I arrived at the county Department of Social Services to begin a job that I had little or no information concerning. I had been in an interview with the director only a few days before. He had asked me “why did I think I had not been hired.” Being the bluntly honest person, I can be, I said, “I don’t really know anyone here with pull to help me get the job.” He hired me right on the spot. I remember talking to a couple of my friends saying he had called them and asked if I was capable of independent thinking. One told me that she had laughed and then said, “Oh, yeah, she is capable of doing that.” I was glad she had not been asked to explain.”
I walked into what had once been the old Health department probably built over forty years ago. It had once been a wonderful building with marble and such but had fell into disrepair over the years. It smelled dusty and sweaty. I would learn that the sweaty smell came from the great unwashed among us. Inside a building it just hangs in the air, clings to the walls, and furniture, and there is little to do but repaint which the walls seemed to need. There were great pieces of old paint probably lead if the truth be known, peeling down the walls of the reception area. I would learn that the offices would look worse. While I waited for the receptionist to direct me to where I should go, I had taken in my environment more than I had on the day of my interview, for now this would be a place I would belong. The receptionist was a tall large framed woman who had a no-nonsense style about her. This was Maggie. I did not know it then, but she would become my lifesaver on so many occasions. I was always on her list (meaning I was causing her trouble but it was always said in jest).
My Supervisor Frances came down the hall with her heels clicking in a rapid 6/8 time. I don’t think she was very happy about my hiring since she was left out of the choice or at least it appeared to be that way from my perspective. She walked me into an office with a small wooden desk. I shared the office with two others. One was Sarah, who would become a lifetime friend. She had long red hair and a master’s degree in social work. I tapped into her information a great deal in those early days. The other person was Mary P. who was well into her sixties at that time. She was basically an adoption worker but had some foster children. She had been doing this job since the late 1940’s. I would also learn that she was one of the scariest drivers that I would ever ride in a car which explained the snickers from coworkers when I agreed to ride with her. Another person who began that day was Sharon. I was also given a dark green ugly file cabinet with four drawers. Sitting on that very small desk were about three piles of case files. I asked my supervisor what I should do, and she said those were my cases I was to take care of them. When my supervisor left, Sarah looked over at me and laughed. She had started about a week before my entry date. She told me who she was and that she had just completed her master’s. She told me to read the cases.
I began reading the files. The first few were of these boys that had been placed at a home for mentally challenged children. They were in their teens and from what was in the record, no one had seen them that year. Shortly after I had gone thru these files, I got a call.
I answered, “Hello this is Miss Todd. I thought how professional I sounded, but that thought ended quickly.
“Are you the bitch that took my young’uns?” the man harshly accused me.
I responded, “I don’t think so. Could you tell me who you are?”
“You ought to know because you are the bitch that took them.”
I almost responded that there are a lot of women here, so he might need to talk to another one, but I thought that would not exactly be the best answer to make. I really hated to admit it so early in my new job, but I swallowed hard and said, “It can’t be me because I have just begun this job about two hours ago, but I could transfer him back to the receptionist.” The phone system back then was not one that you could transfer a call except back to the receptionist, and this was Maggie. This would be the first time I would be on her list. As I would find out about an hour later, that I may not be the “bitch that took his kids”, but I would be “the bitch that would not let him have his kids back”.
I went to lunch somewhere that day. I did not know it at the time; but a lunch hour was a luxury, and that I would become very familiar with drive-thru fast food and eating in my car as I was driving. I also had my two breaks which was also a luxury. I read one pile of files. I found that those children that had been seen had not been seen but maybe once a quarter. Many of the children had not seen their family for months if not years. I began to meet my coworkers many of which would become lifelong friends.
Before the day ended the man that called me earlier called- called again and said he knew that I was the one keeping his kids from him. I told him that I was his new case worker. I told him that we needed to talk about his situation. He told me he needed to see his kids and didn’t need to talk about his situation because it was none of my business. I set up an appointment for him to come into the office to talk just because it was my business.
I felt like it had been a good day even though I still had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I left at 5:00 P.M.-another luxury that I would soon find was also rare.
Day Two or when everything goes topsy-turvy: Back to reading files was what appeared to be the order of the day. But soon the day got more exciting, I was informed that I needed to go to a juvenile hearing on the second floor of the courthouse. It appears two boys, in one of the files I had not read, had broken into an old woman’s house and she had held them off with a baseball bat until the police officers had arrived. They were being brought on violation of probation. I was told under no circumstances to allow those boys to be placed back in foster care by my supervisor. She said it had never worked with either boy. I told her that I had not read the file and did not even know anything about them. She searched out the file got the dates of birth and names. She said that was all I needed.
I went to this hearing to keep two boys that I only had names and birthdates with the intention that they were not to come back in foster care. The Juvenile worker told the judge that they had broken probation and felt they could not remain home and suggested that they should be placed in foster care. The Judge asked me about this and I told him that according to records (remember all I had was names and dates of birth) that foster care had not worked in any of their times they were removed from home. The Judge agreed that it had not worked and sent them to a state juvenile program. I walked out of court feeling very good, but also thinking that I was way over my head-college had not prepared me for any of this.
I told my supervisor and she was very glad. I then read the file and realized that I had dodged some really big problems. I decided to go visit their mother because there was a preteen boy that was in the home and had not been visited since he returned home about six weeks ago. They did not have a phone but lived close to the office. I decided to go by at the end of the day (I had read all the volumes of the case which was many. Maggie helped me find the files and the file room.)
I was not ready for the smell or the lice. The boys’ mother was a very large woman who wore lots of make-up and had a bee hive hairdo that was the highest bee hive I had ever seen and that moved in a way hair should not be moving. I realized it was lice, and I was so creeped out. I wanted to jump up off the couch and run out the door. Somehow, I kept myself from running and kept from vomiting because I was really getting sick. The boy, that was home, sat beside me and I could tell he had lice also. He let me see some of his schoolwork and I could tell he was behind. I had learned that he had been a good student before he came home. I told the mother that she needed to get rid of the lice. She told me why she couldn’t get rid of them. I told her about her sons being sent away. She said that they were really good boys and that she couldn’t understand why nobody saw it but her. She teared up at this point. But when I returned to the subject of lice, she stopped crying and said, “I told you I cannot get rid of them.” I could tell my stomach was about to rebel and I needed to leave. I gave them my name and tried not to run to my car. I got about two blocks away when I had to pull over and vomit.
When I got home, Ma was on the porch and asked about my day. I told her about court and also about the lice. She then told me to take all my clothes off because she was not letting any lice in her house. I was glad we had no neighbors and were not near a road. I striped down and took an immediate shower which was right inside the door. As I cleaned myself, I just was not sure if my stomach could handle this job let alone the rest of me.
Day three or what do you say to someone who is determined not to like you: The man who called me a bitch was there at the time he said he would be and he had brought his wife. He, I realized, had the advantage. I still was in the dark what I needed to do but had sense to ask Sarah for some advice before meeting with them. I brought them to my office. He was soon calling me names. I asked him not to do that, but he became worse. I told him that his children being removed was a serious matter (sounded good to me). I told him that he needed to get employment, clean up his house and stop drinking. I also told him he should not hit his wife and children. She spoke up and said that hitting her child was an accident, and that it was all her fault. It was something I had read women would do but hearing it was totally a different thing. How do you help someone who doesn’t see that there is a problem?
He said to me, “I’ll get a job and the house will be cleaned up, but you can’t tell me to stop drinking or punishing those who know better.” There was defiance in his eyes-as if he was challenging me to make him.
I said, “Sir, I won’t make you, but if you want your children returned to you, you will do it.” I was trying to look as stern as I could look but felt he could see right thru me.
He did for his eyes narrowed and he pulled himself closer to me. He then said, “Damnit bitch, I only came to see you so that I could see my kids. I did not intend to have someone get all over my case.”
I thought a moment. I decided that at that moment someone had to be a hero and it was not going to be him. I took a deep breath. I told him if they would go wait in the waiting room, I would contact the foster parents to arrange a visit. They left the room with his wife pulling on his arm. I felt so drained from the experience. I called the foster parents and made arrangements for a visit the next afternoon. I went to the waiting room and informed the parents. I did not realize it then, but I had learned an important lesson about always having a way to be a hero whenever there is a confrontation. It was not even lunchtime. I took a break.
I went back to reading the files. I made it thru the second pile and was started on the third pile when our supervisor came in to ask us how it was going “girls”. Now it is a personal thing with me, but I stopped being a girl way back there and could not stand to be called a girl. I held my tongue because it was going to be her way and I was going to have to work on it not grating on my nerves-sort of like someone scratching a blackboard kind of feeling. She asked me how things were going, and I updated her on what was going on. I did not tell her that I had vomited after visiting that home the day before. I told her about the visit the next day. She told me that I did not have to offer visitation more than once a month. It really did not seem right to me, but I was still too new and did not argue.
The rest of the day was reading and making arrangements to do some home visits the next week.
Day four: Visitation- a nightmare I had never knew existed. The morning was spent reading the files. I found out that I had a case of two brothers that had entered foster care at 6 months and 18 months. They were now 14 and 15 years old. They had not lived in the same home since they were three and four. The 14-year-old had been in six places and the last home for four years. They would like permanent foster care of him. They do not want to adopt him. The 15-year-old has been in 20 places and is presently at a home for boys. He would like to see his brother, but his brother does not want to see him. The 14-year-old was an A- B student and the 15-year-old was failing everything. Neither boy has seen their family since they were 2 and 3 years old. No one had tried to find any stability for them. I arranged a home visit with each of the boys for next week.
I went to pick up the three children later that day to bring into the office for a visit. I went to the two schools where the children went. The oldest boy was in an EH class and was considered to be severely disturbed. At neither school was I asked for credentials to state that I was who I said I was. I was allowed to take the children from the school with absolutely no questions. The children did not know me but had been told that their caseworker was coming to pick them up at school. I realized really quick that both boys had severe speech issues. Their sister translated to me what her brothers were saying. I brought the children to the office and their parents were there. They had to visit in the waiting room since there was no place for them to have a visit. I was going to let them visit for a couple of hours and was told by my supervisor they never let a visit last longer than an hour. The father continued to call me “bitch”, and I remembered my father telling me to always give a person dignity because sometimes it was all a person had, but he did not tell me it would be this hard to do. At the end of the visit, the parents grabbed and clutched the children to them close. The children began to scream and cry and kick at me. I had to engage Sarah to help me get them out to the car. I realized shortly after I drove out the parking lot that the parents were following me. I had to take a different route. I got lost, but the oldest boy knew the streets of this town like most people know the lines on their hands. He got me to the foster home.
When we got to the foster home I was given a date that the oldest boy had to go to the Mental Health Center for weekly counseling. She refused to take him. I decided I would take him for a couple of weeks and see if my supervisor had any suggestions. Because I got lost, the children had calmed down and wanted me to see their rooms. I asked the foster parents how the children were doing; she said that the boys were hard to understand, and the girl stole things from stores. I told her to tell the school that I would be picking up the older boy next week. I did not realize it then but these weekly trips with this child to MHC turned out the best method for me to learn the streets of Anderson. The rule was we would go straight to the appointment but on the way home he could take any direction around town he wanted to get to his foster home. He chose some of the most intricate directions to his home. This child was considered to be mentally challenged as well as EH. I decided after a couple of these trips to meet with his teacher.
I was worn out when I got home. Physically I was worn out because getting the children away from their parents had been very difficult, but it was how I was worn out emotionally that had me totally wiped out. The trauma of taking the children from their parents at the end of the visit was something that I would never get over. It is never easy causing another person pain and even worse was it when that pain was caused to a child. Most children, I would find no matter what had occurred to them, loved their parents. They would be so happy when they arrived for a visit, but at the end the babies would cry, the toddlers and preschoolers would throw tantrums, the elementary school children would give you evil looks, middle schoolers and high schoolers would tell you how unfair it was , and then there were those who would cry silently-every child’s heart broke as I took them away… except those few who were so damaged due to abuse and visitation made them very afraid.
Day five and what to do when a child seemed too broken: I spent the morning reading a case of two children who entered foster care soon after their birth. They were a year apart but had never lived in the same home. I decided to see the little girl that day on my way home. I called the foster parent and went to her home. There were three children in this home all of them under three years of age. I saw two of them when I walked in the door, but they were not the little girl I was given on my case load. This case would break my heart into for when I finally said goodbye to her I had grown to love this child, but that is the end of this story. I will tell you the whole of it here from the point of view of myself.
She was a lovely little girl named Kathy (not her real name). She was two years old and looking back I think she was probably biracial with either Hispanic/white mix or African-American/white. Her mother came from a middle-class family, and her father was unknown at this time. Her mother was brain damaged due to use of LSD- taking it 50 times in one month will do that to you. Kathy’s brother Jake was biracial, but he was white/Asia. They were beautiful children. Jake was a happy baby of about one year old. But on this fifth day of my job, I met Kathy.
Well, that is not exactly right, I saw her hiding behind a chair. She never came out the entire time I was in this home. I made a decision that day after the foster mother told me that you could train a dog better than you could train Kathy. I decided I would visit Kathy every week as long as she was in that home. I made arrangements to come out to the home the next week. When I got to the office the next week, I advised my supervisor what she said about Kathy. I told her I felt she needed to be moved. My supervisor told me that she had a place and was being cared for and she would stay. I talked to Sarah and she advised me to write everything down in my dictation. She taught me how to write it professionally. I wrote up about my visit.
I began my routine of visiting Kathy on my home. I took books and read to all of the children. I listened to the foster mother complain about Kathy. I noticed that Kathy had moved behind the chairs in the room to where she was behind the chair where I sat. The next week I sat in that chair and again she moved around the room to where she was behind me. Three weeks later as I was reading, I felt her tiny fingers touching my ankle, my heart skipped beat, but I kept reading. About two months later she was sitting in my lap as I read. One day she greeted me at the door smiling really big. She rarely talked but she began to call me “My Mary.” The day she first did that, I cried as I drove home. I was seeing trust being reborn.
Eventually I was able to get the two children into the same foster home, but I felt the vengeance of that previous foster mother. It stung. I would find that when people found us caseworkers easy targets for the anger people had within them. I had to get tough. I did not visit Kathy as much, but she was making good progress in this new home and appeared to be a very happy little girl.
I kept thinking of those two brothers who spent all their years in foster care losing themselves. I wanted to free for adoption, but the termination of parental rights at this time was very tough to prove in any case. The weight was on the agency to prove they had did everything possible to aid the parents, and laws concerning mentally ill and mentally challenged parents at that time had to have a statement that they would never be able to parent which was never going to happen. Their mother was mentally ill. They were according to the law were trapped in foster care. I tried to find family, and even did a couple of home studies but all of them backed out in the end.
I contacted anonymously the ACLU to see if they ever took on cases for the welfare of children. I gave them vague info. I lost respect for the ACLU because all they were concerned with was protecting the mother’s rights and not the rights of the children. I found this to be repeatedly true over and over when I followed their cases. I never told them who I was or where the children were located (not even the state). Back then there was no caller ID and you could get away with that… not any more.
Eventually I was able to take the case to court and win the Termination of Parental Rights case. The children were to be adopted, and I helped pick out a family. I drove them to our state office to let them go. Kathy was very quiet that day. I was dressing the children in their adoption clothes down in the first-floor bathroom which had a full-length mirror. Kathy looked at me and said, “My Mary, I won’t see you again.”
“No, you won’t see me again.”
She flung her little self into my arms and began crying. She had turned four years old a week before. I had been a part of this child’s life for two years. I knew I was about to cry and that would not be good. I tore her away from me and turned her towards the mirror.
“Kathy, don’t you ever forget you are a person of value. You matter. I will miss you, but you have a new home, and they will love you. You do not need me anymore.” I took a breath, “Kathy you are beautiful and smart and brave.”
She calmed down and we went upstairs. They were there for about a half hour when it was time for Kathy to leave and for me to close my case. We all walked down to the car with Kathy holding my hand. When we got to the car, she tugged on my skirt and then said, “My Mary, I am ready to leave.” I gave her and Jake one last hug, watched them drive out of the parking lot to their new lives, and began to cry.
I went to dinner and cried. I decided to go home instead of staying with my friend. I cried all the way home. About an hour from home, I was pulled over by a highway patrol officer because I was driving like a drunk. I got out of my car and grabbed hold of the poor man crying my heart out. I told him I was a foster care worker and had just placed the little girl I loved so much with her adoptive family and would never see her again. He talked to me until I was calmer and thanked me for my service to our state. I was just thankful he helped me out that night.
They told us not to get involved with the children. They told us to keep a professional distance. My first supervisor even told me to treat the children I worked with like they were pieces of furniture. I told her that if I ever started to do that I hoped I had sense enough to leave the agency. She had been the worker of those two boys who were growing up in foster care. She told me once that they were unadoptable because the oldest child was too hyperactive. Not all her advice was bad, she also warned me that foster parents can be investigated for child abuse and we should never forget that ever. We had to stay professional with them at all times. I think all those people that tell you not to get involved with he children have never worked in the frontlines of foster care. Holding a child who is crying will break your heart, sitting by the bedside of child with serious injuries or birth defects will break your heart. We are not able to put our emotions completely away. If I had not engaged with Kathy, she may have been eventually put in an institution instead of becoming a delightful little girl. It came at a cost to me, but I gladly paid that cost.
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I spent 28 years doing this job. I loved it. I loved the children in my care and there would be over 800 I would work with over those years. I even grew to care for many of the parents that I worked with during those years. I occasionally see one of those parents and we will stand and talk. Many of them thank me for being in their lives, but truthfully I was blessed by them. I left because my mother needed me to be a full time care taker. I am writing these memoirs to explain how over the years how I faced things... there will be little info about the clients I worked with and the names will be changed. I don't miss the work though I do miss the people. I am still good friends with many of the workers that I worked with all those years. We had a core group that worked together for nearly 22 years. You can't help but become good friends.
Ever,
Mary Elizabeth Todd