Listen to this

“ ... if we’re really friends”

“You're the only staff member in this place who really cares and who I can trust as a friend.”

Oh, god, haven’t I heard that before. I know what comes next ... “if we’re really friends, you'll grant me this special favour, or give me this thing I want, or tell me something you don’t want anyone else to know”- or whatever.

I still remember the early days. I really did think that I was the only person the kids could trust. I was the only one who understood them, really understood them. I was their friend. And when they recognised that by saying that I was the only one they could trust, well, that just made my point didn’t it. Of course I didn’t tell the other staff. I mean how do you tell someone you’re supposed to be working as a team-mate with that if she didn’t change the kids would never trust her the way they trust me. They could sense it, I know. The deep caring I had for them. They knew I was on their side. Yup. I remember those days alright.

I was the good guy and the rest of the staff ... well, the rest of the staff were just inadequate. Humanely inadequate but inadequate nonetheless. In a way, I could see how the other staff had it easier, I guess, with their professional distance and positions. But did they ever really connect like I did? No. Not a chance. Not like me. It was me the kids were always hanging out with; me they came to with their troubles. Me they told about the problems they had with the other staff. So, I guess, in a way, that made it easier for the other staff.

But it was harder too, I realise now in retrospect. Being the “keeper of the secrets”, the “insider”, the “confidant”, the one who was “really there for the children”: It took its toll. I was always drained. Drained but digging deep to give more.

Until that Thursday. I'll never forget that Thursday.

The day before I had been informed that I was “being too loose” with the kids; that, for example, when it was bedtime, I had to get them to bed the same as the rest of the staff, not let them linger for an extra hour like I had been doing. Well, I was annoyed, of course. The supervisor just didn’t understand, was what I thought. She didn’t get it that these were hurting kids who found bedtime scary. I knew because so many of them had told me. We’d talked about it and I could relate to what they were saying. I remembered being scared of the dark, afraid of the nightmares. And sometimes when I took some extra times with the kids and we shared this common experience, well, it seemed to me that they slept better than when we didn’t. A little extra time, a few extra good-nights, a few moments with their friends, some music – all of this helped. I know, because they told me so.

But I had been told I was off base and that the kids had to go to bed like they did when the other staff were working with them. Even the inadequate ones; the uncaring.

So, bedtime came and of course the kids wanted to linger like usual. But I told them they had to go straight to bed. Well, some of them resisted, especially Mark. And when I told him in no uncertain terms he was going to bed like he did with the rest of the staff, he just let out a scream and told me I was “just like the others”.

God knows I didn’t want to be like the others, but I wanted my job too, so I told him to get to bed and that’s when he started about all the times I had said I was his friend, and how this just proved I was a jerk, and then he started telling everyone who would listen about how I was afraid of the dark and used to wet my bed until I was 13. Well, that was way over the edge so I grabbed his arm and started to lead him to his room. He pulled away and took a swing at me and the next thing I knew we were on the floor with me pinning him down like he was a slippery melon in a mud patch. Then he started screaming that I was trying to have sex with him and so I let go and got up. At which point he started grabbing stuff and throwing it. I can still see the chair sailing through the living room window. So, I called the police and they came and took him away.

I don’t know what he got from it, but I sure learned a lesson. Those kids will suck you in every chance they get. Use you. Manipulate you just for their own fun. You can’t trust them.

So, now I’m not the good guy any more. I’m not the friend. If they want something, let them earn it. And if they want a treat, let them ask one of the new workers who haven’t learned yet. After all, they need to learn too.

And you know what? I think it’s easier like this. And safer too. No more of that “buddy-buddy” stuff for me. I come to work, do my job, exercise control and go home. No headaches. No heartaches.

And no fun either, but I was stupid to think that this kind of work would be fun anyway. This is about making them smarten up, get on with their lives, quit messing up. Another ten years and I retire and then I'll find something to do that I like. That’s what retirement is for, after all. Time for yourself without other peoples' hassles.

I can hardly wait.

A.F.