So What's the Difference?

This post appeared on Facebook recently - and I did what I always do.  I checked the source. 

And yes, it's legit.  My reaction was and is, "By what stretch of anyone's imagination is this keeping our country safe? We've become institutionalized child abusers and I am sickened beyond belief."

As one might imagine, some discussion ensued - most of which expressed concern and care and some reflecting the point of view that laws must be followed, so, logically, we must detain parents.  I will not address that stance here.  

What I will respond to is a comment which read, "So I guess I would ask....what have we traditionally done with children, when their parents break our laws and are incarcerated? I’ll answer....they go to relatives temporarily, or to foster care. I fail to see the difference."

First some background:

Since retiring I have served Guilford County, North Carolina as a Guardian ad Litem.  We are volunteers who are trained to work with children who have come into foster care and to represent their best interests in court.  This function differs from that of the social workers, who are to work with the whole family to achieve the best outcome.  In the past four years I've worked with 17 children, researched and identified the services they need, heard stories that would make a stone cry, written countless reports for the court, and (I hope) done some good for each child.  And so, off the top of my head, here is the difference as I see it:

In North Carolina, when children come into foster care it is generally after social services has worked with a family to help them overcome whatever problem has brought them to the attention of the agency.  If the problem cannot be addressed within the home, the children may come into the foster care system.  So here's

Difference #1:  The parents of the children being detained by ICE have not broken a law by entering the country.  It is totally legal to enter and request protection.  And I think most of us can agree that they did this to protect their children, not to harm them. 

Difference #2:  Children are brought into care - and by that I mean a foster home, not a detention facility - in order to keep them safe.  

Difference #3:  Every child must be assigned a Guardian ad Litem to represent their best interests. If there aren't enough volunteers - and there never are - the program has paid supervisors who take up the slack until they can identify an appropriate volunteer.  And these supervisors also work with us (volunteers) to make sure we have the support we need to do what has to be done for the children we represent. Children detained by ICE have no such advocate.

Difference #4:  Within a very brief period of time, each case must be adjudicated, and unless a child is found to be neglected, abused, and dependent, that child is returned to their home.

Difference #5:  Social workers set up programs for parents aimed at helping them become the parents their children need and deserve to grow into the best adults they can become.  And GALs work along side them for the same outcome.

Difference #6:  There are legal parameters established to protect the family.  Hearings are mandated so that family court checks to be sure the family and the children are being treated legally and fairly.

I could go on - and I probably will in another post.  But I hope this at least answers the original question.

Tuesday

Tuesday - at last - it happened.

The rigid buds unclenched their fists,

Shed the armor that had sheltered their sweet treasure,

Protecting from snow and ice and howling winds.

They opened to reveal the honeyed green of new growth,

Blossoms - tender splashes of pink, white, yellow.

The trees raised their limbs,

Lifted up the fresh faces in their arms

to be kissed by the sun.

And our hearts lifted with them.

Sally Beck

April 10, 2014

Double Retrospective - Part II

Looking back over a quarter of a century, hearing one's own voice ringing across the years; it's a surreal experience.  In revisiting that recurring dream from time past, I relived every emotion, re-experienced the grief of losing my children to adulthood, and found I was totally unprepared for the surge - the intensity - of those feelings.  At the time those words were written, Allan and Tracey likely felt only the elation of moving on, escaping parental control and building their own futures.  I feel sure they were ready for the steps they took and that they had no idea how sad I was as I watched them walk away on their own.

Now, however, our children are at the same stage in their lives where I was all those years ago.  Allan (FABIII) and Aaron have moved on to college; Lindsey is working and a mother herself; Jamie is in her final year of high school.  While I'm sure that Cindy is grateful for the solace of having Adrian and Sarah Catherine at home, I'm equally certain that both she and Tracey completely understand the words I wrote back then because they are living that time right now.

Now I know how mistaken I was in hoping to avoid having an adult child move back home.  When Tracey returned with five-week-old Lindsey in tow, it was the beginning of a year during which we learned to appreciate each other as adults and to work together on a different level.

Now I know how gratifying it is to see one's children form strong marriages, learning to rely upon each other through all life's challenges, easy or hard, welcome or not.

 And now I have experienced what I had no thought of then - the rush of recognition and love every time I've held a brand-new grandchild.  The hope and expectation of watching them grow.  The empathy as I watch my children work so hard at parenting and caring for each one.  The bitter-sweet pain of watching as they, too, weigh anchor and sail off alone on longer and longer journeys.

 But I was dead right about two things:  That time of life when it’s just the two of you again is lovely and fulfilling.  And while the dream recurs seldom now, and the intensity of the loss is less,  in a corner of my heart I still long for the feel of small arms around my neck, for the trusting weight of a child leaning against me in the chair, for the even rhythm of sweet, young breath, for my children, safe and warm at home.

 

Double Retrospective - Part I

I received a letter from my sister yesterday.  In it she had enclosed a reflective essay I had shared with her 25 years ago.

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It is winter and bitterly cold, the kind of New England night that is stark and silent, brightly lit by the reflection of the full moon off the snow.  But I am surrounded by warmth.  In my lap as she is every night, is Tracey.  At two she is an affectionate little girl, always ready to hop up and cuddle as soon as I sit down.  Next to me in the big rocking chair is Allan.  He is five and thinks that he is too big to snuggle, but as we wrap the afghan around ourselves and begin to read a story, he edges closer and soon worms his way under my arm so that he, too, is being held.  The smell of Ivory soap and Johnson's Baby Shampoo surrounds us, for the children have just been bathed and are ready for bed.  We are enclosed in the afghan cocoon, at home and secure.

My eyes open to darkness.  Where are the children?  And then I realize - it is the dream again.  Emerging from sleep, I remember.  Allan is married.  He and Cindy have just celebrated their first anniversary.  Tracey is in Boone, a freshman at Appalachian State University.  Next to me is my husband, a comforting presence, sleeping soundly.  I lie there and wonder if my children are safe.

A hostage to insomnia, I shift restlessly, thoughts whirling out of control.  I think of how my husband and I have raised our children, fully expecting that they would become independent individuals.  We deliberately offered them more choices as they grew, first giving them the opportunity to chose between peanut butter and jelly or bologna sandwiches, later helping them decide whether to take piano or drum lessons.  As they matured, we allowed them to venture further and further on their own.  Because God in his infinite wisdom makes teenagers obnoxious, we began to look forward to the time when it would be just the two of us again.  And when that time came, we mourned our loss.  And now I find myself lying awake in the middle of the night, wishing I could have back some of the time I once wished away.

Impatiently I roll over, searching for a comfortable position.  My thoughts turn too, to the memory of a local news program which included a story about adult children moving back home, and I find myself hoping I will not have to deal with that situation.  After all, I like my life as it is.  At last I am back in school, fulfilling an ambition I have had for two decades.  I can do as I choose because there are no children at home,  no one waiting to be chauffeured to the dentist, wanting my car, surrounding the refrigerator with hordes of hungry friends.  My husband and I can loaf around the house in sloppy old bathrobes and have conversations which proceed uninterrupted by the sound of bickering.  Relieved at last of the burden of setting a good example, we can eat potato chips for dinner.  I loved the time in my life when the children were home, but now I love this time in my  life, and I think that I am unwilling to change again.

Nor am I willing to preserve our nuclear family forever, with all the pother and the pecking order.  I certainly don't miss the ear-shattering sound of Allan's electric guitar or our arguments about the volume.  I can listen to the radio and really hear the program.  And it is wonderful to look in Tracey's old room and actually see the floor.  For years I was sure that she was walking on a pile of clothes that began in the basement.  Her dorm room still has that same ambiance, but it is 100 miles west of here, out of sight.

Perhaps we are now in the last "awkward stage" as far as our children are concerned.  I find that I am getting better at partings.  While I am happy to see our children when the come home to visit, I am equally happy to see them go back to their own lives, leaving us to ours.   Perhaps, in the natural evolution of  things, I will begin to miss them less and enjoy them in a new way.  Perhaps, as we establish ourselves in new patterns, parenthood will recede and friendship will emerge.  But I have the nagging sense that somewhere, in the far recesses of my heart, I will always long for the feel of small arms around my neck, for the trusting weight of a child leaning against me in the chair, for the even rhythm of sweet, young breath, for my children, safe and warm at home.

Musings

One of my favorite places to walk is the Guilford Courthouse National Military Park here in Greensboro.  Especially on Sunday mornings I love listening to the quiet breathing of the wind in the trees, watching the deer pick their way through the woods, and greeting other walkers, who - like me - come to experience the serenity of this beautiful place.  At these times I remember those who fought on this site, enduring the penultimate battle of the American Revolution to establish a free country, and I imagine that at some point the same peace I find here will permeate Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, the Congo - all the places where war rages.

But today was the final day for this kind of walk.  The Sequester will bring about the close of the park on Sundays, and if our Congress doesn't pass a budget it (and other national parks) will close down entirely.  As I wandered into the park headquarters and greeted the staff this morning, as I paced out the double loop of this lovely place, what I felt was despair.  I have disagreed with our national leadership before, but I have always believed in that leadership.  Today I felt abandoned.  I walked and wondered who is advocating for the beauty of our country, who is even considering that a "shut down" diminishes the quality of life for all of us, who cares about the needs of others enough to think beyond dogmatic policies that fail to consider that we're all in this together.  And I prayed for the emergence of leaders who understand that listening is as important as speaking, that service to others is the ultimate measure of our worth, that what we do to the weakest among us defines our humanity.

Cat Call

Your human rendering lacks nuance

Fails to explore the full range of emotion

Found in my song.

Meow?

Where the unremitting character of the sostenuto?

The range of the falsetto?

The creativity in the rising dynamics of the fermata?

The tragedy  of the minor key?

Where the heartbreak of tremolo?

The artistry of the tessitura?

The angst of the cadenza?

Meow?

Know that I am both concert master and conductor!

Then you will understand my need.

Arise my minions.

It is time to break our fast!

 

Communion

 

The most ancient ones list to one side,

Validating the wisdom of deep roots

And the essential of judicious bending  -  of yielding to the storm.

Their trunks are rough and scarred – evidence of time’s tests  –

But robust and secure.  Supporting a leafy canopy,

They reach out, seek each other, shelter smaller species –

Haven from burning sun and angry tempest.

 

The song of wind and woodland fills the air –

Whispering swirl of leaves above the groan of old timber –

One incomplete without the other –

Sound echoing the movement of new growth

Dancing in the breeze and breathing in the moist air

Of a spring shower.

 

Beneath these boughs I bend and breathe - one with the woodland

Inhale the new day -

Release anger and regret -

Open my heart to give and receive -

Share this moment – all we really own.

 

Sally Beck

May 5, 2013