Chapter 13: WHERE’S MY SON!?

Jan 9, 2024 | 2015, Life During | 0 comments

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From Surviving to Living
From Surviving to Living
(13) WHERE’S MY SON? An Astonishing Look At Foster Care
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Come work with me!” Jae had urged me in the past. “We need another tutor.” I shuddered at the thought. “Not a chance,” I threw back. Jae was a tutor in Adult Basic Education (A.B.E). It might be argued prison has neighborhoods – UI (the unemployed) its roughest neighborhood and Education – UI’s angry twin.

In Minnesota state prisons, employment grants some autonomy. If employed, your schedule is much your own outside of work. Employment is largely mandatory. If one lacks a high school diploma, however, ABE education is required and inmates are paid 50 cents an hour to attend 15 hours a week. Many inmates went to school.

I currently lived and worked as a clerk in the mental health unit. Edith, in her twenties, was a neighbor. She was thin; anxiety made her awkward. As a student, Edith often asked for help with homework.

“I don’t understand this,” Edith jabbed at her paper one afternoon. Seated next to me in the busy day room, she crossed her arms. I leaned forward to study the work. Edith was learning basic math.

Picking up a pencil I wrote another number, pointing to it. “This is how you start,” I answered. Tensing, her shoulders rose, elbows dug into her side. I set the pencil down calmly, and smiled, waiting.

Edith pushed the paper with a finger, huffing, “How did you know? How did… How did… How did…!” She squeezed her eyes tight, pursed her lips. “I didn’t see it!” She cried, upset. Lucy, sketching nearby, disappeared with her things, eyes rolling. Sucking in air Edith picked up speed, voice rising an octave. “This is hard! I can’t do it!” Her eyes darted around the room. “This is stupid!” She squealed.

The day room had gone silent, an army of heads turning at the noise. Distaste colored faces, irritated at the disruption. “Shut up Edith! You’re stupid!” someone hollered. Edith’s tension was contagious. A tiny woman, Edith took a room hostage as an emotional terrorist. She had few friends.

Edith didn’t notice the yelling or her affect on others. Winding up again, she silently argued with herself. Her outbursts were jarring and I rarely helped her. With a sudden mental slap Edith’s eyes popped open. Spinning in her chair she studied me. Relief warred with shame on her face. Her shoulders sagging, she rushed out, “Thank you for being nice to me!” Her words felt like a truce between gratitude and violence prevention.

Edith had low standards as I was not nice, I just wasn’t mean. An absence of cruelty isn’t the same as the presence of kindness. Edith was one reason I didn’t want a full-time job as tutor. I didn’t like people, I tolerated them. My poor mental health was another reason I couldn’t handle a full-time, banker’s hours job; I thought failure was inevitable.

In May 2015 Jae again encouraged me to apply as a tutor. This time I did, still afraid, but I needed more money to afford calls with Tim. I applied and met Ms. Shaibly, an experienced DOC teacher. She resembled a gentlewoman from another era. She appeared soft spoken and lady-like, her brown hair gently curled. She was always modestly dressed. She became a role model for me, an example of strength and grace in a hostile environment. She immediately hired me.

A new job meant another move for me. Once again I was relocated to Tubman and given a single room as a reward for my discipline free status. Here, in this new room, my transformation would become memorable. My friend and neighbor, Khoua, loaned me a book about the Holy Spirit. Reading it, I was intrigued. “Is this true?” I had no idea what it was talking about. I knew of the Holy Spirit, the third Member of the Trinity, but not much else.

I did not want wrong beliefs. In the past I’d relied on my church and parents to guide me. It seemed important to have correct knowledge. This book was not a typical read for me. The author cited the Bible, referenced the original Greek language. It encouraged readers to seek God, the Holy Spirit, His power. I was conflicted, and delayed returning the book and whispered in my heart, “If that power’s real, I want it.” Where would I get it? Who was it for?

Another week, I returned the book, dismissed it. But a seed was planted.

Work became a joy, and for the first time ever, I never took a sick day.  I admired Ms. Shaibly’s leadership abilities. I was reminded of Patti, the founder of Soldiers’ Angels. Patti was my first strong female role model. Her ability to lead others was inspiring. Patti did not lead by fear. She led by influence. I felt valued by her and desired to learn from her. Now I looked to Ms. Shaibly.

As I corrected papers daily I found cheating. Bringing it to her attention I was certain the offenders would be swiftly punished. They were not. It happened again and again. I grew incensed, but Ms. Shaibly remained stalwart. She always thanked me and did nothing. I realized later Ms. Shaibly was seeing a bigger picture. These women needed emotional support to heal their hurts, a higher priority than test scores. Ms. Shaibly cared about their quality of life, not just their three hours in class.

She also protected us tutors from irritable students. Disgruntled by life and their prison environment, women took their anger out on school tutors. Every imagined slight was reported to Ms Schaibly. “I’m telling the teacher on you!” was a frequent threat. At first I feared upcoming conflicts, imagining the outcome of such complaints. I expected I’d need to defend and justify my actions. But while I’m certain these women did send angry kites I occasionally deserved, Ms. Shaibly rarely said anything to me or the other tutors. She took the brunt of the anger on herself, deflecting it for our sakes. I was grateful again.

In the evening I called my children. Tim was in another foster home. Melissa, Tim’s newest foster mom, had agreed immediately to be “supervisor” of our phone visits. This was the first time a foster parent wanted to do so. “Hi Holly! I’m so glad you called,” Melissa gushed as soon as she answered the phone. Surprised, I hesitated. Past phone supervisors had only listened. Filling the silence Melissa rambled on, “I’m so excited to meet you! I told everyone about you. We are going to be great friends, I know it!”

Imagining Tim somewhere in her house as our fifteen phone minutes ticked away along with my five dollars, I managed, “Um, thank you. Is Tim there?”

“Oh yes,” Melissa cooed. “Timmy is sitting right here, aren’t you honey bunny?” She paused for a breath. Timmy meekly mmm-hmmm in the background. Returning to the phone Melissa marched on, “Tell me all about you, your day, prison!” She seemed unnaturally excited.

Fifteen minutes later she finally gave Tim the phone and I had enough time with Tim to say, “I love you, Tim. Next time we will get to talk to each other, I promise.” That was it. Drained, I went to my room. Melissa was a self-described hero, a perfect foster mom who did everything with L.O.V.E.

Summer bled into fall. “Holly! So glad you called! I look forward to our visits!” Melissa oozed. Traffic sounds echoed in the background.

Quickly I rushed in, “Actually I’m calling for Tim, remember? Is he there, please?” Tim’s voice echoed dimly in the background. “Tim?” I pushed.

“Oh don’t worry sweetie. We’ll get to him in a minute,” Melissa’s voice developed an edge. “Don’t you want to hear how he’s doing?” The edge of her voice became hard. “I’m beginning to think you don’t like me,” she ranted.

Alarmed, I wondered how to respond. For weeks and then months Melissa had dominated the phone visits, soaking up attention. Requests to speak with Tim were often ignored. Eventually I asked Tim’s social worker, Brian, for help, explaining the situation, how previous phone supervisors listened quietly, but Melissa dominated the entire call. Brian agreed to take care of it.

Spurned, Melissa refused to answer the phone again. Punishing Tim she evicted him from her home. At this point Tim had been in so many foster homes that his age, medical condition and a new label as “trouble maker” made him a difficult placement. He experienced several rapid temporary placements, eventually landing in a group home for difficult, troubled teens.

I was frantic to locate him, reassure him. Any letters I wrote to Tim were mailed first to Brian, who delivered them to Tim. Brian also facilitated court ordered visitation. I had no phone number for Tim now. Where was he??? I called Brian. Brian’s slow, lazy voice contrasted my urgent panic, “Well, he’s moving every night or two, often spending hours at my office.”

Picturing my son with his meager belongings, shuffled from home to home, spending days with his backpack in an office my rage burned. My mind raced, desperate for a solution, anything. Brian continued, “I don’t have anyone to supervise a phone visit, either. Tim’s living situation complicates things.” The supervision was baloney, not my problem. Brian wanted it, he got it. ‘Don’t complain you can’t navigate your own system, buddy,’ I thought.

I continued to write 3 letters a week to Tim, care of Brian, reassuring Tim I wanted to call. Brian stopped delivering them but I had no idea and continued to write. Frantic to restore visitation, I called my Washington state court provided attorney and left voicemails. ‘I’m not receiving visits. Where is my son??’ September turned into October. ‘Where is my son?? I have not spoken to my son!’ October turned to November. Shocked, I received false social service reports stating Tim always received his weekly court ordered visits with me. Brian’s name labeled him the reporter. Outraged, I called my attorney, the social worker, frantic. ‘I have not spoken with Tim in three months! Where is my son??’

Feeling dismissed and ignored, I took action, requesting the Washington state bar rules of professional conduct. Using the prison library computer I wrote a court petition to request change of attorney and included documentation of several serious bar violations I’d experienced at the hands of my current attorney over the past 2 years. I mailed it to my attorney. This time she was interested in talking. She told me, “You cannot mail anything directly to the court. I will take care of everything.” This was news to me. However I waited.

Late November a hearing was scheduled; I appeared by phone. It quickly became apparent the judge had not seen my document. My attorney had not shared it. “Ms. Aho,” the judge intoned, “we are here today because you’d like a different attorney?”

“Yes sir,” I responded, unaware the judge was uninformed. My attorney filled the silence.

“Your Honor, I have been a hard working attorney for Ms. Aho, who is very demanding. But if she doesn’t like my work, I will step aside.” Her voice dripped of condescension. Confused, I wondered how she could say that in light of my paper.

The judge didn’t wait for me to respond. “Ms. Aho, this court has provided you with a free attorney. I’ve received no information that your attorney is not adequate. Don’t bother us with your nonsense. We have real work to do. Motion denied.” The phone disconnected.

Shocked, I stared at the receiver. The dial tone began to buzz. I almost heard my crooked attorney laughing and I pursed my lips, resolve straightening my back as I hung up. I mailed my petition to the judge the next day. Another court hearing was scheduled three weeks later. The mood was quite different.

“Ms. Aho, I understand you’ve outlined reasons you’d like a new attorney?” the judge asked almost gently. The same judge, I was surprised at his new tone.

Before I answered, my attorney interrupted angrily, “Your Honor! Ms. Aho has sent this document to the court without my permission! I’m outraged!”

“Excuse me, but if half of Ms. Aho’s document is true, then your behavior is an outrage!” the judge surprised me by saying. Not waiting for a response he continued, “Your work is an outrage to this court.” Pausing to regroup, he resumed, “Ms. Aho, you have this court’s apology. While we provide a free lawyer, we believe in providing a good lawyer. She does not represent us. I am granting your request and assigning you a new attorney immediately.”

This was a win but it was a small one. Brian continued to lie, submitting reports to the court that I’d received uninterrupted visits with Tim all year, perjury no issue for him. The court moved on, uncaring. Meanwhile piles of my letters to Tim, undelivered, stacked on Brian’s desk.

Tim remained ignorant of everything. His dad had stopped visiting him long ago. Now Tim believed I had abandoned him also. Our letters and phone calls ended, he cried alone in his room, lonely, wondering where everyone was. 

Shocked by Social Services’ actions and Tim’s experiences, I reevaluated my position. Calling my new attorney I asked her to get to work. I wanted my son.

Immediately Social Services moved to terminate parental rights and a trial date was set. The gloves were off.

22 But the fruit of the Holy Spirit [the work which His presence within accomplishes] is love, joy (gladness), peace, patience (an even temper, forbearance), kindness, goodness (benevolence), faithfulness,23 Gentleness (meekness, humility), self-control (self-restraint, continence). Against such things there is no law. Galatians 5:22-23

*Not their real names

Discussion Questions:

  1. Holly describes a reluctance to become a tutor due to a negative bias against students. Have you ever been hesitant to take on a responsibility or role due to preconceived notions or biases? How did you handle or overcome these feelings?
  2. Edith’s outbursts and emotional struggles are highlighted in the passage. How do you think patience and empathy play a role in helping individuals who may be struggling with their emotions or tasks? Can you share instances where you demonstrated patience or received patience from others? What does the Bible say about patience?
  3. Holly reflects on the distinction between not being mean and being genuinely kind. How do you interpret this difference, and have you encountered situations where an absence of cruelty did not necessarily translate to kindness? What role does kindness play in your relationships? What does the Bible say about kindness in relationships?
  4. Holly’s confusion about the Holy Spirit is discussed. Have you ever encountered situations where you were unsure about certain beliefs or concepts? How do you approach and navigate discussions about spirituality or beliefs that may differ from your own?
  5. Holly faces obstacles in maintaining contact with her son, Tim, who is in foster care. How crucial do you think consistent communication is in preserving family relationships, especially in challenging circumstances? Can you share experiences where maintaining communication became difficult? Do you struggle with important relationships today?
  6. The passage ends with a significant development as the Holly decides to fight for her parental rights. How do you interpret her decision, and what do you think it signifies about her determination and resilience? Can you relate to situations where you had to fight for something important to you?

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