Tina

I knew her by reputation before I met her.

It was an ugly situation.  Mom (Darla) had transferred from another county and Teresa, our director, believed that mom was trying to elude child protective services.  She was allowed to come to Chrysalis, but only with the understanding that we would contact our local agency, Childrens' Services, to continue the case with her daughter.  I think there were allegations of sexual abuse.

Tina was a slip of a girl, only about 4 years old.  But I heard rumblings from fellow staff that she was a handful with a mouth on her.

One day I was alone in the office when I turned around to see Tina standing on top of one of our filing cabinets.  I don't even know how she got up there.  It was a pretty tall cabinet, about 4 feet tall.  I went over, held up my arms, and asked her sweetly to let me help her down, I didn't want her to get hurt.  She looked down at me.

"F**k you," she said.

Somehow I was the lucky staff member who took Tina for her intake interview at Childrens' Services.

The problems started in the reception area.  Tina was a Tasmanian devil, darting around the waiting room and trying to scale the wall that separated the receptionist from the clients.  That woman must have seen it all, because I don't even remember her reacting.  Then Tina bolted out the door.  Fortunately we were in a largish administration building so I caught up to her in the catacomb of cubicles that was the child support agency across the hall.  I carried her back to Childrens' Services and held her on my lap.

She began kicking my shins.  Hard.  I wrapped one of my legs over hers so she couldn't.  I had my arms wrapped around her so she couldn't escape.  She started biting.  I kept one arm wrapped around hers and used the other to hold her under her chin.  That is how the social worker found us.

He was an earnest, kindly young man who led us into an interview room.  When he asked Tina what had happened, the transformation was remarkable.  All the spirit drained out of her.  The former ball of energy sat quietly, did not raise her eyes from the floor, and said she couldn't talk about it.  And she didn't.

The nice young man fetched one of his co-workers, an older, grandmotherly woman hoping that this would make Tina more comfortable and open to sharing.  It didn't.  The interview was a bust.

I don't know what ever happened to Tina.  Her mother was a streetwise piece of work who always seemed somewhat bemused by Tina's behavior.  Darla ended up in local public housing and managed to disappear into the underworld.  I don't think Childrens' Services ever caught up with her.

So now I find myself getting back into shelter work some 20+ years later.  It's unlikely that I'll encounter the same clients, it's more likely that the abuser this time around will be sweet little Tommy,
Martha's son.

And maybe my client will be Tina.

Collateral Damage

When I started out in the shelter biz, I didn't have children.  In fact, at 22 years old I was really a kid myself.  And the fact that I was the youngest of all my siblings made me even less aware of typical child behavior.

What amazed me, then, about the kids I met at the shelter was how normal they seemed.  Mostly.  But what did I know?

Children are remarkable creatures.  Their lives can be pretty dysfunctional but, hey, if that is their frame of reference they somehow just go with it.  Mom whisked them out of their homes to an unfamiliar house with complete strangers, but as long as there were toys and a TV they managed to adapt.

In retrospect, I realized that this was actually a manifestation of their chaotic lives.  They would adapt almost TOO well.  It showed how accustomed they were to instability, to mom being upset and tearful.

I think it was the exception to see a kid really act out what they were learning at home.  I do remember one girl in particular, I'll call her Tiffany.  She was in the neighborhood of 6 - 8 years old, and already something of a demon.  Her mom was trying to get her ready to leave the house one day, and Tiffany didn't want to go.  She kicked her mom while she was trying to put her boots on and, as I recall, called her names that I don't think I can reprint here.  In fact, I think she even spit on her mom.  I don't think this girl was much better with the shelter staff, either.

Fast forward a few years...I happened to catch a TV news story about a house fire in a nearby town.  There was a tragic fatality, a sweet young girl had lost her life.  Yes, it was Tiffany.  A horrible fate, I know, and not one I would wish on anyone.  But their description of her nearly made me choke.  That child was hateful.

Then there was Martha, a woman who came to us from straight from prison as I recall.  I think she had set fire to her house when she was drunk, the details are hazy.  But she had been in a violent relationship and had a young son who I think stayed with abuser's mother while his mother did time.  Martha was trying to get back on track.  She was sober and faithful to her AA program.  She was thin, pale, quiet, and as fragile as a piece of paper.

Her son, Tommy, was only about 4 years old and a cutie.  Mostly.  But when he got angry he would tell Martha he hated her.  I've since learned that kids do that, but this tore Martha up.  I remember her eyes welling with tears while telling me about an incident in which he had tried to hit her with a TV antenna or some such thing while again telling her how much he hated her.  She never knew what to do, but always told him that she loved him.  Her guilt and pain were palpable.

Eventually Martha and Tommy did move to their own apartment.  I can only pray that it worked out.

The most memorable child was Tina.  She deserves her own entry.

So I'll just end this by saying that I left the shelter swearing that I was never going to have kids.  I was so adamant about only having cats that when I did end up pregnant a few years later, there were people in my social circle convinced that it would be a litter of kittens.