Friday, December 28, 2018

For the Kids

During my third year at The University of Texas, I found it necessary to fill three hours with an elective of some sort.  I’d already taken two of the most popular electives on campus, The History of Rock and Roll and Interpersonal Communication.  And I’d taken Bowling 101.  Twice.  I stumbled upon a Social Work class; I don’t remember the name, but I do remember the professor (or at least her first name – Rosalee).  


From the minute I walked into that class until the day I turned in my final exam, my heart swelled with pain and love, all at the same time.  For three hours every week.  

And for as much as I loved that class, I loved the thought of graduating (on time) and getting out of school even more.  Rather than change my major to Social Work, I filled my remaining elective hours with Social Work classes and ended up receiving a “minor” in that degree field (might as well have some kind of designation for those 15 hours!)  

When my Journalism career didn’t turn out the way I hoped (and let’s be honest, I never had any kind of Journalism career to begin with), I tried convincing myself I would be just fine in retail.  Until I made the move to “Management Trainee” and six weeks later, I was told I was "not cut out for management”.  

I joined the line at the unemployment office, accepted my unemployment check, and began a job search in a new field.  Any field.  That would allow me to work 8:00 – 5:00 and not work nights and weekends.  Because … parenthood.  

The stars aligned when I happened upon an opening for the Department of Human Services (DHS).  My application submitted, I took the only job offered to me:  a part-time bank teller position at First Federal Savings & Loan (not exactly DHS).  

Shortly after my bank teller training was complete, I was invited to test for an Eligibility Specialist position with DHS.  Another four weeks passed before they offered me a job, along with a full-time paycheck and benefits!  I gladly accepted.  

On the first day of training, we were asked to share our "why".  Why we wanted to work for DHS.  I, along with about 95% of my classmates said, "because we wanted to help others."  

As an Eligibility Specialist, I certified individuals for (what was known at the time as) Food Stamps, Welfare, and Medicaid.  A few years into my career, I applied to be a caseworker with Child Protective Services.  I honestly don’t remember if I ever tested for the position or interviewed for it.  But I do remember I was not selected.  

Perhaps my heart wasn’t up to the task and that much was evident from my application.  I don’t know.  As a young mother, myself, perhaps I just wasn’t ready.  Ready for the reality that is Child Protective Services.  And maybe it was a blessing in disguise, based on what I now know about why children are placed in “the system”.  



In 1998, shortly after I began working on the administrative side of DHS (now known as the Texas Health & Human Services Commission, or HHSC), I saw an ad in my small-town, 8-page newspaper, seeking volunteers for CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocates).  While my heart liked the idea, as a single mom to a growing boy, I didn’t have the time or energy (and my son, God love him, took up a LOT of my energy) to volunteer.  



Maybe someday …  

Fast forward 19 years and my retirement countdown is just about down to zero.  My retirement from a management position (Take THAT retail establishment!)  


“What will you do with yourself?” I was often asked. 

“Well … I have a new grandbaby to spoil.  I’m going to do some work for my hubby.  I’m going to go to the gym more often.  And I think I’m going to volunteer for CASA.”  

Most in my field knew what that was.  And those who didn’t, responded, “Oh wow!  I could never do that!  Good for you!”  

So what does a CASA do exactly?  In a nutshell, a CASA advocates for children who are in the foster care system.  Children who have been removed from their homes due to neglect and/or abuse.  And children who need a voice in the child protection court system.  More specifically, it’s the CASA’s responsibility to make sure the children’s needs are being met while they are in foster care, to follow the parents’ progress as they do what they need to do to be better parents (which hopefully results in the family being reunited), and to suggest what is best for the children, in terms of their long-term placement.  

While I worried about the strength of my heartstrings, I completed my CASA application.  Those old familiar feelings – simultaneous pain and love – found their way into my heart once more.  

Just three short months after I retired, I began my CASA training.  And after six weeks of both online and classroom training, along with courtroom observations, my classmates and I, armed with all the knowledge and ready to take on the world, were asked to identify the type of case we would prefer (infants, elementary school age children, teenagers? single children, sibling groups?).  

Things just got real.  

In the counties I serve, the number of cases in which the Judge has requested a CASA far outnumber the number of available CASAs.  So it’s not so surprising that the day before I was sworn in, I got the call.  

My first case was waiting for me.  Will I accept?  

I was sworn in as a CASA (by a real Judge and everything!) on a Tuesday and signed the paperwork accepting my case two days later.  


The past 20 months have been a mixture of joy and heart-break, hope and anxiety.  And not just because I have to write a report to the court prior to every hearing (I’m retired, remember?).  

“My kids” have packed up their belongings in black trash bags a total of eight times.  Eight times in twenty months.
Eight moves.  
Eight different caregivers.  
Eight different doctors.
Eight different schools. 
Eight sets of friends. 
Eight new routines to adjust to.  

They are kids.  And while kids are said to be resilient, I can’t help but wonder just how much resilience can one kid have?  

They miss their parents.  The parents who aren’t always able to do the right things.  
They struggle making new friends.
They fight with others and with each other, unable to contain emotions that I imagine would be difficult for an adult to handle.
They long to have a family they can call their own.  Even if it’s not their biological family.
They have nightmares.
They just want to be kids.
They are tired of moving around.  Just tired.  

And.  It.  Breaks.  My.  Heart.  

So how can I do it?  The real question is how can I NOT?  

If not me, then who
Will check on their grades, making sure they’re getting what they need from their education?
Will make sure they have their semi-annual dental checkups?
Will be there to talk to them about things they might not want to talk to their foster parent about?
Will make sure they are not being abused or neglected once more?
Will give them a hug because they need to feel safe?
Will speak for them when they can’t speak for themselves?  

When I see them, my kids, my heart swells.   With love.  The smiles on their faces giving me the strength to do what I do.  And I hope when they see me, they see the one person who’s been with them over the course of the last 20 months.  The one constant in their lives since their world as they knew it, was turned upside down.  

The movie “Instant Family” is based on the true story of Pete and Ellie, who decide they would like to adopt a child and end up with three.  I sat in the movie, one of six people in the theater on a random Tuesday, and cried like I’d just seen “A Star is Born”.  My heart, ready to pop out of my chest, at the thought of being in court when “my kids” find their forever home.  And there were more tears.  Tears of joy.  

When the judge asks for my opinion, I speak from the heart.  And I speak for my kids.  Not only to share what they want, but to stand up for what is best.  For them.  For the kids.


Interested in learning more about CASA or becoming a CASA Volunteer?
In Central Texas: CASA of Central Texas



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