Who ARE These People? - January 24, 2007

A Message from Stokie

I want to thank everyone who has written in and those of you who didn't for being patient in waiting for my updates. I know it has been a long time, but I will be updating regularly now. Sorry for the long wait, and thanks for reading. -Stokie

Who ARE These People?

Bedtimes can be one of the hardest times for these kids, especially if they're new. If a kid has been abused, it usually happened at night. Plus, being in new surroundings with unfamiliar people can be anxiety-provoking for anybody.

It was well past bedtime and I was working a shift with Guru and Gus, who was doing the overnight. I had the new kid, James, in the time-out room, helping him to calm down. He's a squiggly little 11-year-old black kid who didn't even try to lay down in bed when in his room. Instead, he was ripping out pages, one by one, from his books, wadding them up, wiping his ass with them and throwing them out onto the living room floor and at staff. All the while yelling, "I'm the Mac G of Doo-Kie!"

Poor kid. Ovbviously, he was anxious and needed calming attention, but the Mac G was going about this the wrong way. I removed him to the time-out room, brought myself a chair and the communication log (so I could read over Guru's notes on the day as well as update it with what James was doing) and sat down in the doorway. As is typical of all the kids in this situation, Mac G was trying to slither his way under my chair to escape. All of this of course, is an elaborate way to seek negative attention and engage in a power struggle. From the staff's point of view, we want to reward good behavior and either ignore or make the kids understand that there are negative consequences to negative behavior. My strategy, since he wasn't being violent, was to feign indifference, periodically telling him, "Everything's gonna be ok, just calm down..." and letting him know that if he gets too far out from under the chair that a foot would be coming down to move him back and discourage him. I also added, "It's ok if you want to do this all night because after 10 o'clock I start earning overtime." They don't like to know that their negative behavior will sometimes be beneficial to staff.

This lasted for about 45 minutes until he slowly became bored, his meds started kicking in and he fell asleep under the chair. I updated the communication log and read over Guru's notes. Guru, for such an imposing, intimidating character, has lovely penmanship. He and Gus were talking up at the kitchen counter.

I said, "Hey Guru, you have really nice handwriting."

Guru looked over at me, violently slapped his palm down on the counter and glared at me. "Come here," he whispered as his eyes narrowed.

Since James wasn't going anywhere, I dutifully joined the two at the counter.

Guru said, "Do you believe that a condemned man can still find his worth?"

I stared at him. "The fuck?"

"I said, if a man commits murder and is sentenced to die, is it worth his while to do everything he can to enlighten himself before judgement day?"

I was trying to catch up with him. "Um, yeah. I guess. I really don't know what the hell you're talking about."

Guru narrowed his eyes and leaned back.

Gus was giggling. Gus is even bigger than Guru, and is as playful as Guru is mysterious.

"You know," said Gus, "Guru teaches reading and writing on Death Row."

"Whoa! You do? Oh my God, that must be intense, I had no idea."

"It's their last chance to learn something," Guru said. "But it isn't for these kids. They need every bit of help they can get." I was quiet for a minute. I was contemplating how we as a staff might be able to break the cycles of abuse these kids go through. How our work might affect them in ways that we may never know. I was also contemplating Guru's sanity again - a recurring thought for me.

Gus spoke up, "Of course sometimes you gotta think like a criminal to reach one, don't you Guru?"

"YEAH!" Guru walked over to the coffee maker which had a half a pot of this morning's coffee left in it. He poured a cup and put it in the microwave.

I said, "You know, you might just want to make a fresh pot. That's been there since this morning."

He said, "I like it thick. Just right."

I winced. "Why don't you just eat the grounds?"

"You think I don't?"

Gus said, "Guru had a little run-in with the law."

Guru added, "And I need a little rocket fuel in case someone's parked in my driveway again."

Gus was giggling again. "Tell him, Guru."

Guru came back with his coffee concentrate. "Last week I came home from work. I live out in Northfield (which is about 2 hours away). There's a roadhouse right next to me. Someone was parked in my driveway..."

"A redneck..." added Gus, helpfully.

Guru continued, "Pissed me off. I walked in to the roadhouse and said, WHO'S TRUCK IS IN MY DRIVEWAY? BETTER GET IT THE FUCK OUT!"

I imagined an old western movie where Guru comes through the saloon double doors and calls someone out.

"Redneck takes a look up from his apple pie and says, 'I'll be with you in a minute.' I came up, grabbed him by the hair and slammed his face into his pie. I grabbed his keys, moved his truck and threw the keys into the field. Then I went to bed. Next day, cops want to talk to me about it. I don't want to talk about that. I gave them a lecture about private property. They gave me a lecture about assault."

I sat there, blinking. "We sure come from different backgrounds, don't we? Good luck with your case. I guess."

Guru said, "Be comfortable in your own skin, that's what matters to these kids. Doesn't matter what your background is."

I said, "My background is in summer camps and daycare." I felt like a lightweight, aware that my suburban, white, college educated self might be coming off as insignificant to these big, black streetwise heros. "I taught them songs with my guitar." I thought that might be impressive.

Gus said, "My fingers are too big for guitar, but I play bass. And the drums. And trombone and keyboards, pretty much everything brass."

"Wow, I had no idea."

"Yeah," said Gus, "I've done a little of this and a little of that." I could tell he wanted me to ask.

"Like what?"

Guru said, "Gus was a superstar athlete."

"Yeah, but I blew out my knee when I tried out for the Dallas Cowboys. After that I took a job driving trucks for a few years. You know, across country and shit. I might still do that again one day, it's pretty good money. I hated going out to Florida, though. Too many aligators on the road. You should see how they fuck things up when you run one over. Parts get all stuck in your grill and everywhere. Guru, that reminds me! Did you know there are girls who only work the interstates? You don't lose any time from your haul because they do you while you're driving. When you're done, you just drop them off at the next truck stop and you're gone. Service with a smile."

Again, I just sat there blinking. "You mean a prostitute?"

"Man, you're on the road a long time. Check it out. Here's what I do. You see one hanging around, just drive up and say, 'What do I get for my money?' They just pull up their shirt or whatever and give you a good look. You can just drive away, but you still get a nice flash. You should try it."

Guru pounded on the counter, "I'm gonna go outside and blow one up!"

I asked, "Blow one up...?"

He whispered, "Clouds of blue smoke." He opened the door, turned around to face me, put his palms together like he was praying and took a deep bow. Then he went outside to smoke.

I turned to Gus, wide-eyed.

"Yeah, man, I know. But we all have something to give, he's right about that."

I walked back over to the time-out room and looked at James, who was snoring. I lifted the chair, picked him up from under his armpits and dragged him back to his bed. I plopped him down, put his covers over him and jammed his ratty stuffy bear under his chin.

"Good night, James. Everything's gonna be ok."

Posted by Stokie at 12:42 PM

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