Listen to thisI remember Mike from when he was little. I actually used to “baby-sit" him (back when he was about 7 and I was 15) on those occasions when his mother, Janet, was going out drinking with friends. And I remember how she used to frequently come home with 'new' men after a night in the bar. But she always paid me well before sending me out the door to find my own way home. “You're a big boy," Janet would say with what I excitedly took to be a flirtatious battering of the eyes, between reaching for a new drink and closing the door in my face.
And now here's Mike, admitted to Greenfields, the group care program I'm working in. We're a small community and there aren't any other options. He seemed glad to see me when he was brought in, a little worse for wear, with reports indicating he was over-drinking for his age, staying out, not obeying “(15 he is now; and me 23 and fresh from college). Fortunately I was on my way out the door when he was admitted so we only had a few moments together. But tomorrow I am going back in. He'll be there. And Janet is coming for an orientation. How am I going to handle this? Hmmm. I wonder if Janet will remember me?
* * *
I met up with Mike the next morning at about tea time. We had a staff meeting at 9 and everyone usually meets in the common room after that for tea with whoever was about. Kids during their first week underwent an orientation and didn’t go to school. It gave us all a good time to get to know newcomers. I saw him as soon as I entered, and grabbed a basketball from the sports rack, driving it towards him in an exaggerated pass. (We used to do a lot of one-on-one in their driveway all those years ago.) He ignored the pass, and the ball rang hollowly against the wall, while two or three of my colleagues looked at me as though I were crazy. At times like this one grabs at straws.
"Well at least we can drink a mug of tea together," I started. “How have you been?"
He accepted the gambit but drew scarcely a foot closer.
"OK." Reserved, unsure.
"Hey, how long since we last saw each other?" I asked. “Seven, eight, nine years?"
He cocked his head sideways in a “who knows?" gesture.
Reaching across the abyss. Me, tentative as hell, not quite knowing how to wear my new hat as youth care worker; Mike just as awkward, probably embarrassed (though that might be hoping for too much), certainly not picking up on how we knew each other in another age ...
"Here’s the tea," I said. “There are sandwiches, and the cook’s famous buns. Personally, I would go for the sandwiches," I added conspiratorially. He picked up the innuendo, half-smiled and picked up an egg sandwich.
I made a decision, feeling quite proud of it at the time. “Well, Mike, I said, “I’ve got two or three things I have to do in the next hour or so, but I am really looking forward to catching up with you. we’re going to be working together and will have a lot to talk about. How about we meet at about midday? The lawn in front of the gym would be good. Know where that is?"
"They showed us around earlier this morning," he offered. Laconic, but at least a sequitor and seemingly an indication of consent.
It was enough. My idea was that we had sparred very lightly in Round One. He could be in no doubt that I was coming in peace, and I had shown no shock or disapproval of the fact that he’s ended up here in “Fields”, as we called it.
* * *
Then I phoned Janet. I had already learned from my short time with Mike that one shouldn’t expect too much credit from a past relationship, so I played this one a bit closer to the chest.
"Hello, Janet. Do you remember me, Graham East?"
"Graham East? Mmm ... “
"Hey, I used to baby-sit with Mike when he was a kid ..."
"Graham, yes ... oh Graham! Yes ... “ Not at all sure.
"I am working at Greenfields and we’re going to meet later today. I just wanted to let you know that I spent a little time with Mike this morning. He seems OK, and I’m looking forward to seeing you again."
"Graham, I remember you now. So you know about Mike. Oh God, I don’t know what to do about him ..."
"Well, let’s just all work together at it," I said with a shot at positive attitude. “Where are you staying now?"
"we’re in the suburbs, not too far. I can get there by four. See you then?"
"See you."
My turn for brevity. I knew they were living in a squat. At this point I didn’t want her to realise that we had a few kids from the East Side and that their stories were discouragingly similar. I just wanted her to hear that I was me and that Mike and I had met and that I was sounding rather like the Graham East of eight years ago. So far, so good.
* * *
Next port of call was Sally, my supervisor. She had a room leading off the main corridor, so one felt that she was “on site" rather than in some distant office. A sign on the door said “If it’s open, come in". Felt good.
She listened to how I had approached Mike and Janet, and was interested to hear that I had known them in the past. She thought my style in re-establishing contact with them both was helpful “"Positive and forward-looking is always good," she said.
"But there are some serious issues," she warned, “and more players in the game than just Mike. So far it’s you, Mike and Janet ... and we don’t yet know who else may be significant in either of their lives."
Her transposition to the minor key reminded me that we didn’t spend all that time in college just to play ball with kids “and that I was, after all, a relatively wet-behind-the-ears 23-year-old.
"It’s rather like dropping three or four puppies onto the floor," she added. “You never know which way they’re going to bounce, who will play, who will fight or who will run off into the garden!"
* * *
She was right. I found Mike in the gym garden a little after noon. He was waiting, hands in pockets and kicking pebbles against the garage wall. He was as interested in seeing me as I would be to meet a traffic cop. My basketball move had been a dead loss so I thought the best thing would be just to sit down on the grass. There were other people around, but all thirty or more yards away, so our meeting was essentially private. He went on kicking pebbles.
"So you and I are going to be working together," I began. “Want to tell me how you get here?"
He looked at me as though I was personally responsible for his being picked up and sent to Fields. I realised that I may have this “positive and forward-looking" attitude, but he had his own, and it wasn’t limelight that I was sitting in.
"It’s tough, eh?" I said. This was intended for whatever he wanted to hang onto it. He stopped the kicking and turned around, leaning his back on the wall, looking down.
So for several minutes.
It felt OK to let the situation hang between us like this. We were both at least sticking around, and although there were no words, there was something of a conversation happening.
He sniffed, and I realised he was crying. There is a terrible temptation for care workers to want a whole lot of questions answered all at once. What are you thinking, what’s the matter, why are you crying? But we have to wait for answers, and as often as not there are none to be had. I was embarrassed, and feared that Mike, equally so, would be on the brink of flight, for no fifteen-year-old is comfortable to be seen crying.
But the awkwardness of the silence was good for both of us. It was mutual permission for each other’s presence in a tough moment, and in a way that’s a good description of the Child and Youth Care relationship. We both waited.
Eventually, “Do you still have that green Beetle?" he asked, a smile hinting at the corners of his mouth.
"Since I last saw you I have been at college. I still have the same jeans!"
We laughed.
* * *
As I passed her room, Sally wanted to know how it had gone. “What did he say?" she asked.
"The only thing he said was to ask if I have the same car, and I probably said ten words, but over the half-hour I think we both got to a good space “don’t ask me how!"
She nodded. “The old “unspoken dialogue” has its points. Well, we will all meet again at four?"
* * *
I was waiting for Janet in the driveway. She had obviously come by bus, as I saw her at a distance walking towards Fields. I worked out that she was probably about 35, but she looked far older. The face which I guess had been her fortune in the past showed the signs of struggle “with the hardships of life and of bringing up a teenager without much support “and with the bottle, if the referral report was to be believed. She showed none of the perky, up-beat style which I remembered, and my one impression was of a resigned and embattled middle-aged woman.
I found myself thinking that I had offered her reasonable service as a “baby-sitter" at a time when she could afford to pay me. I must be aware of her feelings now when she was not able to pay for rather more serious help from our agency. Her sense of worthiness as a mother was at its lowest ebb just at the time when it needed to be the best resource we could have.
"Janet, I’m glad you could come." Roles rather reversed now. She gave a half-smile, but I could see also that she was a little breathless from the trip across town and the walk here.
"We’re going to meet now with Mike and Sally Pritchard who is a social worker. It will be only the four of us."
She seemed relieved at that.
* * *
Little more to tell. My ambivalence about working with people I had known in a previous existence proved unjustified. Mike, initially aloof, turned out to be like any fifteen-year-old entering a program for the first time, our slender shared history being a slight help. In that initial family interview, Janet showed the usual play of distancing-and-approach which anyone would have needed to preserve intact their threatened dignity, but she managed to participate positively in our matter-of-fact discussion. Both she and Mike seemed pleased when we said, even though there was some tough work involved, that our main aim was to get Mike back home as soon as possible. Like so many single parents and children out there they had struggled alone to sort out the conflicts in their lives, and they seemed to welcome the addition of a couple of 'rational others' on their team.
At the time of writing Janet and Mike have succeeded well in expressing their needs and opinions to each other, and I guess we couldn’t have hoped for much more than that. Sally has been a valued support to Janet, and Mike and I have had some productive time together “both verbal and non-verbal.
We have started.
