to me. And they need to keep the house clean, too. And Rachel, you never clean up after yourself. You leave your shit everywhere and I always have to clean up after you.”

Gus pipes up. “Oh yeah, that’s Toby alright. Walks around with his latex gloves on all day sprucing up the place. ‘Course, the kids are fucking each other, but the house smells nice and fresh.”

Toby continues, “Hey, you’d walk around cleaning all day too if you had to work with Rachel. At the beginning of her shift, she just walks in, plops her tits on the kitchen counter and goes, ‘Only 8 more hours to go, and I’m outta here.’ Every time you say that, Rachel, it makes me want to rip your fucking throat out.”

Rachel begins to cry.

Nancy interjects. “Mmm. You know, although I think it’s important that we get our feelings out there, I think we should also honor ourselves by not making obscene threats to each other. We wouldn’t want the kids to do it, right Toby?”

Toby said, “Hey, you said talk about my feelings and I’m talking about my feelings. Tell you what. I was out on the back porch shooting hoops with that little shit Stevie when he started mouthing off to me. I told him to go to his room and he spit on me. What the hell am I supposed to do? I picked him up by his collar and shoved him against the wall. I said, ‘Don’t you ever fucking do that to a grown man’ and I spit on him. And you know what? He hasn’t mouthed off since.”

I added, “Hey Toby, are you sure you want to be revealing your secrets of success so early on in your career?”

He says, “Hey, it’s what my dad did to me and look, I turned out fine.”

Nancy demurred, “Mmm, yeah, uh-huh.”

I pride myself on being able to get along with many different types of people, but I have to say getting along with Guru has been challenging from the very beginning. He has this very strange, “salt of the Earth” aura about him. He seems angry when he’s not. He always wears sunglasses, even indoors. He yells, or slams down his hand on a table to begin a statement, then whispers the rest. The kids are both afraid of him and attracted to his mystical weirdness.

Guru taught me the expression “tip the house.” If, say 4 or 5 kids are having tantrums at the same time, Guru would shout out, “Tip the house!” We would then know to bring all those kids into the Quiet Room together, as if we were tilting the house to one corner and the kids were marbles rolling into the Quiet Room, They would then receive the Guru treatment, which is about 2 hours of a silent Guru just staring as the kids would go through stages of yelling, fighting, and begging to come out and finally asking Guru if there was any way they could make up for their behavior as long as they could come out and relieve their overwhelming boredom.

Once, Guru was sitting with a few kids in the Quiet Room and I went to check in on him. I opened the door and found all the kids screaming and cussing at a seemingly oblivious Guru. Guru was wearing his “denim armor:” jean pants, denim longsleeve shirt, denim jacket, heavy black boots and a beanie cap.

I said, “Guru aren’t you a little warm in here? Do you want to take a break?”

He exploded, “I LIKE IT HOT!” and then whispered, “No breaks. The only way to know what you’re dealing with is when the kids are hot. It’s the most productive part of the day. NO BREAKS!” and he just stared at me, or through me, from behind his sunglasses.

At the time I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but now, years of experience later, I do. For the most part, the kids repeat abusive behaviors that have been perpetrated on them, so when they have tantrums, or act out, it is usually a reflection of their previous abuse. When kids are “hot,” the experienced counselor may realize that the kid is telling a story, in a strange way, of his life. He is letting you see the core of his turmoil.

It was a particularly “hot” time for a lot of boys across campus, so there was a lot of extra staff on hand to help out with the many outbreaks and eruptions of anger and violence. There were even a few administrators making the rounds, checking in and helping out. On this particular afternoon, Pete Post had dropped in and, since we had become “buddies” at the job fair, had decided to hang around with me as I prepared the boys a snack of chocolate pudding. Most of the boys were standing around the kitchen counter waiting as Pete Post was casually conversing with me.

“I think, to a large extent, that these fellows would respond in a much more healthy way during crises if their caretakers would display care and respect to them. Specifically, why do we put hands on, restrain and hold the kids down in order to teach them that fighting is wrong? Aren’t we just perpetuating a cycle? These boys aren’t unintelligent and if approached with intelligent and caring adults, they will respond in kind.”

I said, “Okay Pete, but how long will the learning period be before the kids realize you are showing respect? Because that’s the length of time that staff is going to be risking injury.” I grabbed a banana. “Here, hand this to Richard.”

Pete handed the banana to Richard. Richard was incredulous. “Why I gotta eat this? Gimme some pudding.”

I said to Richard, “You know you have a week of snack restriction for stealing that box of Klondike bars and hiding them in your laundry basket.”

Richard yelled at me, “I told you I didn’t do that. My roommate set me up!”

“Next time you steal ice cream, eat it before it melts. That way next time staff does your laundry, we can’t catch you with melted ice cream all over your clothes.”
Richard exploded, “All y’all staff be lying bitches. I’monna hoo-ride this banana upside yo head, mutha-fucka!”

He was approaching Pete, banana held high. The rest of the boys quickly grabbed their puddings and got out of the way.

Pete said to Richard, “I think even you could agree that I cannot be the target of your ire.”

Richard was about to hit Pete with the banana when, with a swiftness not seen in such big men, Guru appeared behind Richard and grabbed him by the arms.

“Not on my shift, not today.” He looked at Pete. “Supervisor’s office.”

Pete followed Guru and Richard, who was flailing and trying to kick Guru, into the supervisor’s office and shut the door.

One of the boys, Brian, said to me, “Stokie, have you ever been assaulted by a banana?”

Freddie, the sexual predator yelled from his permanent station, the living room table, “Whoa guy!”

Brian mumbled under his breath, “You fuckin’ faggot, I didn’t mean it like that.”

I heard the door of the supervisor’s office open up. It was Guru. He clapped his hands once, with surprising volume. “MR. JAYE!” He then spoke very softly, “I need some help with a problem. Can you assist me in here?”

I thought that they needed more help in restraining Richard, after all he was a pretty big kid. I ran over to Guru. “Let’s go,” I said as I opened the door and walked in.

I saw Pete Post and Richard both sitting on the couch. Pete sat with his legs folded with a smug, half-grin on his face. Richard was livid, red with anger. He had squashed the banana in his hands and had banana bits all over his hands and arms. He was yelling at Pete Post, “I’monna fuck you up bitch!” He hawked a loogie and spat in Pete’s face.

I stepped forward in anticipation of Guru and I taking Richard and placing him in a prone restraint on the floor.
Just as soon as I moved, I heard Guru from behind me, “UH-UH. Come here.”

He was in his familiar squat position. I was confused as to why Guru seemed uninterested in Richard’s violence toward Pete. I though he liked it hot. I stepped over to him and turned to look at Richard and Pete Post.

Pete said to Richard, “You see Richard, I realize that you aren’t really angry at me, are you?”

Richard scooped some banana bits from his arm and flung it into Pete’s hair.

“I respect the fact that you are angry, however, spitting and throwing fruit at me will not address the issue.”

Richard hawked another loogie and spat at Pete. It landed on Pete’s purple, knit 80’s tie.

“What I’m hearing you say is that you don’t want a banana for snack.”
Richard spat at Pete, hitting him in the face.

“I hear your anger, Richard, and I respect it.”

Hawk, ptew. Another face shot.

“This is no way to engage an adult Richard. Now spit and banana can wash off easily. What’s more important is that you know I care about you.”

I said quietly, “What the fuck…?” I looked down at Guru who stared blankly at the proceedings. I looked at Pete Post who was being covered in spit and banana bits. I slowly squatted down with Guru. I whispered, “Looks like our hands-off approach still has a few bugs to be worked out.”

Guru said, “You’ve already spent too much time off the floor. You got important things to do. Please inform our teammates that Pete Post is leading a seminar on the hands-off approach in here. I’m sure they would appreciate the education if you would ask them to rotate in here.”

“It would be less than supportive of me to block our teammates from a teachable moment. I’ll let them know right now.”

It was a rare moment when I was able to appreciate Guru’s subtle display of charm.

It was our normal house recreation hour and this afternoon we took the kids down to the basketball courts for a game. We had all the kids except the new kid, James, who was in therapy; and the staff was me, Mel, Trixie, Gus (who was up at the house getting dinner ready) and Vance, a new staff that has been with us for about 6 weeks.

Now I really like this new guy, Vance. You could tell right away that he has a good head on his shoulders. He is in college studying to become a teacher, an athletic Philipino guy who has a good sense of humor and has a nice, positive energy with the kids. The nice thing about him is that he sets firm limits and doesn’t let the kids get away with too much. I can tell he’ll be here for a while and I’ve tried my best to take him under my wing and help him out when he’s got questions or needs to understand “the big picture.” And there are always plenty of “teachable moments” when you’re dealing with these kids. Like a lot of new staff, he can be a little too exhuberant sometimes, trying to do too much.

You can probably imagine that trying to play a regular game of basketball with a group of severely emotionally disturbed boys is no walk in the park. Even in play, you’re still working. Typically, any kind of game consists of about a minute of playing and then 5 more minutes of behavior modification and calming down hot tempers. This particular “game” included the boys taking turns standing at the top of the key with the ball, screaming out “Jordan!” or “Iverson!” or “Shaq Diesel!” or “Skills!” and then charging toward the basket as if to dunk and knocking down anyone standing around playing “defense.” It resembled human bowling more than anything.

After being leveled a few times, Francis had finally had enough.

“I ain’t playing no more!” he screamed. “Fuck all y’all bitches!” He stomped off the court, up the hill and toward the trees.

Trixie said, “Hey Francis, just take a break, get some water or something. We can go play one-on-one together and work on your skills.”

“I ain’t doing shit, you bitch-ass ho! I’m climbing trees instead. I ain’t coming down, neither.”

Trixie was unimpressed. “Okay, whatever. Don’t fall out.”

“I hope I do!”

The staff then turned their attention to the remaining participating boys. All the staff except Vance, who, with a head full of steam shouted, “I’ll get him!” And ran up the hill. As he did so, Francis quickly jumped up, grabbed a limb, climbed up the tree and sat on a branch.

I called out to Vance, “Hey, easy there big boy! Just keep an eye on him, he’s not going anywhere!”

Francis picked off a few pine cones and began to throw them in Vance’s general direction.

“These are bitch-bombs, muthafuckin retard!”

“Gotta get him!” said Vance. He turned to Francis. “Get down!” Francis ripped off a pine cone and chucked it at Vance. I started to walk up the hill to help out the new guy.

“Vance,” I said, “slow down. He’s not going anywhere. Where’s he gonna go? Just get out of pine cone range and keep an eye on him. He wants you to engage his negative attention-seeking…”

Another pine cone went whizzing by Vance’s head.

“Oh yeah?” said Vance, “I got something for that!” Vance took a running jump, vaulted off the tree trunk, grabbed Francis by the ankle and yanked him out of the tree. They both landed with a thud on the ground, Francis landing on his back. Vance wrestled Francis on the ground trying to pin him down, all the while Francis was yelling, “Abuse! Staff abuse! I’m telling my therapist! He’s trying to break my arm!”

As I walked up to the two, Vance knelt down on Francis’ back, pinning him there. “Now what, Francis? That’s what you get for trying to hit me. Now you know…”

“Wow, what an incredible display of childcare skills,” I said. “You know Vance, far be it from me to try to criticize, but I was just wondering what you were going to put in the Incident Report. I hope you’re studying creative writing in school.”

Vance looked up at me. “What’s an Incident Report?”

I rolled my eyes and rubbed my forehead. “Goddamn it, not again. Are you serious? Please don’t tell me they let another one work in the most violent unit on campus and they haven’t PART trained you.”

“PART training? What’s that?”

“You’re really trying to get me fired aren’t you?” I knelt down next to Vance. “Here, put your leg over his leg like this, pull out his arm and hold on to it above the wrist. Don’t kneel on him. You want to immobilize him without hurting him. It’s not a fight.”

“But I’m just doing what you guys always do,” said Vance.

“Well, no you’re not. You’ve got to go through PART training to put your hands on a kid, and you always have to do it with another staff, not alone. And the kid has to be seriously violent. So, since I’m the senior staff here, and PART trained at that, I have to write the fucking IR and I have no idea what I’m going to write.”

Francis continued, “The goddamn newcomber is an abuser! He pushed me outta the tree and I wasn’t doing shit! Call the sheriff, call the sheriff!” He was trying to turn his head around to spit on Vance.

I said, “Now Francis, you know he didn’t run up and yank you out of the tree. What Vance and I are going to do now that we’ve PART captured you and PART restrained you together is this: we’re going to safely PART escort you up the hill into the house where we will then PART place you into the Quiet Room.

“I ain’t goin to no fuckin Quiet Room! I didn’t do nothing and this fat-assed ho slammed me down for no reason. I’m calling my lawyer and get his stupid fuckin ass fired!! Newcomber’s smokin crack!”

Vance and I picked him up off the ground and dragged him up the hill. Francis continued to spit in Vance’s direction. When he did, we would stop, and still holding his upper arms, use our free hands to push his head down, which would cause Francis to scream.

I said, “Now Francis, every time you try to create a dangerous situation by trying to assault the staff, we are required to PART keep ourselves safe by PART protecting ourselves from your abusive spit. That means shoving your head down as close to the ground as possible while still holding your arms way up here. Sorry if it’s a little uncomfortable. So if you want us to stop PART shoving your head down, stop spitting.”

“I’m gonna spit on you then I’m gonna sock the shit out of you.”

We finally arrived at the Quiet Room door. Both Vance and I had Francis’ upper arms and as we pushed him toward the open door, Francis would reach out and hold onto the edge of the door to prevent us from getting him in there.

I said, “Now Francis, for your protection and for ours, I’m going to have to safely PART deposit you into this room.” I turned to Vance and quickly said, “Ok, let go.”

As Vance let go, Francis instantly tried to turn and punch him with his free arm. Anticipating this, and still holding his other arm, I simultaneously spun him around and shoved him into the room using his spinning as momentum. Francis twirled around about 3 times before falling down on the floor. I slammed the door and turned to Vance.

“I call that the ‘helicopter.’ I don’t know if PART has a name for it. Can you go get me two incident reports? I’ll show you how to write one.”

As Vance went to get the IR’s, Francis continued, “I’m gonna bust outta here and get my paybacks! I’m gonna beat that newcomber’s ass!” He repeatedly ran full speed at the door and slammed into it.
I said, “Now Francis, if you continue to try to hurt yourself, Vance and I will be required to keep you safe by PART coming in there and PART floor containing you. And it’s a long way down to the floor.”

“Fuck PART!”

Vance returned, IR’s in hand.

“Thanks,” I said. “Now tell me exactly what happened.”

Vance said, “Well, Francis’ stupid ass ran up a tree…”

“I heard that! He called me stupid! That’s it! What’s the number for 911, I’m calling the cops!”

“…and I yanked his ass outta there.”

I said, “Oh, Grasshopper, you have a great deal to learn from me, the Great Master. You definitely did not ‘yank his ass outta there.’ We don’t do illegal things here. We do things per PART, because every last one of us is PART trained, right?”

“Well I’m not PART trained. Can Francis really get us fired for this? He keeps talking about that.”

“Well, actually both you and I could concievably get fired, yes. But Francis has a major hurdle to jump, which is this: he has to tell a story that makes sense. Luckily for us, we have logic and reason on our side. Observe.” I turned to the Quiet Room’s window and yelled to Francis.

“Hey Francis!”

“What the hell do you want, you asshole?”

“I just have a question. When Vance here was nice enough to come to the tree and talk to you about being upset during the game, why did you try to kick him?”

“Cuz he’s a punk-ass bitch! Wait. Did I do that? I didn’t do that! He tried to hit me. That’s when I socked his ass. Fuckin newcomber!” He paused a moment. “Stokie I’m gonna fuck you up cuz you’re trying to confuse me.”

“I am not,” I said. “I’m trying to PART talk about your feelings and PART process you out of this dangerous situation.”

Francis was indignant. “Talk about my feelings? Riiiiight! I FEEL like I’m going to fuck up the newcomber’s car. I FEEL like his fat-ho mama likes to eat shit. I FEEL like my back hurts where that damn nigga SLAMMED ME DOWN FOR NO FUCKIN REASON!!”

“That’s nice, Francis,” I said. “I’m glad you’ve decided to calm down.” I turned to Vance. “Dude, you have to show that he made an immediate threat to his or our safety. And you have to show that you made an effort to calm him down and that you warned him of consequences.”

“So,” I continued. “What I have so far is that you gave him a timeout from the game so that he could calm down. He refused his timeout and threatened to punch you. After you repeatedly warned him about his unsafe behavior, he ran up a tree and threatened to jump out. Concerned for his safety, you and I followed him up there, he started throwing pine cones, lost his balance and fell on you as you tried to break his fall. After he started trying to punch you, we placed him in a PART prone containment. How’s that so far?”

Vance squirmed. “Doesn’t it bother you that you’re sorta faking the information? I mean it’s kinda true, but it’s kinda not.”

I said, “I’ll tell you what makes me uncomfortable. I’m uncomfortable with an Administration that let’s new staff come into this unit without being PART trained and having the audacity to not tell anyone about it. I think that’s a direct threat to my job.”

Vance said, “Oh. Then that’s exactly how I remember it, oh Great Master.”

Francis screamed, “I remember ABUSE!” Get Johnny Cochran on the phone! I’m telling and your abusive asses are getting fired!”

I said, “Now here’s the good part. Give me that extra IR.”

I opened the door a crack and tossed in the IR.

“Francis,” I said. “I’m very concerned about these allegations of abuse and I want you to know that I’m on your side.”

“No you’re not, Stokie! You’re using your powers for EVIL!”

I continued, “So I want you to write your side of the story on that IR so that all the lawyers and therapists and house supervisors can look at it and fire Vance’s stupid ass. Can you do that for me?”

Vance turned pale and looked at me as if I had abandoned him.

Francis picked up the IR. “Fuck yeah, dude, now it’s time for payback. I’m gonna write the sheriff, too. How do you spell ’stupid-ass retard’? How do you spell ‘crack smokin white-ass honky’? How do you spell ‘the newcomber looks like William Hung’?

Francis then took the IR and ripped it up into tiny pieces. “I ain’t writing shit for you, muthafucka! You can’t make me!”

“Dang, Francis,” I said. “You always figure out a way to outsmart me.” I turned to Vance. “Now I write, ‘When given the opportunity to write down his complaints of abuse, the resident ripped up the IR and refused.’ And that’s that.”

Just then James, the MC of Doo-kie, burst into the front door with his therapist, Martin. James was a whirlwind of energy and lack of impulse control. He was quickly running from the kitchen to his room and to the tv.

He was saying, “I’m gonna play my Gameboy fo a minute. I want a snack first. What’s on tv? I’m gonna put on my new clothes. What’s for dinner? I’m goin’ down to the courts…”

All the while Martin was closely following him, half jogging, chanting, “Control…control…control…Remember what we were talking about? Control…control…control….”

I heard Mel say from the kitchen, “Get out of my kitchen and get in the shower. Therapy’s over.”

“I’m just gonna play my Gameboy, but first I’m gonna play Legos…”

“Control…control…control…”

I called out, “I heard Mel say get in the shower. Now get in the shower.”

James continued, “Can me and Martin do magic tricks? First I wanna go shoot some hoops…”

“Control…control…”

I called out again, “James, get in the shower right now or you’re going to bed early and you’re not getting any dessert. Five, four, three, two…”

“Okay, okay, Stokie, damn!” He ran to get a change of clothes, went to the bathroom, slammed the door and turned on the shower. Martin then approached me.

“You know Stokie,” he said, “I don’t appreciate your threatening him to get him in the shower. He and I are working on his impulse control.”

I said, “Martin, when he’s in therapy you guys can play ‘follow the leader’ or whatever other game you want. I’m sure it’s very theraputic. But when he comes back up here, he’s gotta follow the house rules and I can’t have two out-of-control people running around my house when I’m trying to run a shift. I got the rest of the house coming up from rec, I got a kid in the Quiet Room. I don’t need you two to add to the chaos.”

Martin turned on his heels and left.

I turned back to Vance. “Hey, by the way, how’s it going with Stephanie? You were talking about maybe asking her out or whatever and I know you two had that evening shift together the other day. She’s got that nice, big boo-tay.”

Francis burst out, “You said big booty! Stop talking about my mama!”

“Francis,” I said. “If you can prove to me that you’re no longer violent, you can come out and join the rest of the house with no consequences. Sit down and be quiet for 5 minutes.”

“Fine, bitch.” Francis sat down.

Vance said, “Oh yeah! We totally hooked up during my overnight.”

“Already? Jeez dude, you work fast.”

“Yeah, once the Night Awake came on shift, I asked her if she wanted to watch a dvd with me in the staff office, we both sat down on the bed and one thing led to another.” He smiled.

“Wow, buddy, you’re a real Cassanova. That must’ve been some dvd to get her in the mood. What’d you do, go rent something special just in case?”

“No man,” he said. “I just put on one of the house’s dvd’s. Just a little something for ambience. You know.”

I was incredulous. “No you didn’t. We don’t have anything like that here. What was it?”

“‘Finding Nemo’.

I stared at him as my jaw slowly dropped. “Well, I guess the Great Master can still learn some new things from the Grasshopper.”

I pulled into the parking lot at 6am ready to start my shift as usual. It was Tuesday morning, so that means we’ll have staff meeting after we’ve gotten the boys up and off to school. So my mind set was on getting the boys up in a positive frame of mind so that we don’t have any up at the house to distract us during the meeting, and also on doing a quick cleaning job so that whatever admin staff comes up to join us, as well as any random social workers or lawyers won’t think we’re running an institutional pig sty.

I also like Tuesday mornings because I work with my buddy Mel, the next most senior staff member on the team. Mel has been around for about 3 years and is fun and easy to work with. Although I’d been here now for 11 years, it’s still refreshing to start a shift with someone who has more than a few months’ experience. He sets clear limits but also is able to enjoy himself around the kids and has a great sense of humor. So I was thinking that this would be a nice, easy morning.

Then I saw our house supervisor, Yolanda’s car in front of the house. Damn! She’s not supposed to be in until 8. The only reason she’d be here is because something is wrong. Maybe a kid needs to be hospitalized. Maybe Mel called in sick.

I walked in the house and was greeted by both Yolanda and Mel.
“What happened this time?” I asked.
“I just wanted to talk to you and Mel before the shift got started,” said Yolanda. “It’s important.”
Aww, man. What did I do this time? I wondered. As we walked into her office, I quickly ran down any events of the last week that she might want to confront us about. Was it about sticking a push pin into the Quiet Room lock so that it sticks in the locked position? I really needed to walk out into the kitchen and eat my dinner while Brian was blowing out because he didn’t like his mom’s new girlfriend. Was it about giving fat-ass Rusty a plate of grapes for dinner while everyone else ate lasagna? Is it because I told Freddy, the sexual predator that his therapist, Sam was a “fucking moron” for letting Freddy bring up Macy’s underwear ads to the house so that Freddy might “relieve all the pressure?” Whatever it was, I was in no mood to come up with creative explanations before I’ve had my coffee.
We all took a seat in Yolanda’s office.
“I just wanted to talk to you guys before the day got going because you two are my most experienced staff and I need your help. You worked with that new Japanese chick yesterday, right? The one who did her observation, Myako? What did you think about her?”

I said, “Yeah, she was pretty meek. She’s obviously one of those career students who thinks this experience will look good on her resume while she goes after her Master’s. Completely misplaced. Maybe she’d do well with really young kids, but not here. Just the language barrier alone is enough to keep her from understanding what’s going on here.”
Mel piped in, “Oh, fo’ sho’. On top of that, didn’t nobody could understand what the fuck she be sayin’.”
‘That’s what I thought too,” said Yolanda. “But now we got Pete Post’s stupid ass advocating for her to work here. He says we get some kind of state credit for having someone with a Master’s degree working here and he won’t listen to me when I tell him she’s gonna wind up getting hurt, or getting someone else hurt. Plus, I’m not gonna go outta my way to change everything for her cuz she got some kind of ‘chemical sensitivity.’ Bitch has some kind of allergic reaction to chemicals and I ain’t gonna change the way we clean the house just because of her. We gonna just have to change back soon as she quits anyways. I’m sick and tired of Pete Post trying to override everything cuz he got some kinda crush on some Asian bitch.”
I was perplexed. “But…I thought he was doing Janette Stankin.”
“He still is. But you know how you white boys are about Asian chicks.”
“Right you are, Yolanda. I almost went against my own race.”
Yolanda said, “Anyway, Pete Post fuckin went and hired her on the spot yesterday after her observation. She comes in this morning at 6:30”
Mel was incredulous. “The fuck? What? Hired her for our house? Aww, hell no!”
I just shook my head. “Dude…”
“That’s why I want to talk to you two,” said Yolanda. “I’m not saying to do nothing abusive, but you know it’s not easy for new people to fit right in. I want her to know that she’s new, this is a hard job, and she’s not gonna fit right in, if ever. Know what I’m saying?”
Mel and I looked at each other. We looked at Yolanda. We understood.
Yolanda got up to leave. “Now I’m not saying for you to be abusive…” She left the room.
“Damn!” said Mel. I didn’t never think I’d see Yolanda that upset. Guess I better start cleaning the house.”
I nodded. “You know Pete Post doesn’t know shit about support. I think once you get promoted to Admin, they stick a ‘Fuck Your Staff’ chip in your neck and let you run wild. I better get up Brian so he can work off some of those work detail consequences he earned last night.”

While Mel went into the laundry room to mix up what I’m sure was going to be a potent cleansing potion, I went to Brian’s room to wake him up. He earned some work details overnight because the Night Awake caught him trying to crawl into the kitchen and steal some Pop-Tarts.

“Brian, wake up. I want you to get these work details done before you go to school. Time’s a-wasting, let’s go.”

“Can I please just have another 10 minutes or so? I’m tired,” he whined.

“No way, dude, if you had gone to bed when you were supposed to you woulda had plenty of sleep. Instead, you wanted to run around and play Pop-Tart Commando. Get up.”

“Please, Stokie? I’ll do the work details later.”

“Remember when I said ‘No’? Now get up.”

Brian reluctantly slithered out of bed and washed his face. He approached me with unkempt hair, bleary eyes and he was scratching his ass.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

I said, “Mel is in the laundry room making some mop water. Go get it, mop all the bathrooms and showers, the hallways, the kitchen, dining room and laundry room. Do a good job, not a half-ass-I-mean-hearted job and you might be done after that. Check in with me when you’re done.”

Brian liked it when I cussed and pretended not to and said, “Okay Stokie, thanks.”

I walked through the other boys’ rooms and got them up. I could hear Brian from the laundry room, “Jeez, Mel, what’d you put in here? This mop water is hecka-strong!”

“Hee-hee-hee,” came Mel’s voice from somewhere across the house.

As I suspected, Brian slopped mop water all over the floor as he struggled to control the mop bucket and bring it to the places I told him to mop. He dutifully followed directions and wiped mop water all over the designated floors and bathrooms. When he was done he said, “Stokie, do you think we should open a window?”

I said, “What for? That’s a nice pine scent. That’s what we’re shooting for.” At that moment, Miyako walked in the house.

I said, “I’m gonna give Miyako a crossover then you can check in with her for the rest of your work details.”

This irritated Brian. “What? You said I’d be done after I mopped! Aww, man!”

As I walked up to Miyako, I noticed that her eyes were watery. I thought the chemicals in the water were awfully strong, too.

“Hi Miyako. Brian here has just one more work detail to do. Can you tell him to set the table and put out the cereal and milk? I have to go drop the kids off at the pool.”

As I walked toward the staff office I heard Miyako ask Brian, “The pool? Before breakfast?”

Brian started up immediately with his patented sassy attitude. We called it ‘throwin’ out the sass’. “He means he’s gonna go take a dump. You newcumbers don’t understand anything.”

I walked into the staff office, shut the door behind me, but opened it just a crack so Mel and I could watch what would happen next. We were giggling like a couple of school kids.

Miyako said to Brian, “Umm, ok, so… Can you set the table and put cereal and milk on the table?”

“Nope. Stokie said I was done with my work details, so I don’t have to.”

“He told me you have to set the table and put cereal and milk on the table so you better do that.”

“Oh, ok. Fine,” Brian said as he walked into the kitchen and opened up the refridgerator. “You want me to put milk on the table? Then I WILL GODDAMMIT!”

Brian grabbed the gallon of milk in the fridge, opened it and shook it upsidedown onto the table. “There! See that? Think you’re so smart? Look, I’m putting milk on the table because the newcumber told me too…”

Miyako, obviously didn’t know what to do. She was looking around for help, stumbling over her words and panicky. I walked out of the staff office and feigned shock.

“Oh my God, Miyako! What did you do? All he had to do was set the table! I can’t believe it Miyako, if you weren’t sure, you should have asked.”

I turned to Brian, “Into the Quiet Room.”

I turned back to Miyako, “Me and Mel are gonna take Brian to the Quiet Room because he’s violent. Can you clean up this mess? The mop bucket is in the laundry room. Then after that you’re gonna have to write an incident report.”

As Mel and I walked Brian across the house, I asked him, “Brian, why did you do that?”

“I always do that to damn newcumbers. They don’t understand shit.”

I spent about 5 minutes with Brian in the Quiet Room. I never had to shut the door and lock him in it because he was pretty calm. I said, “Well Brian, I think you should apologize to Miyako. I have to get the other kids ready for school.”

Brian, unwilling to relinquish this valuable one-on-one time said, “No way, she should apologize to me.”

“Well, I’ll go get her so you can apologize anyway.”

I walked out and called Miyako, “Hey, can you come here and sit with Brian for a while? He wants to apologize. Thanks.” She came over and had a seat next to Brian. As I left, they were just sitting, staring at each other silently.

Mel and I went about our business of helping the kids get up and eat breakfast. I noticed my eyes were burning and I could practically taste the chemicals in the air. “Damn Mel, one of these days you’re gonna have to give me the recipe for that mop water.”

“Little bit of this, little bit of that,” said Mel. I opened up all the windows. This was getting painful, even for me.

By now, most of the kids were ready for school and I decided to check on Brian and Miyako, since I hadn’t heard anything in a while. I rounded the corner to the Quiet Room and was surprised to see Brian and Miyako sitting in the same positions facing each other, still quiet, only this time, Brian was casually, yet continuously spitting on Miyako. Now I’m all for hazing, but this was way too much.

“Oh hell no, Brian!” I walked up past Miyako, picked up Brian and shoved him into the Quiet Room and locked the door. “Miyako! You need to call for help when something like that happens! Go to the staff office bathroom and get cleaned up.” She scampered off. Mel poked his head in to see what was going on.

“Dude, this is worse than I thought,” I said. “Don’t do anything else, she really doesn’t have a clue.” I was feeling pretty bad that we had taken Yolanda’s bait. I felt like a pawn in someone else’s battle. But this day was just beginning.

I didn’t really think about my intervention with Brian and Miyako after that. There was a staff meeting to get prepared for, kids to be taken to school and a house to get cleaned up. I told Mel that I would drive the kids down to school, he would get the last bits of the house cleaned up, and Miyako? I told Miyako that she could work on her incident report regarding Brian.

As for me, I liked to take my time getting back to the house after I dropped the kids off at school, and for a couple of reasons. Many of the school staff are my old friends. Most of them used to be counselors just like me but got sick of the low pay and administrative bullshit that goes with this job. (Little did they know that the School Counselor’s job came with its own brand of low pay and bullshit.) The fact of the matter is, there is an “us against them” mentality that affects both staffs.

It goes like this:

The House staff knows best because we are on the front lines and are experts on the kids’behavior. We know all their interpersonal dynamics, from peer interaction to family abuse. What these kids really need is tough behavior modification because nobody ever took the time to teach these kids discipline.

vs.

The School staff knows best because they are on the front lines of the kids’ educational development. Kids’ misbehavior can be traced to obvious learning disabilities. What these kids really need are chances, because nobody ever gave them one when they really needed it.

I have seen many House staff switch jobs and seemingly overnight, treat me like I was the enemy, like my ideas were crazy. I have also seen School staff come and work up at the houses and behave similarly to their ex-mates. The truth is, the Administrative staffs of both organizations hold each other in contempt. This attitude naturally trickles down to the front line staff who take it out on each other. I like to hang around the School staff for a while to get a sense of what is going on down at the school, what the staff are thinking and doing with the kids.

As I walked the kids to their classrooms, I spent a couple of minutes checking in with the teachers and the teachers’ aides before I walked on down to the counselor’s office. By the time I got there, fat-ass Rusty was already in trouble, huffing and puffing about some injustice his teacher had perpetrated against him. He was talking to Jamaal, an ex-counselor who had about as much experience as me, someone I respect, and a guy who also sees that so much of our jobs rest on the exercise of ridiculousness.

Jamaal says to Rusty, “Now Rusty, just because your teacher is a fucking bitch doesn’t mean you can’t stay in school.”

“Well that’s what she is, and she knows it,” puffs Rusty.

“Well, yeah, she definitely knows it now that you screamed it to her in class…”

“Oh no! You’re definitely coming back up to the house and you’re gonna get tons of consequences,” I say, “Let’s go.”

Jamaal winks at me. “Oh my gosh, did you hear that? That’s Stokie Jaye talking, he don’t mess around. You know why? Cuz he’s old and crusty…”

“That’s right, Jamaal knows, too. I was already this way when me and him built this school 30 years ago, back in our hippie days. Jamaal had an afro out to here and I had long hair, a beard and long robe, lotta people mistook me for Jesus, right Jamaal?”

“Mmm, hmm.”

Rusty perked up. “You guys built this school?”

Jamaal said, “In fact, back then Stokie’s rap name was ‘Stokie JJ Hippie Jeeze’ becuase he looked so much like Jesus.”

I said, “But everybody knows Jesus was a black man.”

Jamaal’s cheeks were puffy, suppressing laughter. “I wouldn’t want to be up in the house with him. If I were you, I’d rather apologize to your teacher and stay down here…”

“Here it comes,” I said.

“…Now I’m gonna give you just one more chance…”

I started out the door. “Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Jaye,” said Jamaal.

“As always. Let me know when his thirty last chances run out, I’ll be back down to pick him up.”

By the time I had returned to the house, I was about a half an hour late for the staff meeting. As I entered, I noticed that the chemicals were still really strong, even with the fan on. Around the table sat 5 counselors, the House Supervisor Yolanda, the therapist Sam, and Mel, who was giggling and pointing at Miyako. Miyako held a paper towel over her mouth and nose and was sitting next to the laundry room door, which was slightly open. (I assumed correctly that Mel’s magic potion sat bubbling behind the door.) Also in attendance was Janette Stankin, the Clinical Supervisor. I couldn’t tell which was worse; Mel’s cleaning potion or Janette’s perfume. Whenever she walked into a room, it seemed like you were being smashed over the head with a bottle of Chanel #5. I felt like asking Miyako if I could borrow her paper towel.

Yolanda said to me as I found a seat next to Mel, “Lots of kids in crisis at school, I guess.”

“Oh, always. Lucky thing I was there.”

She said, “Just to catch you up, we were just talking about Michael and some of the frustrations we feel.”

“Oh, okay. Did we already talk about ‘warehousing?’”

My comment hit its target squarely as Janette visibly tensed up.

“Well, no, nobody actually used that term. Maybe there’s something you’d like to say about it?”

I said, “Okay. Well it just seems to me that we’ve done about all we can with Michael. We are not equipped to deal with developmental disabilities; we deal with emotional problems. He needs to go to a facility like the Regional Center that deals with DD. In the mean time, he gets bigger and stronger, has more sex with his peers and assaults more staff. And since he can’t understand our program, we just wind up appeasing him all the time so he doesn’t get mad.” I turned to Janette, “And I guess since his county just keeps paying, we just take the money and store him here, like a warehouse.”

Mel elbowed me, trying to make me laugh at Miyako. Janette was mad at me.

“Stokie, you know very well that we’ve been trying to get Michael to the Regional Center for months. They just won’t take him because he’s not developmentally disabled enough. They just turned down our most recent application. His social worker is happy with the job we’re doing with him and is satisfied that Michael is placed well here.”

I said, “So as long as the county is paying, we’re happy to let him get bigger, have sex and hit people. Okay, I just wanted to be able to tow the company line.”

“You sound so bitter,” said Janette.

“Yup, that’s me, Mr. Bitter. I should probably be more happy about warehousing kids. You know what? I can be happier! Is this a bad time to ask for a raise? I figure with all that money we’re getting from the county, we could all be getting paid more. May my teammates and I please all have raises?”

Janette got up to leave. “Yolanda, thank you for your time and good luck with your staff.”

I turned to my teammates, “Sorry guys, I gave it my all.”

Miyako also got up and quickly shuffled outside for some air. As the meeting broke up, I went in to the laundry room with Mel.

“Mel, what the fuck is in this shit?” Mel was still giggling as he opened the chemical closet.

“Man, I just threw in everything,” he said as he took out bottles of cleaner and put them on the washing machine. “Little of this, little of that.”

I looked at the cleaners. Ajax, Simple Green, bleach, Windex, Pine-Sol, Mr. Clean with ammonia…

My jaw dropped. “Dude! What the fuck is wrong with you? This shit can kill you! Didn’t you read the label?” I realized what a stupid question that was, of course he didn’t read the fucking label. “Mel, dude, if you mix bleach and ammonia it makes a poisonous gas that kills people. For real, it kills people.”

“How the fuck I’m supposed to know that? All the labels are in Spanish.”

“That’s so people’s cleaning ladies don’t die when they clean their house.” I dumped the potion out through the back door. “Course, if you killed Miyako, that woulda made Yolanda’s day. God damn, Mel!”

I came back into the kitchen and there, standing with Miyako, was Pete Post. He had three circle shaped Band-Aids stuck on his face where he shaved over his adult acne.

“Greetings, Stokie. It seems as though there was an intervention this morning which involved you and Brian. Apparently, some questionable techniques were used. I would like you to accompany me so that I may glean some more information.”

As I walked with Pete to the Supervisor’s office, I thought to myself, “If I still have a job when this shit is over, I’m gonna kill that Miyako. This is what I get for trying to help.”