Random Thoughts from Childhood Series – Potato Chips
April 5, 2010
Mat's Memories From Childhood
POTATO CHIPS
It was late summer 73’ and I had gone down to the office and entered the lower level which was a basement. I walked down this tight narrow hallway and noticed on the left wall three buttons lined top to bottom next to a wood door with a handle. I stopped and grabbed the handle and pulled up to see what was inside. The door hit the top and inside was dirty dishes. A couple of different size plates, a coffee cup, and silverware. I realized it was a miniature elevator, a butler elevator. I had never seen one in person before but, had seen them used in some TV programs and movies. I ran out of the building to find my brother and to tell him what I had found.
I found my brother and in great excitement, I told him about the mini elevator and he went and grabbed two other kids and we headed back to the office basement. I pointed the elevator out to them and opened the door so they could see what was inside. Suddenly, one of the kids said take out the dishes and let’s see where it goes. It sounded good to me so I removed the dishes and placed them on the floor around the corner. We all stared inside the empty elevator and realized that it was an extremely small area. Who was going to get inside? Then the other kids and my brother at the same time turned their heads and looked at me. My brother said I was the smallest one and told me to climb up inside. I climbed inside and it was very tight. I had to pull my knees to my chest but, I fit! Someone pulled the door down and just as it shut I heard an adult yell “What are you boys doing?” followed by “You do not belong down here and need to leave.” My heart starts to pound! I think “Did he see me climb in?” I sit completely silent and can hear the other kids exit the building and hear the door close behind them. I wait for several minutes and hearing nothing, I pull the door open and sneak a quick look and notice the coast is clear. I jumped out and ran for the exit. I burst through the door and ran to find the other kids. I had just dodged a bullet.
I met up with the other kids later in the evening to formulate a plan on how we can use the elevator and for what. An older kid was brought in and he recommended that we use the elevator to get into the kitchen and raid it for goodies. I thought that was a great plan! I automatically had visions in my head of cookies, cakes, and candy. It was decided the raid would happen tomorrow evening after the staff left for the day. I went to bed in great excitement thinking about the well crafted plan we had come up with and felt that I could barely wait for tomorrow.
I woke up and started my daily routine and the day flew by. The time had come to place our plan into motion. We get to the elevator and I climb up inside and the other kids tell me to look for candy, cake and cookies. The door is closed and the elevator jerks into motion and slowly heads up to the kitchen on the second floor. The elevator comes to a stop and I pause for a moment and listen to make sure no adult was still inside the kitchen. I hear nothing and open the door and poke my head out and scan left to right before I climb out. I climb out and notice the counter tops, appliances, and food racks where made of shiny stainless steel. I have never seen such a clean room. I turn left and notice the evening sun setting and how beautiful the deep orange light was as it filtered through the trees outside and entered the west windows. The light struck the stainless steel which scattered into pieces, reflecting like a disco ball. It hits me that I see no food at all. The kitchen racks and shelves where empty and I could see no sign of food anywhere. I did not plan for this and was not sure what to do. I walked around and looked in every nook and cranny and nothing! What kind of kitchen has no food? I realize I’m taking too long and just as panic starts to swell up inside me, I notice a beam of sun light shooting across the room. The dust particles are swirling inside the light beam and seem to ride the light across the room. I follow the beam to its end and notice it was lighting up a large tin canister. I cross the room and notice it’s a container of potato chips. What a beautiful sight, it was lit up like a fine piece of jewelry inside a glass case. I get within grabbing distance from the chips and then freeze. It seemed out of place and what if it was a trap? Was I the mouse in this case? The moment passed quickly and I grabbed the canister and headed to the elevator but, before I placed it inside I decided to open and make sure there were chips inside. I pried the lid open and it was full of chips! I grabbed one and ate it and that was one good chip! I placed the canister in the elevator and realize there was not enough room for me and the canister. I quickly decided to send the chips first, so I closed the door to the elevator and pushed the down button. The kids below sent the elevator backup to me. I opened the door and climbed inside and pull the door down. It hits me that with the door closed, I could not push the elevator button! I open the door and reach out and push the button. Nothing happens! Dang! The door must be closed for the elevator to work. I close the door and just as I decide to yell, the elevator lurches and starts to go up. That’s the wrong the direction!
I knew the third floor held several bedrooms and figured an adult was calling the elevator to put dishes inside. I buried my face in my knees and did my version of the Wizard of Oz. I kept repeating to myself “I’m not here… I’m not here…” My heart is pounding and it becomes hard for me to breath. The elevator comes to a stop and just as the anticipation becomes unbearable, the elevator starts going down. I get to the basement and open the door and the other kids are laughing. They thought it would be funny to send me to the third floor and I guess it was for them but, not so much for me. It was dusk now and we hustle back behind cottage one and two. We place the canister of chips down by a tree that had a rope and tire as a swing and began to gorge ourselves. I think I had shiny lips for a week after eating all those potato chips and decided the overall experience was not worth ever doing again, so ended my only successful heist.
Random Thoughts from Childhood Series – Toy Gun
February 17, 2010
Mat's Memories From Childhood
TOY GUN
Before I can start this story, I must return to the beginning when my brother and I first arrived. We met the house parent Tony for the first time and he went over a set of rules we must follow. The one rule I remember is the no gun policy. We could not have a toy gun, use an object as pretend guns, or use our fingers as guns.
I believe it was a week or two since I got back from the hospital because I still had a patch on my right eye. All the kids where lining up to get their allowance and I thought for sure I would not get mine because I had been in the hospital and did not do my chores. I got in line anyway and waited my turn. To my surprise fifty cent was slid out of the change envelope and handed to me. The house parent marked my name off and I turned to leave and looked for my brother. I found him and in great excitement headed to the corner store to purchase candy. We exited the back gate at Ivy House and hung a left and ran to the corner store. We entered the front glass doors and headed for the candy section, but before I could get there a beautiful red and white toy ray gun caught my eye. I do not know what it was about this gun, but it pulled at me like a light to a flying insect. I picked the gun up and started pointing it at everything I saw. I had to have this gun! I called my brother over and said “Let’s buy this gun!” I looked at the price and reached into my pocket and pulled out my allowance and realized I did not have enough money to buy the gun. My impulse to have this gun was so strong that I quickly formulated a plan to get this gun. I was going to steal it! I grabbed the gun and pretended that I was invisible and simply was going to walk out the store and no one would ever know. My plan was flawed! I was not invisible and the store manager yelled “Stop.” I’d been caught! The gun was taken from me and the manager asked where we lived. I said Ivy House and he stepped behind the counter and picked up the phone and called someone. The manager hung up the phone and told us to go home.
I was so scared. I knew Tony was the house parent on duty and all that went through my head was “No guns.” Not only did I try to steal, but it the item was a gun. The walk back seemed to take hours though it had only been about ten minutes. My brother and I walked through cottage one doors and there stood Tony waiting to intercept us. I stood in front of him in shame looking at the ground. He told me to look him in the face and asked why I tried to steal? Without wasting a moment, I said because I did not have enough money to buy it. To my surprise his chin started to quiver and his eyes swelled up with tears! He bent down and picked me up and kissed me on the left check. Not sure if it was because I was wearing an eye patch or that I told the truth. Anyhow, he set me down and told my brother and me that he was taking us back to the store for us to apologize to the manager. He walked us back down to the corner store and made us wait at the front glass doors to the store as he went in to talk with the manager. After a brief moment, Tony motioned for us to come in. Tony then told the manager that we had something to tell him. I looked at the manager and told him I was sorry for trying to steal from him. At this point Tony told us to head back to the cottage and wait for him. We both got back and took a seat on the green couch. My head was swirling and the anticipation of his return put my stomach in knots. Tony walked through the door and came up to me. I stood up from my seat and he knelt down and told me the next time if I wanted something not to steal it, but come and talk with him. He then pulled from behind his back the ray gun I had tried to steal and handed it to me. I was speechless! I was in conflict! What about the rule? I simply said thank you and ran off with my new ray gun yelling POW POW………………
Random Thoughts from Childhood Series – Oh What a Day
January 22, 2010
OH WHAT A DAY
Mat's Memories From Childhood
I really enjoyed the catholic school that I was placed into because the class size was much smaller than the public school and no one teased or picked on me. The trade off was that I had to wear a cheesy uniform of plaid shorts, white button up shirt and a clip on tie. There were variations of the uniform and I seemed to wear the wrong combination all too often. The other trade off was punishment by the head Nun should one step out of line. That punishment was a ruler to the palm of the hand and the number of times you where struck on the palm depended on the infraction. I had this punishment several times and OH how I hated that ruler!
I had a habit of spacing out and being completely oblivious to my surrounding. Maybe I had A.D.D., but whatever the case was I seemed to zone out at the most inappropriate time. I sat in the front row in class and this one time during lecture, I stood up as if I was the only one in the room and walked to the back of the room where the wall was lined with closets. I stepped inside the closet and closed the door partway and proceeded to go through the other student’s lunches. I ate someone’s Twinkie and took a bite out of someone else’s peanut butter sandwich. I suddenly hear a faint noise in the background and then snap out my trance. I hear the teacher yelling my name and telling me to remove myself from the closet and come to the front of the class immediately! All the other students just stared at me in silence as I walked to the front of the class. I was grabbed by the arm and escorted out of the class and down the hall to the head Nun. I was placed inside her office and spent a brief moment by myself as the teacher explained what happened to the Nun. I just knew I would be punished with the dreaded ruler. I started guessing in silence on how many times my palm would be hit, when suddenly the door opened and the Nun stood there with hands on her hip shaking her head. The door closed and she said nothing. She walked to her desk and opened a drawer and out came the RULER. I wanted to cry, but refused to let her see any tears. She grabbed my left hand and said I would be getting ten hits! I gasped and screamed TEN!
She would always count out loud, ONE TWO, THREE, after each strike. The first few always hurt the most and then the hand would become numb. The punishment began and as she reached THREE the most wonderful thing happened. I can’t believe it! It was the sweetest sight, pure nirvana! The ruler broke in two and I watched in slow motion as the broken piece flipped into the air and ricocheted off her desk and hit the ground. The hated ruler lost and I won! Figuring she had to be done, I went to turn and head for the door and she said, “Where are you going?” I stared in sheer horror as she opens another drawer and pulls out a new ruler. The terror did not stop there. The drawer was full of dozens of rulers! Oh crap! The really sad part was that I actually thought that was the only ruler and not once considered the existence of others. Sad I know! She finishes NINE, TEN, and then I’m told to return to class.
I get back just in time for confession. This is my first confession and I have no idea what to expect. We walk single file to the chapel and enter in groups of five. I’m in the second group that enters and we watch as each person walks into a small closet and closes the door. I faintly hear each one start with “Forgive me father for I have sinned” followed by something they did wrong. My heart starts to race and I begin to panic. It’s my turn and my legs feel like lead as I enter and close the door. I hear the priest say “Yes son” and I stand there in silence. My head is spinning and I’m trying to think of something bad I did, but draw a blank. Suddenly, I know what to say and I begin with “Forgive me father for I have sinned” and I hear “Go ahead.” I make something up and say “I stole a lollipop from my brother.” I’m told to do two Hail Mary’s and then I exit the room. Will this day ever end? I just want to go home to Ivy House.
The irony of the confession was that I lied, which was a sin. So I committed a sin to tell a sin and completely forgot about the sin I just committed early in the day by stealing someone’s lunch. I really have a knack of making my life harder than it needs to be but hey, I’m a kid and there’s plenty of time to correct that……………
Random Thoughs from Childhood Series – Hospital Stay
November 24, 2009
Mat's Memories From Childhood
The police cruiser arrives at the Philadelphia Eye Institute and I’m whisked inside where a nurse places me into a wheelchair. I see the officer talking to a lady as he turns and smiles at me, then turns and leaves the building. That is the last time I saw the officer who helped me. I’m wheeled back to a room where I get placed into a special chair with funny looking equipment attached to it. The doctor slides the equipment over to my face and asks me to stay still while he looks into my good eye first and then the damaged eye. He looks into the damaged eye in silence and only shakes his head side to side. He pushes his chair back and tells me to relax. He grabs some eye drops and places several into both eyes and then places patches on both eyes. He tells me that the nurse will be in to take me to my room. I sit in darkness and run through the events in my head that landed me here in the hospital. I become scared for the first time as the sinking feeling of isolation sets in and wonder whether anyone knows that I’m at this hospital. The nurse comes and assures me that everything will be okay and proceeds to wheel me to my room. I want to cry but, fear the tears will sting. I get placed into a bed and I’m told that they need to set an IV line and that I will feel a little prick. The nurse says she is finished and again tells me that it will be okay. She tells me that the medicine they are giving me will help me sleep. I feel warmth crawling up my arm and become scared and then suddenly everything goes blank.
I’m gently woken up, what I think is the next day, and told someone is in the room to see me. I then hear my mom’s sobbing voice asking me how I feel. She then tells me that this is her third day of coming to see me, but I’ve been asleep. I feel really groggy and slip in and out of consciousness. I’m awoken again by a nurse and told to try and eat my breakfast and that afterwards she would give me a sponge bath. I barely eat and wait for the nurse to return. I try to open my eyes but, see only darkness. I reach up with my hands to feel my face and realize that the patches are still on both eyes. I’ve lost all sense of time and place. My head is so cloudy at this point and I can barely finish a thought before it drifts out of my reach. I hate how I feel! The nurse returns and begins to bath me. The warm water feels so good, as the sponge runs over my body. I’m told that the IV will be removed later on today, and I drift back to sleep.
The nurse gently awakes me and I open my eyes and see what I think is an angel standing at the foot of my bed. She tells me to eat my breakfast and then I would be getting another sponge bath. I place my hands on my face and feel that I still have a patch on my right eye but, the patch was removed from my left eye. I don’t feel as groggy this time and start to look around the room to see my surroundings. The room is small with two chairs against a wall and a nightstand next to my bed with a phone. I pull my breakfast toward me and attempt to eat. The nurse returns and tells me that I really need to eat more to get better and asks me if I’m ready to get my sponge bath. I nod my head yes and she proceeds to bath me. She finishes and tells that she now has to give me an enema. What is an enema? I soon find out! The nurse has officially lost her angel status.
A week had passed before the other patch got removed from my right eye. I see a doctor everyday but, sense there is nothing that can be done and feel that I’ve become a case study. I had to sit through as ten plus doctors took turns looking at my eye and talking to one another about seeing crystals in the back of my eye and how the pupil was irregular. Not a single doctor talked to me. I especially hated having the pressure of my eye taken. The machine had to be touching the eye and had a purple light I had to stare directly into without blinking and then a puff air was shot into the eye. It quickly became apparent that seeing a doctor was painful and very uncomfortable. How I longed to leave this place!
I was sent back to my room and told to try and use the bathroom on my own. I walked into the bathroom and got my first look at my face since the accident. It was black and blue around my right eye with the whites of my eye red with blood. The pupil was torn and my vision had not improved since that last time I had looked out that eye prior to arriving at the hospital. I attempt to use the bathroom and then return to my bed. I was given pills to take that made me very drowsy. I awake later in the day to find my mom sitting in the chair. She see’s that I had opened my eyes and stands to approach me. She asks how I feel and tells me that all I do is sleep. She says that she asked the nurses not to drug me so much but, was not sure they listened. A nurse walks in and tells me that I have a special person on the phone that wants to talk to me. My mom turns to the nurse and before she can say anything is asked to leave the room to give me privacy. The nurse says “go ahead and pick up the phone” and then walks out. I pick up the phone and the voice on the other side is my dad. I can’t believe I’m talking to my dad! I’m asked how I feel and how he wished he could be here with me. We talked for a short while and he told me he had to go because he was calling from overseas but, would call me again in a couple of days. I said bye and hung up the phone. It was so good to hear my dad’s voice! It had been almost two years. My mom returned to the room and asked me who was on the phone? I simply said dad. Nothing else was said. She came over and kissed my forehead and said she had to leave and would try to come and see me tomorrow. I got to talk to my dad several more times, my mom came to see me almost every day, and even Ivy House kids came to see me over the next two weeks. Three weeks had passed and I finally was getting released to return to Ivy House. I was so excited to be leaving the hospital that I rushed through my goodbyes with the nursing staff and asked to be taken home…………….
Random Thoughts From Childhood Series-A Childhood Revelation…NO FEAR!
November 15, 2009
Sometimes, to overcome fear you need to run straight into the middle of it…….
Memories from Jenny's childhood
After foster care I struggled to engage with my biological mother and I didn’t feel connected to her. The truth is that I felt responsible for her. It seemed to me that it was my job to fix her life, solve her problems and make her happy. For whatever reason, I became somewhat of the parent and she naturally filled the role of the child. I watched her move from one bad relationship to another, and her children became collateral damage. She used pity like a weapon of manipulation to get her way. It never seemed to occur to her that life was about more than her, she lacked the ability to see outside of herself, was very self absorbed and her children paid the price for that selfishness.
I’m not really sure when I gained intimate knowledge of the feelings and words; “pity” and “victim.” It was almost like an instinct within me that I didn’t want to be a victim or grow up and have “a victim mentality.” I may not have known much at age 12 but I was already familiar with what it felt like to be pitied and I linked it to be a feeling of shame. Some people thrive on this type of attention, or any attention for that matter and my mother is one of those people. Positive or negative didn’t matter, just the attention. As a child, I felt a deep sense of dread over this and knew that I never wanted to have people pity me or feel a sense of sorrow for me.
This early childhood revelation lead me to a very intensive and intimidating training program called est. It was around 1979 or 1980 and I was about 12 years old when I heard about what I thought sounded like a direct message from heaven. Someone told me of a program that would teach me to overcome adversity, how to be able to get past my fears and demons, and to let the past be something that moved me forward, instead of holding me back!
It was a program called EST. If you look it up in the the wikipedia dictionary, this is what you will find: “Erhard Seminars Training, an organization founded by Werner H. Erhard, offered a two-weekend (60-hour) course known officially as ‘The est Standard Training.’ The purpose of est was to allow participants to achieve, in a very brief time, a sense of personal transformation and enhanced power. The est course was offered from late 1971 to late 1984.”
The est training presented several concepts, but the most memorable one for me was that of taking responsibility for yourself and your actions, that integrity had value and you and you alone are responsible for that integrity…YOU! It’s hard to blame your disappointments in life on anyone or anything else but yourself when you are faced with this concept!
There is a tribute website for graduates of this training if you are interested in learning more. Check it out at http://www.erhardseminarstraining.com. Another website rich with information about est and it’s creator is http://www.wernererhard.com
For two consecutive weekends I was confined for 12 to 16 hour days in a Center City Philadelphia hotel ballroom. Each weekend, I rode the train into the city with nothing but a change of clothes and my impeding fear! I remember that first trip into the city, I was petrified. I had no idea which stop to get off the train, where I would sleep that night or if I would be able to do this.
Let me take you back with me…….
The first night of the seminar, the instructors ask for a show of hands for those who did not have a place to stay. I am looking around the room, I am frightened to let people know that I have no place to stay, that I am here by myself and no one is looking out for me, I am alone. These thoughts echo in my head, I’m not sure what to do. As I study the crowd, I realize I am the only child in this room, and wonder what is wrong with me that I wanted to do this. Suddenly I am overwhelmed by the realization of how different I am. The voice inside my head is yelling, “what is wrong with you, why are you the only child?” I hesitantly raise my hand. I am trembling, I cannot get a grip on my fear, my jaw is chattering and my eyes are focussed on the floor, legs are shaking nervously. I start questioning myself as to why I wanted to do this, what was I thinking, I fight back the tears and panic as my eyes well up. I am thinking that I should run and then the voice from deep inside, the inner voice yells to calm down, yells at me not to run. Tells me that I need to do this if I’m to have any hope of having a future that doesn’t include a stamp of “victim” on my forehead. There is a woman sitting next to me. She places her hand around my shoulder and lets her arm rest there. The announcers then ask for a show of hands from those who could offer a place to stay. This kind woman raises her hand and tells me that I can stay with her. She had a glowing heart and I instantly felt she was trustworthy and protective like a mother.
That night, I was shown into her daughters room, the one I would end up sleeping in. I still vividly recall laying there, in bed and staring at all the pictures and posters on the wall. The bed was pushed up against one of the covered walls so it was like getting a close up of her daughter’s life. Ever look at photo’s of happy smiling faces and wished you were as happy as the people you saw in those photos?
Soon, I am startled out of my deep thoughts as (let’s call her) phyllis passes by the doorway to check on me before turning in for the night. She asks if I need anything before bed. I was starring at her, thinking about how wonderful and loving she was. I had only known her for a day at this point but I loved her immediately. My heart sank for her as she told me the story of how her 13 year old daughter had run away and she did not have any way of finding her. As I watched her eyes in the night light hue tear up, they seemed hollow. My lovely Phyllis was distraught over this loss and empty because everything that mattered to her was gone. I felt a deep sense of anger for her, I felt an anger towards her daughter who had not seen and appreciated this amazing gift of a parent who loved her! I was resentful that an ungrateful child would be given this gift of unconditional love and throw it away. Maybe, had I had this luxury, I would not have felt so angry.
Later, during the next day of the seminar we held hands, shared our pain and cried together. This portion of the seminar was very scary to me. The large group of participants was split up and instructed to form group circles with our chairs. We were told to hold hands, keep our eyes closed and face our fears. The instructors said that anything, and whoever or whatever we blamed for our pain should be confronted, acknowledged and sent to some other place. The instructors gave us permission to yell, cry, scream and jump up and down, whatever it took to let go of all the emotions that held us back from living the life we wanted. Grown men and women screamed, yelled, and cried, visualizing and attacking their demons and confessing their deepest sins. I was watching and listening, cleverly masking my defiant behavior of “watching” when we had been instructed to keep our eyes closed. The instructors circled the room like guards, searching for violators and I was scared yet I kept peeking, starring around in awe as all this pain was unleashed and expressed around me. The trainers had a saying; “ I got It” and they repeated this through out the seminar. Time after time they would confront a participant; ”you got it?”…….Someone in the audience would recount. ”I got it!”
Another group session that sticks out vividly to me is what I call, “the stare down!” The instructors announced that each row of seats would be called to come up onto the stage at the front of the ballroom. One by one, as each of us attendees stood there on stage an instructor would stand in front of us and stare us down! Each row at a time, participants would fall into format, forging a line to the stage. It was kind of like a break you down to build you back up type practice. They told us how they could see us when they looked at us. It was intimidating to say the least. In your face, one by one each teacher would stand in front of you, in your space and stare you deep in the eyes telling you that they SEE you. Most would break down into tears, a result of hidden fears and shames of past issues. I did no cry, had experience with the stare down process as a foster child. One instructor stared deep into my eyes, nose almost touching mine and yelled like a sergeant in the military that she could see me, knew who I was. I was thinking, “HAH, who are you kidding, you can’t see me, I have learned to cover myself up, you are out of your league!” I never cried! The foster child in me came out and that hard shell of protection and distance surrounded me and I said; “I don’t think so lady, move on, there will be no tears here!” I was one of only a few who did not break down on stage.
As I think back on that experience, I am still amazed that I did such a brave and unconventional thing during my preteen years. I have read several press articles since that time that heavily criticized this training for being to tough and confrontational.
Looking back at the child I was then, it is nothing short of a miracle. I was a child afraid of my own shadow and I did not speak much. I was so shy that a smile would make me turn beat red and run for cover. I avoided eye contact at all costs and did not express any kind of emotion. No tears, no laughter….blankness. I guess in the end the fear of becoming a person who lived life as a victim was far less scary to me than the fear of facing this intimidating training seminar.
I learned a valuable and life long lesson from this experience. Not all fear is bad, sometimes if you push yourself to go outside of your comfort zone you can change your life, build your confidence and be on your way towards achieving bigger and better things.
Random Thoughts From Childhood Series-My Eye
October 9, 2009
Mat's Memories From Childhood
MY EYE
I was excited to be finishing my clay piggy bank today. A few days earlier a group of us kids worked on clay banks and today we get to finish them by painting them with glaze and getting them fired. The group of us raced out the door and headed to the office building where we would work on our banks. The group rushed into the door and raced down the stairs to the ceramic room. Everyone gathered by the shelve that held the pottery while I finished up the rear. I heard lots of ooh’s and aah’s as I entered the room. Apparently, one of the clay banks had vines growing out of it. The clay bank turned out to be mine. I grabbed it and stared at it for a brief moment and realized someone had placed watermelon seeds throughout my clay bank. The seeds sprouted and each vine was about three inches long. Once the weirdness of seeing vines growing out of my bank, it hit me that I would not be able to glaze my bank. While the other kids started to glaze, I had to start a new bank. I was really bummed out. I so wanted to open a can to see what color of glaze was inside.
I just did not have the patience to start a new bank. I went over to the shelves where the glaze was kept and grabbed a can. I had this strong internal push to find out what was inside this pint size can. Apparently, time flew by and it was close to lunch time and we were told to head back to our cottage to eat and take medicine. (Well it seemed that one of us always had some infestation. Head lice were the big one that most of us got but, some of us also had body lice and one of us had a parasite called pinworms. Unfortunately for my brother, he was the one with pinworms. The worms are very contiguous which required the kids in cottage one to take medicine to help us from contracting the worms.) As the other kids left the room, I positioned myself towards the back of the group so I would be the last one leaving the room. I grabbed the can of glaze I had been admiring and slipped it under my shirt and headed out the room to catch up with the rest of the group. The group took off running toward the cottage and I lagged behind a bit. I made sure I was the last one to enter the cottage but, I could not risk taking the can inside with me. There was an L shaped fence that hid the trash cans at the front entrance so I tossed the can back by the fence and out of view. I then entered the cottage. I took my medicine and headed to the kitchen to eat lunch. I actually forgot about the can and instead played with the other kids. It was late afternoon before I remembered the can I had left out front. I went to get it but, first I needed something to open it with. I snuck into the kitchen and grabbed a spoon and went out the front door over to the can. I looked around to make sure no one was watching and picked up the can and headed to the back of cottage one.
In the back we had an above ground pool that I believe we only got to use one summer. It seemed that the maintenance was more than Ivy House had anticipated. The pool water looked like a nasty science project gone wrong. As I walked to the pool, I kept my head on a swivel to make sure I was not seen nor followed. I notice men working on the utility poles just off Ivy House grounds. They didn’t seem to notice me so I kneeled down by the pool and pulled the spoon out of my pocket and began to pry up on the can lid. Just as I had the lid almost popped open, I took a quick look around to make sure the coast was still clear. I turned back to the can and pried one last time and as the seal broke on the lid, BANG! It exploded into my face. I dropped the can and put both hands to my face. I stood up and staggered a couple of feet and then collapsed to the ground screaming. I was afraid to remove my hands from my face and had great trouble standing up without using my hands and arms to help push myself up. I heard footsteps running toward me and someone reached down and scooped me up. The person was a man that kept asking me where I was hit. I was confused by the word HIT! As he carried me toward the office, I found myself removing my left hand from my face and slowly opening my left eye. Everything looked to be normal out my left eye. The man carrying me was husky and had facial hair and wore a yellow hard hat. He rushed me to the office as he was yelling for help and I could see a group of adults running out the front door and coming towards us. I was asked repeatedly what was wrong with me and where it hurt. They saw no outwardly damage on my body such as bleeding or trauma at first glance. I overheard the utility worker explaining to the other adults that he heard what he thought was a gunshot and witnessed me fall to the ground. He thought I had been shot by a gun. The explosion was that loud! The other adults asked me to remove my hand from my right eye so they could check for damage. I slowly removed my hand but, would not open my right eye. I heard someone say the outside of my eye was very swollen and was turning black and blue. I was taken inside the office and asked to open my eye. I was petrified to obey their request and after several more times of asking me and assuring me that it would be ok, I slowly opened my right eye. I could see no object in detail and everything in my vision had a yellow orange hue. There seemed a lack of knowing what to do next by the adults. Finally, someone called the police.
A police cruiser pulled up in front of the office and the officer quickly approached the front door. I could only make out gibberish between the officer and Ivy House adults. The officer walked briskly over to me and picked me up and rushed to his cruiser. I was placed into the back seat by myself and with the lights and siren turned on the officer sped off. I was strangely calm at this point and relished the fact that I was in a police car with the lights on and siren blaring. I remember at one point having to grab the front seat to keep from sliding off the backseat as we went around each corner. Suddenly the officer whipped into an emergency room entrance, hopped out and retrieved me from the backseat and rushed me into the hospital. I saw the officer flag a doctor and the doctor came over to look at my right eye. I saw him turn and he then whisper something to the officer and before I knew it, I’m rushed back outside and placed into the cruiser. The officer speeds off to the next hospital. I’m rushed into the next emergency room and placed onto a bed. A doctor comes in and looks at my right eye. He leaves and comes back in with saline solution and proceeds to flush my right eye. After several flushes I overhear the doctor telling the officer that there was nothing he could do for me and that I needed to be taken to a specialist. I was scooped up once more and placed into the cruiser and raced to the next hospital that turned out to be the Philadelphia Eye Institute.
Apparently, the mistake I made, other than taking the paint can to begin with was that I left the can in the sun on a very hot summer day. There was great confusion as to exactly what had happened. The can was supposed to be kept at room temperature and by placing it outside in the sun, the pressure built inside the can and when I broke the seal the lid exploded up into my face hitting me in the right eye. At least that’s the theory I was told once I returned to Ivy House and I will agree that sounds about right……….
Random Thoughts from Childhood Series-The Visits
September 22, 2009
Mat's Memories From Childhood
THE VISITS
There were several types of visits from family members while in Ivy House. The first one involved a family member coming to Ivy House and meeting in a cottage. I don’t recall ever having one myself with an adult family member at cottage one, but I do remember this one kid having a family member show up. It played out with the adult walking to the cottage and us kids acting like puppies in a pet store jockeying for the best position to get attention. A group of my peers and me performed the bump (a dance in the 70’s) for this one adult. It must have been overwhelming for this adult as she was simply trying to enjoy her visit, but was being pestered like flies at picnic from all us kids.
I do recall several visits at the office with my little brother and sister. The office provided a more private setting to meet and kept other kids out. Each time my brother and I met our younger siblings in a private room with books and toys. We would be escorted in the room and an adult would close the door leaving just us four in the room. This visit was always awkward for me. I never knew what to say or how I was supposed to act or what the meaning of the visit meant. I never knew when the visits would happen which took place only about two or three times while I was in Ivy House. These meetings normally lasted about an hour. The closed door sessions made me feel like a rat in an experiment. Us four kids with the door closed and adults watching through windows. Each one played out the same. My little brother playing with toys by himself on other side of room and I would be staring at my sister while my older brother said “Hey.”
The last type of visit was off Ivy House grounds. If you were lucky enough, I thought, you would get to stay at a family’s house for the weekend. These visits like the rest where never announced a head of time nor did you ever know if this would be your first or last visit while in Ivy House. They could be four months, nine months, a year, or more between each one. There never seemed to be a rhyme or reason for the timing between visits. My brother and I on several occasions got to spend the weekend with our mom. A year had gone by before our first visit with our mom. This was the first time since being place at Ivy House that either of us got to see or speak to our mom. I was extremely excited to see her the first time and thought my brother and I were going home for good.
We got to her small apartment, shown our room and then we plopped down to watch TV. She went into the kitchen to make us a meal. She came out and sat between us and started to cry. She told us how much she missed us and how she was going to get us out of Ivy House. At this point, I thought my brother and I were done with Ivy House and figured she had miss spoken about getting us out. I was kissed on the cheek and she headed back to the kitchen. I spent the rest of the day swimming in my excitement of being home. I went to bed that night feeling on top of the world. Sometime during the night I left my room and climbed in bed with my mom. The next morning she made us breakfast and the three of us sat and ate together. As the day wore on my mom’s demeanor changed from happy to hostile. She started making comments about how Ivy House was not taking care of us properly, how we were dressed in rags, and how Ivy House would not let her have us. Then the bomb shell! Pack your stuff because I have to return you to Ivy House. I start crying and ran back to the bedroom. My head is spinning and I’m flooded with emotions. I don’t understand! My mom became short and yelled at us to get our stuff. Suddenly all these questions started running through my head. Why do we have to go back? What did we do wrong? Do we have to go back? Then the anger kicked in and my thoughts turned to my Mother. Don’t you love us? Where have you been since we got to Ivy House? Why have you not visited or called us in Ivy House? Why would you send us back? I said nothing! I grabbed my stuff and stomped out to the car crying. On our way back to Ivy House, she stated that she would get us out of Ivy House by next weekend. She dropped us off at the office and I stood there crying as she drove down the street. I ran back to cottage one and headed to my room. I cried myself to sleep that night. The next morning the emotional pain stilled lingered, but it was offset by knowing we would be going home for good by the end of the week.
The week flew by and with great excitement I started telling the other kids how I was leaving for good on Saturday. My trash bag was packed and I waited by the main doors of cottage one looking out the pane glass windows for my mom. I was so excited that I could barely stand still. The morning dragged into lunch, but I refused to eat because I did not want to miss my mom walking toward the cottage to get me. By late afternoon I sat on the floor next to my belongings and had a strange feeling that she would not show. A house parent walked by and patted me on my back and said it would be OK and then continued to his post. It was dinner time, but I did not feel like eating. I picked up my bag and dragged it back to my room and cried myself to sleep. This same example played out several more times while I was in Ivy House. I know that my mom meant well and sincerely believed what she was saying, but at such a young age I saw things very black and white. That meant she lied and could not be trusted! My brother and I were alone again! I’m not sure the emotional high of each visit was worth the wrenching pain I felt each time this saga played out. After each off grounds visit I would go through the same emotional bombardment as I did the first time I was placed in Ivy House. A matter of fact, I believe it would have been much less disruptive to me if the off grounds visits never happened. However, I guess I should be thankful for the ones I had because many of the other kids never had this opportunity…….
Random Thoughts From Childhood Series-All for One, One for All
September 9, 2009
ALL FOR ONE, ONE FOR ALL
Mat's Memories From Childhood
My brother and I left Ivy House grounds to go goof off and play down the street. We were on our way back and in sight of Ivy House when suddenly the both of us are confronted by three boys acting very aggressively. The boys surround us and ask for our money. Neither of us had any money and told them so. They proceeded to call us liars and pushed my brother. I turn and look towards Ivy House and see a group of about seven boys heading in our direction. I think “Oh crap” we are really in trouble now and just as I finish this thought, the three boys start to back down and distance themselves from us. I think “Here is our break and I’m ready to make a run toward Ivy House.” I hear the large group of boys yelling at the three that where near us to leave us alone. As the group got closer, I realized the group where from Ivy House. The three boys ran off and some from the group ran after them briefly to simple make sure they left. The group asked if we where okay and my brother and me responded “Yes.” One of the boys said he saw the three boys approach us and figured they were trouble and rounded up a group to make sure we where okay. They were older boys from cottage three and I heard one of them say “If you mess with one of us from Ivy House, you mess with all.”
I’ll have to say that hearing that made me feel empowered and proud. This was the first time I had any peers come to my defense. I realized that all of us kids at Ivy House were a part of “something” and that “something” whether good or bad was going to unfold and reveal its self over time and that I simply was along for the ride. I was also struck by the fact that it’s just not about me, but about all of us kids at Ivy House. It did not matter your ethnic back ground, gender, or circumstances that brought us together. We all had the same thing in common; the place we called home. For me, I felt the other kids staying at Ivy House were like additional brothers and sisters and we had a common bond. The bond was that we all knew what it was like to be without our families and never knew when or if we would ever see them again…..
Random Thoughts From Childhood Series-The Psychologist
August 22, 2009
Mat's Memories From Childhood
THE PSYCHOLOGIST
I woke the next morning nervous, but curious about the person I was to meet today. Even though there were no witnesses to my act of violence, I was still ashamed of my behavior at the park yesterday and feared eating breakfast with the rest of the kids. I believed I would rightfully be judged for my dreadful outburst at the park. I sucked it up and headed down to eat. No one said or acted like anything had happened and my trepidation subsided. I headed outside to play with the other kids. After several hours of playing, I went back to my cottage and ate lunch. I cleaned up my mess from lunch and headed back outside. I had been playing briefly when a house parent came out and asked me to head to the office. “Oh boy” I thought and headed down to where I was told to go. I enter the front door and I’m escorted down the hall and into a room. Sitting inside was a man with a beard that I had not seen before. The door closed behind me and I was asked to take a seat. By now, I’ve become pretty accustomed to my situation and surroundings that I find myself in and of course thinking the worst. I think to myself, “I have no excuse for my behavior at the park and have no idea what I will say.” My heart pounds with anticipation of the questions that may be asked…….
The man leans forward and asks “Your name is Mat, Right?”
Me: Yes
Man: “How are you doing?”
Me: I mumble “Fine.”
Man: “How do you feel about living here at Ivy House?”
Me: Um (I do not understand the question)
Man: “You know how do you feel about your living arrangements?”
Me: What? I don’t know ( what’s living arrangements?)
The man stares at me and reaches for a file. He fumbles with the file and opens it and then starts turning pages in the file. He takes a deep breath and states he is here to help. He tells me that I’m not in trouble and that he is going to ask me questions. He tells me to answer them as best I could and that there is no wrong or right answer. All I heard at this point was that I was not in trouble, so I relax. This really loosens me up as I slump in my chair and prepare myself for any additional questions.
Man: Tell me about school?
Me: I don’t like it.
Man: Why is that?
Me: I don’t know.
Man: Give me an example of what you don’t like?
Me: I don’t respond. (What’s an example?)
Man: What kind of things makes you angry?
Me: I don’t know. (Things?)
This goes on for about an hour. My head is spinning! I sense he is trying to help, but his line of questions eludes me. I’m finally told my time was up and I could leave. I exit the room and think “What was that about?” I desperately try to process what just happened, but cannot. I open the front door of the office and head outside. I see kids playing and run to join in on the fun….
I do not think in the early 1970’s there was many child psychologists, so I believe I was seeing an adult psychologist based on the fact that he asked adult questions.
Random Thoughts From Childhood Series-A Day at the Park
August 16, 2009
Mat's Memories From Childhood
DAY AT THE PARK
I was going into my second summer at Ivy House and my emotional outbursts had diminished quite a bit. However, like a dormant virus it could strike at anytime with no warning. Though I looked adjusted and played with the other kids and would laugh and have fun, I was still a fully operational explosive device waiting to go off. I had no control over the when and where I would explode, let alone know what the catalyst would be to set me off.
It was late summer 1973 and I was preparing to enter the second grade. A group of us younger kids were taken to a local park to spend the day. I removed my shoes and left them at the van and ran off with the other boys to head down to a creek and look for crawfish. We spent sometime over turning rocks and having no luck in finding any crawfish, we headed further down the creek to find a better location. Along the way I found an empty coffee can and decided to grab it, as it would be the perfect holder for my catch. The other kids and I started to lift rocks to expose any crawfish and after a few minutes we hit the jackpot! Every rock we lifted thereafter had crawfish under them and I started filling my can. I think I had ten or fifteen crawfish when I heard the adult that brought us, yell “It’s time to go.” The other boys headed back to the van, but I stayed back and continued to look for crawfish. Sometime had gone by before I remembered I had to head back to the van. I started to panic because I could not see nor hear the group I came with to the park. In a complete panic, I tried to jump across the creek and came up short, resulting in me landing on rocks that cut into the bottom of my right foot. I glanced down at my foot and saw a long cut that resembled a paper cut, but slightly deeper. I got up and pushed forward climbing out of the creek bed and as I enter the top, I ran into a girl from Ivy House. I recognized her face, but did not know her name. She saw the can of crawfish and screamed! Her automatic response was to swat at the can causing me to drop and loose my catch. I picked up the can and stared at the girl for a few seconds, though it seemed longer, and in a fit of rage, I swung at her forgetting the can was in my hand. The can struck her in the forehead. She dropped to the ground with her hands covering her forehead crying. I started screaming at her and running and jumping up and down around her like a maniac and even kicked dirt on her.
As this was going on, I had this sensation like I was outside my body watching the event unfold. I knew what I was doing was wrong and felt like there was two of me, one bad and one good. I wanted to stop, I really did, but the good me could not control what was before it! I felt completely out of control…. I so regretted hurting this girl, I really did!!! This episode had a major impact on me and forced me to try and deal with my behavior issues. So much so, that this would be the only time I ever attacked anyone while in Ivy House…
I suddenly snapped out of my rage. I took stock of the moment and quickly threw my can back into the creek. The wrong of this whole event hit me like a Mack truck! I panicked and dropped to all fours and began to crawl my way to the top of the bank dragging my right foot as I ascended. For good measure, I began to cry. This made it look as though I was really injured and hurting. This helped hide my shame of how I just reacted and treated this girl.
I don’t really remember what became of the girl, but I was taken back to Ivy House and had my foot cleaned and was told that I had explaining to do. I was taken to the office and placed into a room. An adult came in and said I would be meeting with a special person tomorrow and told to go back to my cottage. I headed back to the cottage looking down at the ground in shame and wondered who this special person was that I was to meet….
Random Thoughts From Childhood Series-On The Other Side of the Door-Rage
August 11, 2009
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR – RAGE
I was standing on the other side of a foster care home’s front door, waiting for it to open (but not wanting it too)…..I was feeling like a wounded animal and thinking that this must be what the animal feels when they get caught up in one of those trap devices. Every hair on my body is standing straight up and my impulse is to start running. Then the door opens and standing in front of me are two complete strangers who are looking at me with smiling faces and generous eyes. The social worker begins introductions. Here is what this well intentioned and unsuspecting couple saw looking back at them:
Memories from Jenny's childhood
Yes that’s me and look at that innocent and gentle looking little girl face of mine. The social worker introduces me using my birth name, “this is Jenny.” To be honest, as I think back on that moment, it really was not a proper introduction. The correct and honest introduction would sound more like something along the lines of; “hello, my name is RAGE!” The lovely little girl staring back at you represents the little ray of sunshine I was before being subjected to all the turmoil irresponsible adults put me through.
In most cases, a child is placed in the system due to some form of neglect or abuse and sometimes both. From the point of view of the child, the foster care experience can feel like the straw that broke the camels back.
In order to understand what these children are feeling, try and put yourself into our shoes. Imagine for a second that you have experienced everything I mention below.
By the time I ended up at my first Foster Care home, so much had been taken from me. I no longer had a sense of self, family, belonging, comfort, familiarity, unconditional love, trust, confidence (let’s face it, this comes from stability), and hope!
If I use my adult voice I can explain that I was angry, hurt, devastated, abandoned, emotionally disconnected, physically beaten, verbally abused, ridiculed by society and my peers, and completely petrified! I am almost 4 years old.
As a child I vividly remember having episodes of strong and uncontrollable rage. I was not able to understand or articulate the tornado like emotions whirling around inside me like a 65 mph wind storm. These episodes came without warning, calm one minute, and then the rage would surface. I was like a walking volcano, disguised as a cute package with pretty wrapping, ready to erupt without warning.
Once at school during recess, an older girl came up to me and grabbed my lunch money from my back pocket. She started dancing about as her friends joined in, forming a circle around me. I was focused on watching my lunch money which was clutched in her hands (now waving high in the air for all to see). A crowd of boys gathered around to egg her on, chanting “fight…fight…..fight.” This was not the first time this had happened at recess, it was a common occurrence. The children that I went to school with had an uncanny knack of picking out the foster care kids. Once identified as a foster care kid, the teasing and bullying was relentless, my lunch money and or lunch was taken from me on a regular basis. I was pretty used to skipping lunch and pretending like I didn’t care, but not on this day. The volcano of pent up and misunderstood emotions over flowed in the school yard that day and I unleashed my rage on this lunch money thief! I not only gave her something to remember me by (a punch, a kick, a hair pull…repeat), I made sure to go after her friends too! I got up off the ground and focused my attention on her friends, eyes looking through them like a thunder bolt! Her friends quickly scattered like a group of insects when the light turns on. The boys took off as soon as I looked in their direction!
As adults, if someone or some event makes us angry, we can easily pick up the phone and vent about it to anyone who will listen. We have a network of people to talk to, allowng us to get it off our chest. As a child, we simply do not have this ability to articulate verbally what is upsetting us or what we are feeling. I think this may well be the reason for temper tantrums. We can certainly identify what we don’t like at any age, however having the ability to translate exactly what the feeling is and what bothers us about it….well, this all belongs to the “big” you not the “little” you.
Random Thoughts From Childhood Series-System Malfunction
July 31, 2009
SYSTEM MALFUNCTION
Mat's Memories From Childhood
When I entered Ivy House I felt guilt, fear, anger, loneliness, and emptiness. Not only did I feel abandoned, but I acquired distrust for adults. As a young child viewing everything as very black and white, it was always adults that caused me pain during this time of my life. It was adults that got divorced (my parents), an adult that abused me (mom’s boyfriend), adults removed me from my family, adults placed me in Ivy House, and adults sent me to school which was run by more adults.
To compensate in dealing with these new flush of emotions, my body would react in two distinct ways. These responses were completely involuntary. With my body already saturated with multiple emotions, ( some I had never experienced before), any additional inflow would result in a complete crash. When I had an outburst, it worked something like this. More emotions would flood an already saturated body creating a caustic cocktail. My fail safe, I’ll call it my internal circuit breaker, was to trip which would keep my emotions from overwhelming me. It would instead malfunction and not trip. This would cause my emotions to overwhelm my system resulting in one of my uncontrolled outbursts. However, when dealing with adults something a little different happened. When confronted by an adult or meeting with an adult about my behavior, my emotions would come to a trickle and my circuit breaker would trip, which put my body in a kind of lock down mode. My vocabulary would plummet to about six words; no, yes, I don’t know, and ‘cause. On top of that, a protective barrier would encase me. This turned me into Fort Knox! No adult could touch me! I’ll dub this the “Terminator Syndrome.” With no emotions, how could I get hurt? I usually sat in silence and used a combination of my six words and a shrug to respond to adult questions.
These involuntary responses made me appear crazy and out of control to the outside world. They were not the responses I wanted to project, basically an uncontrollable melt down kept taking over my body. I was screaming inside to get out, but was paralyzed by my body’s response to a perceived danger of the outside world. That in turn, made me at times unable to control my emotions and/or actions. While the outside world was trying to help me and banging to get in, I was inside banging to get out! Only time and persistence from me and the outside world was going to crack this safe…..
Random Thoughts From Childhood Series-Changes
July 27, 2009
CHANGES
I sit and contemplate my punishment while I finish my lollipop. Maybe yelling at me or throw in some belt whipping, open hand hits, punching, and finish off with throwing me against a wall. Heck, this is what would happen to me before Ivy House, so these are the ones that come to mind. The room door opens up and two adults walk in. One is male and the other female. The lady was holding a file. I recognize the man, but have not seen the lady before. The man takes a seat on the other side of the room and the lady pulls up a chair and sits down while opening the file she is holding. She begins by politely introducing herself and says she is here to help me. The man sits quietly and never says anything, he just observes. The lady starts by asking me “Why did you try to run away?” She had follow up questions like, “Why do you feel that way?” “How does that make you feel?” “What is it that you do not like about school?” and “What can we do to make things easier?” Other than telling her “I did not like school” and in no particular order, my response with any of the questions she asked was “I don’t know,” “Because” and my personal favorite, shrugging of the shoulders. She seemed to take my responses well. She never raised her voice and seemed to be very sincere. Both adults got up and stepped outside the room. I could hear whispering, but could not make out what was being said. The man re-entered the room and asked me to return to my cottage.
Mat's Memories From Childhood
Ivy house was somewhat structured. What I mean by somewhat, is that Ivy House was not a free for all nor was it run with an iron fist. All of the kids were given some type of responsibility. Each of us had to make our beds in morning, keep our rooms picked up, and had to rotate setting and clearing the dining room table for each meal. Providing we did all our chores, every Saturday we would receive a 50 cent allowance. Additionally, on Sunday’s all of Ivy House would load up in vans and go to church as a group. Then after church we would go back to Ivy House and eat as one large group in the office cafeteria. Furthermore, we were allowed to leave the house grounds to go to local parks and corner stores without chaperons. There were also group activities like flag football where we would play the other orphanages. Whenever there was a parade in Philadelphia or a circus came to town we got to go. There was even a time when Coney Island was opened all day for disadvantaged kids and we got to go and spend the day. Everything from food to rides was free. I guess what I’m saying is Ivy House was as family oriented as you could be for us kids that lived there.
So it should’ve not surprised me that they went to the lengths they did to try and help me. After my whole running away fiasco, I finished out that year in public school. I did not know at the time, but that was going to my final year in public school while I was in Ivy House. The start of the second grade I was place into a private catholic school. While everyone else at Ivy House boarded the school bus each morning, an adult had to drive me and pick me up each school day from my new school. Additionally, to help me with my speech impediment, Ivy House sent me to a speech therapist several times a month, which required someone to have to take me and pick me up. Finally, Ivy House brought in a psychologist that I would meet at the office twice a month. Though all these things Ivy House were doing for me did not have an immediate effect, it showed me that they cared!
Random Thoughts From Childhood Series-I Hate Stupid Questions
July 20, 2009
I Hate Stupid Questions
I am not a fan of the Voltswagon Beetle cars, (stems from foster care) the social workers all seemed to drive this model type car. I feel like it should be referred to as the foster care transport vehicle. Even now as an adult, one sighting can send my thoughts wondering back to memories of my time in foster care. As a child, seeing one at the circus with 10 clowns climbing out of it caused distress and panic.
I think I was 5 years old when I came to understand a very important clue regarding this car showing up at my foster home. It always represented a visit from the social worker. Mine was nice enough, he was a professor looking type man with balding hair, graying mustache and beard and he wore glasses. His visit meant that a sit down with the foster family, me and my little brother would be taking place. I always dreaded these living room sessions. What would follow would be a lot of really silly and unanswerable questions. I call them stupid questions. Below I listed some examples of the type of questions I remember being asked.
As you read the questions, consider the mind of a 4 or 5 year old child. Can you remember being 5 and having the ability to articulate your true feelings? If so, yea for you, as for me, from my 5 year old point of view, I heard; “blah….blah….blah, blah…..blah”.
how do you feel?
“huh? how do I know…what is feel?”
How are things?
“What things? huh, what?”
Are you happy here in this home
“um gulp, eyes darting back and forth, sweating because the parents are staring at me?”
Do you feel that the (let’s call the parents “the Foster’s)” care about you?
“blank stare?”
Do you feel you can come to the Fosters and tell them how you are feeling?
“Again…parents glaring at me”
Would you be happy staying here with the Fosters?”
“I never get to stay, why are you asking stupid question?”
Memories from Jenny's childhood
Back to the Clue
When the social worker would pull up in front of the house with another social worker with him in the car, I knew this meant a home change was taking place. Any other time, during normal visits, he would come alone. Two visitors getting out of that car…this meant that I had about 15 minutes to prepare myself to move to another home. Looking out the window, after seeing the two social workers exit the Beetle, I would immediately pack up my stuff, putting my few belongings in the same bag I had arrived with, and sit with it on the bed and wait. The foster parents seemed to take as long as possible with the social workers in order to avoid the goodbye scene which was usually a dramatic emotional display filled with lots of tears. I would patiently wait in silence for them to make it to my room. I always knew when they were close because I would hear my little brother start to cry, which meant I was next to hear the news. Next my door opens and I see the faces of the foster parents are sad, eyes filled up with tears. I do not shed tears, I feel an odd sense of power, having figured out this clue. It is the only sort of control I can recall having in my life then. The chance to pack by myself and decide how and where I would wait for what was to come was a small but appreciated little moment for me. Quickly, the look on the adult faces changes to one of confusion or shock. I look at them, careful to avoid eye contact, clutch my bag under my arm and rise off the bed. I stand very tall and I keep my eyes focused on the door, I am all about the exit now. I am into the hallway, down the stairs, out the front door and into the Beetle, all while silently reviewing my next move in my head.
The parents are now outside the house and it seems the social workers are trying to console them. I continue to avoid eye contact, I know they are upset and I feel it is my fault so I stare at my feet and fidget in the front seat. The social workers get in the car, the woman social worker puts me on her lap, my brother is crying in the back seat. Now comes the part I dreaded the most. This is the part when the second social worker (the one I didn’t really know ) tries to console me by asking some more stupid questions. She is trying to get me to make eye contact with her, I am not having it! She is saying; “do you feel like it is wrong to cry? You know it is healthy to let it out and cry don’t you? I cross my arms and legs while I continue to look at her with the death stare!
Random Thoughts From Childhood Series-Running
July 12, 2009
Mat's Memories From Childhood
RUNNING
More school issues: I had a bad habit in class of eating my pencil like a piece of corn on the cob. I really never knew I was doing this until a kid in the class would make fun of me by calling me “Beaver”. I only had this habit while in school. I was razzed for not being able to keep still in my chair. I would rock in my chair and not even know that I was doing this until the other kids would start laughing and pointing at me. It’s obvious that I did not help my cause by bringing this type of attention to myself! Finally, when the report cards were sent home, I was called to the kitchen area in cottage one to discuss my grades. I was told that I had straight “E’s” and that they were very proud of me and started patting me on the back and saying “Way to go!” A brief moment went by and the screaming began. After carefully reading the fine print the house parent realized that “E” did not stand for EXCELLENT, but stood for failing! I hate school……
I started to skip school on a regular basis. As you face the front of the school, there is an open grass area with a pathway that leads to the center with a set of steps that lead you up into the main school building. On each side there is a long wall with thick hedges planted on each side of steps running the length of the building. For almost a week, each day I would get off the bus and skip school by hiding behind these hedge rows. I would enter from the side of the hedge and crawl my way to the center of the row. I would lie against the wall and peer through the branches to see what was going on each day. The days were very long, especially when the temperature was sitting at 35 degrees plus I went without anything to eat. I would use the leaves and cover my feet and legs to get extra warmth. I was finally caught on Friday and simply did not care what would happen to me. I was determined not to return to school……
I woke up early the next morning and put on my cloths and my fastest pair of sneakers. Yeah, that would be my red high top converse “chucks.” I was starting to get nervous about running away and went and talked to a boy down the hall that was the serial runaway. I slipped into his room and shook him lightly to wake him up. He looked up at me and asked “What do you want?” I explained that I was going to run this morning and asked for him to give me tips. He sat up in bed and said “I will do better than that, I’ll go with you.” That was great news! I thanked him and headed to the kitchen to eat my breakfast. All my problems would soon just disappear! After a moment, my partner in crime takes a seat next me and inhales his breakfast. He tells me that we will wait until the other kids head to the bus stop at the front of the office and we would slip out the back door and head for the gate at the back of Ivy House. We finished breakfast and headed to our rooms to get jackets and anything else we might want to take. I decided to take nothing with me, but the cloths on my back. The other kids start to leave for the bus stop and we hang back. I start to get butterflies in my stomach and have a flood of fear come over me. I tell my partner and he says “Stay calm, I’ll get you out of here.” I state that is not what I mean! I’m over come with guilt because we are getting ready to runaway and it suddenly does not feel right to go through with the plan. He assures me everything will be fine. I settle down and prepare myself for the run.
We head out the back door of cottage one and run to get to the back gate. My heart is pounding and my head is racing! We hit the back gate; He goes through first and as I exit the gate, I look back and see a house parent bursting out the door of cottage three! He yells “STOP.” I think “Oh *hit.” We both hang a right out the gate and run along the busy street. I kept peeking back to see were the adult was and he was closing fast. My partner is running much faster than me and suddenly cuts across the busy street. I hear screeching tires and horns blaring. Oh god, I’ve lost sight of him after he crosses the street. My head is racing and I’m scared to death if I get caught, so I run like I’ve never run before. I approach the corner up ahead and see a group of people waiting to catch a bus. I glance back and suddenly someone grabs my arm and says “What is your rush?” Some guy waiting for the bus was the one who grabbed me and held tight as I wrenched to get away. The adult chasing me catches up and grabs my arm and thanks the gentleman for stopping me. My heart was racing and my body is flooded with emotions. Man, I’m going to get the biggest butt kicking of all time, I think to myself. We wait for a moment for the man to catch his breath and as he does this, I notice the expression of fear on his face. Not anger, but fear! What would he be afraid of?
I can tell on are walk back that look of fear turned to a look of relief. He asks me “Why did you try to runaway?” For the first time I actually responded to a question given by an adult and say “I was trying to get away from school.” There is a little more chit chat, but I walk in silence fully expecting a beat down. He takes me to the office and places me in a room to wait. As he leaves, he reaches behind a desk in the room and pulls out a lollipop and hands it to me. I say thank you and try to figure out if this is an act of kindness or is a cruel trap for the next person to come in and take it from me! As I sit and wait, I contemplate the big mistake that I just tried and realized this is one mistake I will never make again. I sit silently sucking my lollipop and thinking of all the terrible things that are probably going to happen to me for being stupid……….
