Now I really like 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. Another 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 exuberant 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 five 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."

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 without PART training you."

"PART training? What's that?"

"You're really trying to get me fired aren't you?" I knelt down next to Vance. "PART stands for 'Professional Assault Response Training.' 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 newcomer 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!! Newcomer'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 newcomer'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 newcomer!" 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 newcomer'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 newcomer 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 Mac G 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 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 DVDs. 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 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.

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."

Unless you're an emotionally disturbed boy growing up in a group home. In that case, you're a couple of years behind other kids your age. You're just barely catching on to trends, struggling to fit into normal society, or "the outside world."

I pulled into work on a hot morning knowing that Trixie, the hot red-head and I were going to be taking a few kids to the waterslide park. Since I hadn't been into work during these last 3 days off, I didn't know exactly who it would be. I did know that we'd be packing a picnic, barbequing, watersliding and generally enjoying getting wet on a hot day.

Yolanda beckoned me to her office as I walked in the house. With her was Sam, the Birkenstock-wearing, flamboyant therapist.

"Hey Sam. Yolanda, what's up?" I was in a good mood because I knew I'd be taking the kids who'd been behaving the best for the last two weeks. This is usually how we determine who gets to go off campus.

"Hi Stokie! How you doin today?" said Yolanda. She was smiling and I knew she was exaggerating. "You sure look fresh and ready to go today. And you know what? We already packed up the van full of supplies and everything!"

"Oh no, Yolanda. What are you about to tell me?" I was laughing because we both knew very well that nothing goes as planned or smoothly in this field.

Yolanda continued, "Sam and I were just having a little talk about Freddy..."

"Oh no, no, no..."

"And we were just realizing that he's been on the highest level of the house for exactly two weeks. He hasn't had any violence, no sexual acting out..."

"That we know of..."

"...And technically speaking, he is eligible for today's outing. So what do you think about that?"

"I think this must be the cold day in Hell that everyone talks about."

Yolanda said in her sugary sweet way, "Ha. I sure love that Stokie Jaye sense of humor. We figured you might say something like that so we thought we would send Freddy on the outing with a one-on-one."

A one-on-one is a staff member assigned to supervise and be with only one kid at all times. I liked this idea, but only slightly better.

"Okay, but who is it going to be?"

"Oh we got that covered. We got the strongest counselor in the house: you."

"Oh shit! I walked right into that one, didn't I?" I laughed, still slightly incredulous.

I turned to Sam. "Sam, I know you want to be Freddy's advocate, but do you really want to be sending a known sexual predator on an outing where there will be hundreds of wet boys and girls in their swimsuits? I mean, don't you think there will be repercussions?"

Sam said, "What I think is that we should give Freddy the same chance that the other residents get when they make a high level. The kid hasn't been off-campus in 10 months, after all." He fiddled with his turquoise bracelet.

"Yeah, but this is the same kid who humps couch cushions and his roommate's teddy bears. The kid will stick his dick into the dryer door if you leave him alone in the laundry room."

Sam was irritated. "I know you don't agree with his masturbatory practices, but you've got to admit, you're being passive-aggressive right now."

I paused and stared at Sam. "I can't believe you just said that."

Yolanda broke the silence. "Well, anyway, you'll be Freddy's one-on-one, and Trixie can handle the other 2 boys, JD and Brian. I just know you're going to have a lovely time!"

"Okay Yolanda," I said as I now turned on my sugary facade, "And Sam, thanks for all the incredible support." Sam folded his arms and sighed.

So, resolved to my fate of hanging out with Freddy the Sexual Predator all day, we loaded up the kids and took off to the waterpark, which was about an hour away.

Since I was driving, the best place thing to do with Freddy was to have him ride shotgun. Freddy was beside himself.

"Can you believe it Stokie? I finally get to go on an outing. And I'm riding shotgun which is where the kids on the highest level rides."

"Even a blind chicken can peck a few corn."

"You're so funny, Stokie. Seriously, what does that mean? You got to admit, I am a lot better. I'll probably be graduating in a couple months. I'm probably the best kid in the house, don't you think? Are we going to be barbequing? I probably know everything there is to know about barbequing. Can I have some money? I want to go to 7-11. I go there all the time. I probably know where all the 7-11's are around here..."

It's only been 10 minutes and I already want to kill him. "Dude, you don't have any say in what we do today. I tell you what to do, not the other way around. We can't trust you, that's why you have a one-on-one. The only reason you're here is because your therapist wants to see how you do in public, to see if you've made any progress. If you start acting out on the outing, I will pack everything back up and bring you back to the house where you can spend the rest of your outing in the Quiet Room. And please don't talk to me about graduating
until you can admit your sexual acting out."

"Geez Stokie, I don't know why you have to throw everything in my face like that."

"I do it because if nobody does it, you will stay in denial."

"Well, you don't have to do it because I don't do that kind of stuff anymore. I quit acting out a long time ago and you know it."

"Freddy, it was 4 weeks ago that you were caught hanging on the broom closet door with your pants off. And that's only what we know of. 4 weeks doesn't mean you don't act out sexually anymore. That's what I mean; you're still in denial."

"I probably know how to drum to all of these songs, so I'm just going to listen to my Walkman." He was quiet until we got to the waterpark.

We paid our entrance fee and as we walked in, we passed the public bathroom and changing room. Freddy suddenly perked up, "I gotta go to the bathroom! Really bad! I'll be right back."

I said, "No problem. I'll come with you."

"Come on, Stokie! I'm 14 years old, I can go by myself. You're embarrassing me."

I said, "And let you loose in there with all those nice children and bathroom stalls? Helllllllllll no! Are you trying to get me fired? Now, we got to find a place for our picnic."

"Actually, I don't really have to go that bad," he said. "Hey there's a good place right there," he pointed to an empty picnic table next to two moms with their 3 toddlers. "I'm probably the best at setting up picnics. Let's go."

I looked around. This was a really big park. As I scanned the area, I noticed a picnic table and barbeque stand about 300 yards away from anybody. Perfect.

The five us us trudged out there and began setting up our lunch and getting the barbeque ready.

Trixie said, "Me, Brian and JD are gonna go to the waterslides. See ya." She was wearing an oversized t-shirt and cargo shorts over her swimsuit.

I said, "Cool, have fun. Nice outfit by the way."

She said, "Wear my swimsuit in front of these guys? And be the subject of a certain someone's twisted fantasies? Helllllllll no!"

They took off for the waterslides and Freddy looked at me like a forlorn puppy.

"But...When are we going to the waterslides?"

"You know what? I'm not quite ready for this, Freddy. Let's all get settled down for a few minutes before we go out there. Tell you what, you say you're good at barbeques? Can you help me cook the hamburgers?"

"Sure! I've been barbequing for years. I always help out the other staff when they barbeque on days you're not working. See, you just dump the charcoal in, make it into a big mound and light it. Oh, I'm gonna need the matches and the lighter fluid. I do this all the time."

He reached out behind him without looking at me. When I didn't put anything into his hands, he snapped his fingers, still without looking at me.

"Freddy? Seriously, you must think I'm really dumb. You just keep trying, don't you?"

I doused the charcoal with lighter fluid and lit it. We watched as the charcoal slowly turned white.

Freddy started again, "Yeah, I always cook at home. Filet mignon, lobster, prime rib, crab legs, garlic bread, salad..."

"I think what you mean to say is that you've been to Sizzler."

"I'm probably the smartest kid in the higher school. I'll probably be skipping a grade in a couple months. I know all the planets."

"Freddy, even a broken clock tells time correctly twice a day."

"We're getting to be good buddies, aren't we? I probably have the best relationship with you out of any of the other kids. That's why we always hang out..."

I started spreading the charcoal out.

He continued, "When did you first go on a date? What did you do?"

A white charcoal fell out of the stand as I was spreading it out.

He said, "Oh, no problem. I'll get it..." And picked it up with his bare hand. "AAAAAAAARRRRHHH! Goddammit! It fucking burns! Owwwwww! Shit, Stokie, why didn't you tell me it was hot? Your outings fucking suck! I got a third degree burn, maybe four! Ahhhhhhhhh!!!"

I stood there and stared at him calmly as he screamed. Inside I was roaring with laughter. I said, "There's ice in the cooler, I'm sure you know what to do with it. Sit down a while. The others are coming back and we'll eat. Then we'll go to the waterslides."

Lunch was uneventful, as all the kids were hungry while a whimpering Freddy iced his burnt hand.

At long last it was time to go watersliding. There is a long path up to the top of the waterslides. The five of us walked up together and about halfway up I stopped. I turned to the kids. "See where we are right now? If you look up and down, you can see everything. From the line to the slides to the pool where you land. Freddy, I'm talking to you. I'm going to stand right here and watch your every move. If you dare talk to one kid who is younger
than you, we're going home. Stick with Trixie and the other kids."

They walked up to the top and to Freddy's credit, he didn't talk to anybody but Trixie. JD was first to go down. He was just as happy as a clam, which was nice to see. As he splashed down, he slowly got out of the pool and stopped right next to the female lifeguard. He seemed unable to move as he stared wide-eyed at her chest.

Brian was next. I watched as he entered one of the tunnels, but only his mat came out the other end. Suddenly, he emerged from the tunnel, stood up and somehow started high-stepping down the waterslide, chubby belly and boy-boobies flopping the whole time. He dove into the next tunnel.

Next Freddy, who slid normally, and then came Trixie. Trixie walked past JD, who was still mesmerized. As they came walking by me, Trixie said, "How do you like JD's pacifier?"

I asked Brian what he thought he was doing, running down the waterslide.

He said, "I fell off my mat. What the hell was I supposed to do." I let it go.

I watched as they went up to the slides and slid down again. I was relieved that Freddy was at least trying to behave, but under no illusions that this wouldn't affect him. And it didn't take long. He went head first on his third ride down, and as he emerged from the tunnel and whooshed past me, I noticed that he was humping his mat. I went down to the pool and told him he was done for the day.

"Aw, come on Stokie, my therapist says it's natural."

"I bet he does, Freddy."

"Well fine. In that case, I'll have to tell my lawyer about how you made me burn my hand."

"Fine," I said. "Whatever story you can come up with about that, my story about you having sex with your waterslide mat will be better."

Freddy sat out the rest of the day. It was late by the time we got back to the house and it was time for the first batch of bedtimes. I sent Freddy to bed early as well. Since Freddy can't have a roommate, we have him take his mattress and "sleep out." He makes his bed down the hallway and next to the door to the side yard. Sleeping out is a regular occurance for a sexual predator. The Night Awake will station himself at the end of the hallway so he can monitor Freddy.

After awhile, the house was quiet, kids were tired and going to bed, and Trixie and I were sitting at the kitchen counter talking. We spoke in our usual code about drinking, going to bars and partying. We were tired and punchy, ready to get the hell out. We always wound up exaggerating our drinking escapades to each other.

I said, "It would be a good night to go out and get a couple of liters of Diet Cokes. Try to relieve some of that frustration of the outing."

"I dunno, Stokie," she said. "I was just at the soda fountain on Friday. I won the soda drinking contest, like always. I ended up sleepwalking that night."

"I've heard about how much you like your Diet Cokes and we definitely need to have a contest. You heard about my escapades when we went out with Manny? My sleepwalking experience led me straight to the stage for my own performance."

The Night-Awake arrived and while he got settled in, Trixie and I went into the staff office to gather up our stuff and leave.

She said, "Dude, you think that's bad? I think back to all the Cokes I drank in college, it's a wonder I'm still around. Some of the crazy shit we did...starting the Blue-Star Nipple Club...that's where those of us girls who have big boobies just drink topless. We'd just use a Blue Sharpie to color stars around our nipples."

Trixie has a way of keeping things interesting. I love working with her.

"Then there was the Ski Club."

"I didn't know you ski."

"I don't in the summer. The Summer Ski Club was just a drinking and streaking club. My roommates called me 'Entrepierna del fuego.' That means 'Entrance of fire.'

"How did you get that name?" I asked.

"Everyone was doing keg-stands. I was wearing a skirt with no panties. You know."

I was thinking about making up a story about how I was drinking and my cock suddenly fell out of my pants. I couldn't believe we were talking about this. Was she making a pass at me or just spilling? As I pondered this, we came out of the staff office. I heard the door near Freddy slowly open.

"Oh shit, Trixie, is that Freddy? Now what?" We walked around the corner and into the hall. Trixie saw it first. She covered her mouth with her hand and walked away. I stood there and saw Freddy ejaculate onto the doorknob. "Hey...get....out..." he struggled to say.

I sent him to the Quiet Room. I walked into the laundry room to get cleaning materials for Freddy and latex gloves for myself. I was completely appalled and shocked. What are you supposed to say when you see something like that? The only thing I could think of was, "Hey Trixie, when you take off tonight, use the other door. This one's the new Entrance of Fire."

JD was screaming his lungs out at his basketball teammate and Special Counselor, me. We were participating in a house game of basketball for our hourly House Rec (or as I refer to it: House Wreck). JD is the chunky "feral child" who looks like Pumba from the Lion King. He had squared up in front of me and had his fists up to fight.

"I ain't goin' nowhere, partnah! You wanna piece of me, you come and get it, niggah! I'll beat yo ass!" JD comes from the white-trash foothills but he took on a ghetto accent whenever he got violent, something he picked up since he got here. His eyes were wide and he was breathing hard, each exhale blowing his lips out so you could see his underbitten teeth.

"You know, JD, we've talked about this. In fact, we talk about it every day. When you threaten your peers, your program is to go directly to the house, no..."

"I know, 'no ips, ans or buts!' But he didn't pass me the ball - ever - and I told him I'd kick his ass if he didn't pass me the ball AND HE FUCKIN DIDN'T! So I ain't goin nowhere, I'm playing basketball and plus, I'll beat yo ass if you make me. SO GIMME THE FUCKIN BALL!"

I said, "JD, you will be going to the house, your house rec is over. You're not mad at me, you know the rules, you're disappointed in yourself for losing it again. That's ok, we'll try again tomorrow. If you don't walk up on your own, we'll escort you, just like we always do. Your decision."

Chris, the non-passer, was sitting on the sidelines doing his timeout and said, "Yeah, JD, a day without you getting proned is like a day without sunshine, so just serve it."

This was JD's opportunity to lose it. "What the fuck? That's it, you're going down mutha-fucka! I get crazy!"

As JD stomped over toward the sideline, Chris just sat there with an intentionally bored look on his face, his chin resting on his fist. JD was screeching and lathering obscenities and was walking just slow enough so that Toby and I could tackle him just before he got to Chris. Toby and I placed JD in a prone containment on the hot asphalt, and I turned to my other teammates, Mel and Gus.

"Me and Toby'll take him up to the house. You guys have a good game." Chris looked at the hysterical JD, grinned and waved a dainty goodbye.

JD's getting better. In a calmer moment weeks ago, he and I worked out a strict behavior contract which send him straight to the house as soon as he gets out of line, 'no ifs, ands or buts.' He loves to say that with me. There was a time when he would have hurt someone, gotten into a fight or run away in these instances, and occasionally he still does, but not as often. He was slimming down a bit due to the extra exercise and learning to trust adults, little by little.

"Mutha-fuckas, let's fight! I'll beat the shit out of you. You ain't my Special Counselor no more, niggah! You're just a fat bitch. You like to get drunk and fag off with kids." His arms were slippery with sweat.

"JD, me and Toby are going to pick you up and take you to the Quiet Room. While we do that, you can think about who you're really talking about."

The trip back up the hill, through the weeds and to the house was really difficult. Since JD was fighting, trying to spit and bite, it was easier to drag him up the hill backwards.

Toby said, "You know how the cops do it? They straighten out the arm behind the perpetrator, push it into the shoulder and bend the wrist, like this." He demonstrated the maneuver on JD.

JD screamed, "Okay! I'll walk! I'll walk!" Toby then moved JD's arm back to the original position, and immediately, JD started to fight again.

"Of course, we can't do that," said Toby. "It would make things too easy."

We eventually dragged JD to the house and into the Quiet Room. We pushed him in there and slammed the door. He was livid.

"Bitches better not open the door either cuz I'll beat both your asses!"

"Okay," I said, yelling through the plexiglass window. "Good idea. We'll just leave you there. Bye."

"Open the fuckin door! Godammit! You think I'm messing around? I'll show you!" He grabbed his Shaq O'Neil jersey with two hands and ripped it down the middle. "See? I hate you, bitch!"

I said, "Aw, JD, that was your special Shaq jersey that we got from Ross. Remember how we had such a good time that day?"

"Think I care? WELL I DON'T!" He took the shreds of his jersey and tied it tightly around his head. "Now I'm gonna cut off that thing... That thing that goes in your head that you can die from...You know, what's that thing called?"

I said helpfully, "You mean you're going to cut off your circulation. Say it, 'cir-cu-la-tion,' so that you can die. That's called 'com-mit-ing-su-i-cide.' And that way I'll get fired because it'll be my fault because I hate kids and like to get drunk and abuse them. But you won't be around to see it because you'll be dead, but it'll be worth it because I'll be homeless. That's what you meant to say, right? Fine with me, I need the vacation."

JD pulled off one of his shoes. He slammed it against the window over and over. Every time he slammed it, I'd tap against the window to make a little rhythm.

BOOM taptap, BOOM tap, BOOM taptap, BOOM tap.

He stopped slamming and said, "Oh, you think it's time for fun and games? TAKE THIS!" He walked up to the window and started ramming his head against it. Each time he he hit it, I'd say in a falsetto, "Boopboop."

BLAM boopboop, BLAM boop, BLAM boopboop, BLAM boop.

"Hey JD, I like this rhythm better."

"I'm gonna pee in here!"

"It's gonna stink in there!"

He took his shoe again. "See this? This is you!" He started pulling open the top of his shoe, attempting to rip it apart.

"JD, those are your Jordans. Remember how long you worked to earn those? Remember how proud of yourself you were when we went to Ross and got them? I'm proud of you too, you know."

"Don't care," he said between gasps. "Gonna tear 'em apart. You're not proud of me, you think I suck. I can tell. I'm the worst piece of shit you've ever seen." He continued stretching out the shoe and I could tell it wouldn't be long until it was in shreds.

"JD, I'm not going to let you tear up your special Jordans."

"I don't want them!"

"I'm coming in there and I'm going to take your shoes so you can't tear them up."

"That's what I want. So I can beat your ass! You want to hurt me anyway, why don't you come and do it? I'm a retard! And I SUCK!" He tore at his Jordans with renewed vigor.

"Why do you keep saying that? Do you realize how much better you've gotten since you've been here? You're way better. You're getting slimmer, you don't fight as much, you're learning about getting along with people. You think you're the worst I've ever seen but you're not. Not even close. So stop talking to me like I'm your dad. I'm not your dad, I'm your friend. I'll never treat you like your dad treated you."

"Talking about my dad? My dad'll kick your ass! I'M GONNA KILL YOU MUTHA-FUCKA!

I opened the door which surprised JD and he took a step back in fright. He quickly composed himself, raised his Jordan and gritted his teeth. "You're going down, bitch! I'm gonna kill your ass!"

I put my hands down by my sides, and walked slowly toward him.

"I'm not gonna fight you. I'm just not."

He swung the shoe. I didn't flinch. He didn't hit me. He stood there for a moment, looking at me. Then he burst into tears.

"Oooh, I'm sorry. I wish you were my dad. Why can't you be my dad?" He hugged me and sobbed. "Why can't you just adopt me? I'd act good at your house, I promise. Ohh, hooo. Nobody likes me, but you do."

"It's gonna be ok, JD. Better and better every day. It's gonna be ok."

"I don't really hate you, Stokie."

"I know. It's ok."

"I was just mad."

"I know, JD. Better and better every day. I'm proud of you."

"I'm proud of you, too, Stokie. Can I try again tomorrow?"

Pete began, "Stokie, you know that as a veteran staff, the organization values your investment and experience here..."

I said, "That line is always followed by 'however...'"

"However, from time to time even the veteran staff show signs of stress and make mistakes in their handlings of the kids here. And I'm here to talk to you about this morning and determine if there were any mistakes made and talk to you about whether or not you're feeling any stress on the job."

"Well, Pete, I appreciate your concern for my welfare. I don't remember anything about this morning and I'd have to read Miyako's incident report to remind myself. May I see it please?"

"Actually, she hasn't completed it yet. She came to me with it and asked for help with the English. When I helped her write it, she described the incident to me and I became concerned about your handling of the client."

"So there's no incident report? I better get to work on it right away. Miyako, why didn't you just come to me for help on the IR? Why did you go to Pete? After all, I was the one who was there, not Pete."

Pete squirmed in his chair. "I don't think that's the point here..."

Yolanda piped up, "Yeah Miyako. I know I told you when I met you yesterday that you should be checking in with your teammates all the time, especially if you're confused or have questions. Why didn't you do that?"

Miyako's eyes started welling up. "Pete told me that he wanted to know what was going on in the house. He say 'Tell me if anybody, especially veteran staff like Stokie Jaye do anything might be wrong.' So I tell him and he say Stokie might get fired."

I could have murdered Pete Post right then and there. "So Pete, what I'm hearing is that you're hiring new staff to be your spies so that you can try to fire veteran staff like me. Do you have any idea how fucked-up that is? You Admins keep talking about supporting us and then you go and do something like this? You all are just talking out of your assholes."

Pete responded, "I assure you, cursing at me is not going to help you explain any possible illegal behavior."

"Oh yeah. Miyako, can you remind me what illegal behavior I engaged in?"

Miyako was silent for a moment. Then she burst into tears. "I'm sorry, I didn't know! Not sure, not sure."

Pete said, "Miyako, you told me that Stokie picked up Brian by himself and threw him into the Quiet Room. Isn't that what you saw?"

Miyako said through sobs, "Not sure, not sure."

Yolanda said, "Sounds like she's not sure, Pete. And Stokie? Do you remember what happened now?"

"Yes, Yolanda. As I walked toward Brian, he did a backward sommersault into the Quiet Room. I just shut the door because he was being assaultive to Miyako by spitting on her. She just sat there and took it, too." I turned to Pete, "I wonder where she learned that?"

Miyako got up and ran out. This was the last time any of us saw her as she faxed in her letter of resignation the next day.

Yolanda said, "Pete, I think it's time for you to get out of my office, you aren't making any friends right now."

Pete got up to leave and said to me, "There's too much hands on going on in this house. And another thing, you better think twice before you lie to me again." With that he left the house.

I got up to leave too. I said to Yolanda, "You need to do your own dirty work. I got Admin stink all over me and almost lost my job for it."