by Gay Courter
Because Alicia lived in a world of negatives, I always tried to say “yes” to her. If she called me, I would be available if possible. If she needed something, I would attempt to procure it. When she inquired about her mother, I tried to locate her, surprising myself as much as anyone when Tammy was found. Even before that, Alicia had been searching for a way to be with her brothers and create a family among the three of them. She had asked me if I would allow her to move in with Rich when he was eighteen.
My knee-jerk reaction would have been to respond: “Are you crazy?” But I waited a few beats and instead said, “Sure, as long as I could justify it to the judge.”
“What does that mean?” Alicia asked challengingly.
“You and Rich would have to prove you could behave in a responsible manner. You’d both need to have jobs, some savings in the bank—even if it was only a few hundred dollars, it would be a cushion for emergencies.
You’d require transportation, a plan for your education, a safe place to live.”
Alicia contemplated this and talked about how she might achieve these goals, but the idea was so unrealistic it faded away. If I had reacted adversely, however, the daydream might have persisted, and she might have begun to resent me for opposing her.
“I’m your voice, Alicia,” I reminded her over and over. “When you can’t be heard, I will speak for you. But I can’t look foolish in what I say. We’ll work together to come up with sensible, logical plans, but always ones that you want, because it is your life, not mine.”
Guardians are always conscious that there is a fuzzy edge between the expressed wishes of a child and the mature perception of her best interests. My mandate was clear. I could listen to Alicia’s feelings and wishes, but then I had to consider the whole picture and make recommendations based on my adult, unbiased opinion of what was best for her in the short as well as the long run. If Alicia had come to me saying she didn’t like the food at the foster home because she wanted ice cream instead of salad, I could sympathize with her cravings, but I would have to explain that salad was better for her and I could not support her on the ice cream issue. In fact, in her brother Cory’s case, this was not such a stretch because he wanted to smoke. I understood that he liked smoking, but there was no way I would defend in court his right to smoke.
As children’s rights cases are debated in courtrooms around the United States, how children should be represented is a heated issue. When an adult hires an attorney, he enters into a fiduciary relationship. A fee is paid for the service of representing what a client wants. If he desires custody of a child, his lawyer will argue for him even if the attorney privately thinks the child’s best interests might be better served by living with another family member. The Guardian ad Litem does not have a client-attorney relationship with the child, which means that she does not have to represent the child’s wishes if she feels they are harmful. Also the Guardian ad Litem does not have the same professional immunity from having to testify. And because a Guardian ad Litem can be called as a witness, she may have to relinquish a child’s secrets. As I explained to all my charges, the advocate is also legally bound to report any abuse the child might confide. Even so, there have been very few times when I ever found myself in a position of having to go against a child’s wishes. Sure, they have had preposterous ideas sometimes, but by joining with them to arrive at a solution—instead of responding with an automatic “no”—we usually were able to form a united front, giving me the confidence that I was not only doing the right thing, but also speaking accurately for the child.
While Alicia had her dreams of being reunited with her mother and/or brothers, I had to deal with a more concrete problem: Rich’s move to Garrison House. Within two days of his arrival in Sarasota I had made contact with his new counselor, T.J. Costa. Their duplex had two girls and three boys, all sixteen and seventeen. “Rich is a fast worker,” T.J. reported. “He already has a girlfriend.” She went on to explain that while they could not control sexual behavior twenty-four hours a day, a pregnancy was cause for both partners to be dismissed from the program.
“What about birth control?”
“We leave that to the individual families.”
“Can’t you put something in the water?” I joked, then told T.J. that Alicia had once bragged to me that Rich had fathered twins when he was fourteen. I did not know whether this was true but had other reasons to believe that he had been sexually active.
T.J. shrugged this off. “Garrison House was designed to simulate the real life they will face when they are eighteen and can live anywhere they want.” T.J. went on to explain that the residents had their own keys but had to be back on the premises by 5:00 P.M. “We hold their paychecks at first, but after they demonstrate that they can manage their money, they get their own bank accounts. We charge fines for misbehavior, which seems to be more effective than other discipline methods.”
“Has Rich been in any trouble yet?”
“He’s needed reminders, of course, but what seems to be motivating him is his relationship with Janet, the girl I told you he liked.”
“Why is she there?”
“Janet has had trouble with manic-depression, which resulted in a recent inpatient stabilization program.”
Recalling pixieish Daphne with her bandaged wrists, I asked, “Was she suicidal?”
“Yes, but she’s had a good result with medication.”
“Are they both in therapy?”
“We will take them to their first appointments at Garrison Memorial; after that, they are on their own. You see, part of the training system is suffering the natural consequences of not meeting your commitments.”
The next time I called I asked to speak directly with Rich. He seemed upbeat and interested in an Easter visit with his sister. All the residents were going to their families, and he was the only one without an invitation. T.J. got on the line and said that they would provide bus fare. She asked if Alicia’s foster home would accept him for a few days.
“I don’t think so. Mr. Levy once had a run-in with Rich and swore he’d never have him back in their house.”
“Could you ask around in your district? Otherwise one of the staff here will have to take him home.”
“Do you think he’s stable enough to travel on his own?”
“We haven’t had any problems with him that would indicate he couldn’t manage as a guest for a few days.”
I contacted his caseworker, Mitzi, and asked if she could find a family to take Rich for Easter. “Are you kidding?” Mitzi groaned. “He’ll ruin my weekend for sure.”
“He hasn’t seen his sister or brother for months, except in court.”
“Why can’t they admit him to Garrison Memorial for a few days?”
“C’mon, Mitzi, it’s a holiday.”
“You want him at your house?”
“You know guardians can’t bring kids to their homes.”
“Isn’t that convenient?” she said, facetiously imitating the “church lady” from “Saturday Night Live.” Then her tone became more ominous. “Look, Gay, I know you mean well, but you’ve never seen Alicia and Rich together. They don’t behave like normal brother and sister.”
“In what way?”
“Once, when they met in court, they kissed each other full on the mouth, like lovers.”
“Might he stay with another foster parent?”
“What worries me is the two of them running away.”
“But that would blow his place at Garrison House, where he’s happier than he has been in a long while. Also, Rich has a girlfriend there.”
“Okay, okay,” Mitzi said. “Let me see what I can do.”
Rich was given a job bagging groceries in a supermarket. He worked for two days, then didn’t show up for the rest of the week. He told T.J. that he didn’t like anyone bossing him around. She warned that if he didn’t hold down a job until Easter vacation, he would not be permitted to visit his sister. This seemed to do the trick and he
stayed in the next position, as a biscuit maker at a diner, for more than a week.
On Good Friday Rich missed his first bus and didn’t know how to contact his host family, but he did have Mitzi’s emergency number. She ended up meeting him at the bus station at 11 P.M. and driving him to the foster home. Further confusion on Easter Sunday made it impossible for Alicia to see him where Rich was staying. Fortunately, Mr. Levy relented and allowed Rich to come by for a few hours that evening. Ruth reported that Alicia was thrilled and Rich had behaved himself.
“Did you know Rich is getting married to this girl, Janet?” Ruth asked.
“When?”
“She’s almost eighteen, and he claims they’re going to elope after her birthday.”
“But he won’t be eighteen for more than a year.”
“I expected it was another of his tall tales, like the one about his dead mother.”
“Did Alicia tell Rich about Tammy?” I wondered.
“Not directly, but she hinted that she was trying to find their mother, just to see how he’d react.”
“And …?”
“Rich told Alicia that he never wanted to have anything to do with her again. He said, ‘She’s a rabbit, screws everything in sight,’ and ‘If she ever came around here again, I’d beat her ass.’ Nice, huh?”
There was nothing I could say to defend Tammy who, even by the most relaxed definition, could never qualify as an exemplary mother.
Yet from the moment Alicia had heard her mother’s voice on the tape, her focus had changed. Suddenly she had a real biological mother, who said she loved her; a stepfather, who wanted her to live with them; and two unknown step-siblings. In suburban Spokane nobody would know about what her father had done. Still, she was torn by her ties to Rich, who was involved with Janet, but not yet married; to Cory, who insisted he would never leave his father or grandfather; as well as to Ruth, for whom she cared deeply. Also, she would not be free to move to Washington until after the trial, which was many months away.
Keeping this in mind, Alicia, Tammy, and I were trying to make arrangements for her to visit Florida. If that went well, we would send Alicia (and Cory and Rich tentatively) to Spokane to visit the Spates as soon as school was out. The trial would most likely take place later in the summer. Once that was over, Alicia would move to Washington and start school there in the fall. If Red was adjudicated guilty, Cory might be willing to go with his sister; if not, Cory was determined to return home. Nobody was willing to make any plans that included Rich, since his situation changed almost daily.
There was one minor problem: Tammy could not afford the plane fare to Florida. She had saved a little more than a hundred dollars, then her son had broken his arm and that sum had gone for medical care.
I asked Mitzi if there was any way for HRS to provide a plane ticket.”We don’t have a family reunification fund,” she replied with some annoyance
“Just think how much money HRS will save,” I argued. My calculations indicated that it cost at least $5,600 a year for Alicia’s family group home board rate, plus additional expenses for clothing and Medicaid. Foster care administration was estimated at another $2,000 a year per child, which was probably far too low. If she were in the system until she was eighteen, living with her mother would save at least $25,000, possibly considerably more. In comparison, a $500 ticket for a mother to make plans to regain custody of her children seemed a sound investment. Yet no matter how much I persisted, Mitzi said there was no chance of getting a plane ticket from the agency.
I asked the judge if he would order HRS to provide the plane fare, but he said while he would approve the visit, he could not demand the allocation. He suggested applying to private charities.
“This is a classic example of being penny-wise and pound-foolish,” I grumbled to my husband.
“Who’s being pound-foolish?” he asked. “Do you realize how much time away from your writing and the film business it will take for you to locate five hundred dollars? In the long run it will cost less to purchase the ticket yourself.”
“Guardians are not supposed to contribute in that fashion.”
“I’m sure you can find a way to do it,” he said with a chuckle, knowing that I found a little subterfuge appealing.
Within a few hours I had contacted a friend, who was president of a local service club that did charitable works on a personal need basis. I made a deal with her to contribute the amount of the plane ticket to their latest fund-raising event, if they would then buy the ticket for Tammy. Nancy and Lillian approved the club’s donation, but until they read this, they will not have known about my more direct participation, which was not illegal, just unorthodox.
Tammy was thrilled with the news and said she would start saving for a rental car and other expenses in Florida. She promised to repay the service club a portion of the money when she had some extra funds.
Two weeks after Easter T.J. called me. “I’m afraid that Rich can no longer remain at Garrison House.”
“What’s he done?”
“He’s impregnated Janet. The residents know the rules. A pregnancy means dismissal for both of them.”
“Maybe that is why she is pregnant.”
“Possibly, but if they want to fail, there is nothing we can do to stop them.” Her voice was resigned. “Besides, I don’t think Rich ever had a chance to make it here.”
“What about Janet?”
“She could have completed the program if she stayed on her medication. She’s a very bright young woman with an IQ of 140, but a poor-judgment history.”
“What are her options now?”
“There’s an excellent facility for single mothers in Naples. She can live there and continue with a school program for pregnant teens.”
“What about Rich?”
“He will be harder to place. Let’s face it, Rich is immature. He lies, acts irresponsibly, doesn’t seem to care about anyone, and walks all over people who are nice to him, even Janet. But even though he is horrid to her most of the time, she doesn’t want to be separated from him. They claim they want to get married and keep the baby.”
“Janet will be eighteen soon, right?”
“Yes, and Rich could get married legally if they drove to Georgia, but I am not volunteering that information. Rich already called his father and asked if he would sign for him to get married.”
“His father can do that?”
“Yes, technically the parent—even an abusing parent— retains custody until his rights are terminated by the court.”
“What did Mr. Stevenson reply?”
“Let’s just say he wasn’t interested in helping Rich out.”
“That’s his first good deed this year.” I shivered at the thought of the suicidal mother and irresponsible, agitated young father trying to calm a colicky infant.
T.J. promised to alert me when she had news about Rich’s transfer.
Through the turmoils with Rich, people asked me how I could represent this troubled, twisted young person with such fervor. In her autobiography, Blackberry Winter, anthropologist Margaret Mead refers to herself as a “baby carriage peeker,” the sort of woman with such an intense adoration of babies she is apt to become an overprotective mother. Because I have a keen interest in obstetrics and parenting (having written novels about midwives and childbirth, as well as produced, with my husband, a popular series of parent education films), people assume I, like Margaret Mead, adore children as a group. Not true. I like individual children enormously, but not every one.
During my first pregnancy, I worried that I might not automatically love my child. Of course, the minute I saw Blake I knew he was the most astonishing child on the planet. Even more amazing was the fact that his brother, Joshua, managed to captivate me equally. I cannot say that any of my Guardian ad Litem children fall into the same unique category in my heart. The emotional transaction is different. Still, my connection with Rich, and all my guardian children, is intense. The court order appoint
ing me their guardian seals a bond. From that moment on they are mine. No matter who they are or what they have done, I take care of my own.
I supposed T.J. Costa had used whatever resources she had to incorporate Rich into the program at Garrison House. It was not her fault that he had been unsuited to it. Now, though, he was out of her control and she could forget about him, while I could not. Nor could Mitzi Zeller.
I knew that Mitzi loathed this young man, who had put her through hell, blowing placement after placement, often in the middle of the night. She had spent numerous evenings in the HRS office with him, driven him hundreds of miles from foster home to foster home, carried his dirty laundry in her trunk trying to catch up with him. With an already formidable caseload, he was often the squeaky wheel that received every last ounce of grease so that other children—perhaps those Mitzi believed had more potential to lead useful lives—were not tended to. But even though I fully understood Mitzi’s reasons, I took umbrage whenever she maligned Rich. I bristled when she proclaimed that he’d never improve, that it wasn’t worth spending more money on him, that he’d be as well off on the streets as in state custody, and that it was only a matter of time before his final state-supported placement would be a secure jail cell. Maybe she was looking at the percentages. Maybe she knew from experience that there was only a minuscule chance that Rich could ever be “salvaged.” New to the game—as well as attached through the umbilical of the court order—I refused to concede the match just because the odds were not in his favor.
Janet was sent to stay with her mother while they found a place for a mentally unstable pregnant teen. Rich was not moved because there was nowhere for him to go. His deadline to depart Garrison House stretched from one to three weeks. I began to think that Tammy might be Rich’s only possibility, but so far he didn’t know she existed. I called T.J. to see what was happening.
