Who Asked You? (12 page)

I
s that you, Betty Jean?”

It doesn’t look like I’m registering in her memory bank, so I decide to go ahead and let her off the hook.

“Warren Daniels? I was your sons’ seventh grade science teacher. I also doubled as a basketball coach, which is why we never won any games.”

It’s probably this bald spot and gray hair and perhaps a little bit of a belly that might be throwing her off.

“It’s nice to see you after all these years, Mr. Daniels. I’m here to find out why I was called and asked to come in to see you.”

“Well, first of all, we tried phoning their mother but the phone was disconnected and you were listed to call in case of an emergency.”

“Is there an emergency? Did something happen to one of my grandsons?”

“No. Nothing has
happened
to either one of them. But Ms. Jenkins has been complaining about Ricky’s behavior. He’s being disruptive and rude, making it difficult for her to conduct her class. Is everything all right in their home?”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Is their mother having the same type of problems she’s had in the past?”

“That would be a yes.”

“So, does this mean the boys are in your care?”

“They are.”

“How long have they been living with you?”

“A few months.”

I push my chair away from the desk and shake my foot a little because it’s fallen asleep. This is how it usually starts. The grandparents are put in a position where they are often forced, mostly out of concern for the well-being of their grandchildren, into substitute parenting, and it’s usually because the parent has fallen prey to the lure of drugs. It’s sad to watch grandparents, who should be preparing for retirement, take on this burden, which is exactly what it is, but they do it so that their grandchildren don’t have to be raised by strangers.

“Well,” I say, pushing my chair back, “Luther, as you probably know, is an excellent student and he doesn’t appear to be displaying any negative behavior. Ricky, on the other hand, has been quite a handful and our counselor, Mrs. Barlow, has done her best to work with him but to no avail. Which is why she asked that I reach out to you.”

“Exactly how is he being disruptive?”

“Well, when Ms. Jenkins calls on another student, Ricky interrupts and yells out the answer. He likes to clown. Do things to get attention. He’s also not being very polite. He told Ms. Jenkins to kiss his you-know-what.”

“He said
what
?”

“I wouldn’t make this up. He seems to be having a hard time sitting still. We see this kind of behavior all the time in children whose parents were drug users. Have you been able to maintain his medication regimen?”

“Well, Luther has been handling it since it appeared that this was just one of his responsibilities. But I’m not sure if he’s run out. He hasn’t said anything.”

“Although Luther is a very bright little boy, Betty Jean—forgive me, may I call you Betty Jean?”

“Well, it’s my name.” She chuckles a little bit, which helps make this easier.

“Good. As I was saying, Luther is only in second grade, and notwithstanding how bright he is, this is still quite a lot of responsibility for a child his age.”

“I agree. I’ll start giving it to him myself. I did refill the prescription.”

“Then perhaps Ricky’s dosage might need to be reevaluated. After all, he is a growing boy. Our school psychologist thinks it would be in his and everyone’s best interest if he were retested.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have temporary custody of your grandchildren?”

“You mean have I been to court or something?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“So, are you aware what this means?”

“It means I’m taking care of my grandchildren until I can figure out what else to do.”

“Have you been in touch with anyone from the Department of Social Services?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about it. But I wanted to wait until I had a better idea when my daughter might be coming back.”

“Do you have any idea when that might happen?”

“No.”

“Well, let me tell you a few things you might want to do, but this is strictly outside of my professional role, do you understand what I’m saying here?”

“I think so.”

“Let me close my door first.”

“I’ll close it,” she says, and gets up and does just that. She may be thicker but she’s still a good-looking woman, and a good woman to take on this burden like too many women her age are being forced to do. She sits back down and moves her chair closer to the edge of my desk. I wish it were more impressive. Like oak or mahogany, something besides this maple veneer that’s peeling at the corners.

“For starters, as the grandparent, without temporary custody, you have no legal right to make decisions for your grandsons. Were they to get sick, you don’t have legal authority to take them to the doctor or a hospital. You can’t register them for school, though of course you are authorized to pick them up and drop them off, but until you go through the expense and the legal maze of getting temporary custody, you’re in for a bumpy ride.”

“So what exactly are you saying?”

“Let me put it to you this way, Betty Jean. You have to learn how to play a game with the folks who work in these state agencies, especially those who are supposed to be there to help you. They can often feel like your worst enemy. And don’t be fooled just because they’re black. Which is why . . .”

Betty Jean is looking at me like we’re on a game show and I’m about to give her the answer.

“First, let me ask you this. Are you a God-fearing woman?”

“Well, I’m a Christian if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Would you be willing to exaggerate or stretch the truth or lie if that’s what it would take in order to get some kind of help for your grandsons?”

“I suppose I would.”

“Well, for starters, I’m going to get the nurse to give you the form that will allow us to have Ricky retested, as long as you make sure his mother’s signature is on it, do you understand me?”

“I don’t see that as being a problem.”

“Good,” I say, and stand up to shake her hand. I notice there’s no ring on her left finger and I don’t like being too forward or presumptuous, so I simply ask, “Are you a widow or divorced?”

“Neither,” she says. “He’s got Alzheimer’s. Not doing so well now.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. You might not want to let those folks down at SS know this. Do you work?”

“I do. I was considering taking a short leave but I need the money more than ever. I’ll figure things out. I don’t have the same level of energy and patience I used to have, and Lord knows they need attention, and right now I’ll do whatever I have to do to prevent them from going into foster care.”

“I understand. It’s like starting all over. Some grandparents don’t have it in them.”

“I don’t have a choice. They didn’t ask for this life.”

“Ain’t that the truth? I mean, well, just keep us apprised of how things go, when your status changes, and we’ll do our best to help Ricky.”

“Thank you, Mr. Daniels.”

“It’s Warren,” I say, and stand up and walk around the desk to open the door for her. “Your sons should be in their midthirties if memory serves me right?”

“It’s serving you right, Warren.”

“How are they doing?”

“They’re both doing just fine. And thank you for asking.”

“You’re quite welcome. And it’s so nice to see you after all these years. You look wonderful. Time is definitely on your side. Now, don’t be shy about calling should you have any problems or questions about any of this. Here’s my card. I’m here to help.”

S
orry to have kept you waiting so long. It’s a madhouse around here as you can see. Go ahead and have a seat while I review your preliminary chart, Mrs. Butler.”

“You can call me Betty Jean.”

“I prefer Mrs. Butler, if you don’t mind.”

She nods.
Why is it just because I’m black and female they think they can act like we’re automatically connected? We are not friends. This is my job. I work for the State of California, and I don’t want to be their friend. I can’t wait to hear this one’s story. After twenty-three years working in Child Services, I’ve heard it all. I glance up at Betty Jean. She’s dressed like she could have a credit card at a department store. Her daughter’s most likely a drug addict. Either crack or heroin. I’ll bet myself a chocolate chip cookie with walnuts it’s crack. She’s nowhere to be found. Or maybe comes and goes. Regardless, she’s probably out there on the streets, giving blowjobs to pay for her disgusting habit and Grandma here probably got tired of watching everybody she loves be destroyed and took the kids or her daughter abandoned them. From the looks of this one, I’ll bet a latte the daughter bailed. Betty here doesn’t look like a happy camper, but she also doesn’t look like she’s ready for what we call our “second shift.”

“So, how long have the children been in your care?”

“Four months.”

This woman is lying through her teeth. Almost all of them do. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s only been a weekend.

“And what took you so long to come to Social Services?”

“Because I wasn’t sure how long I’d have them.”

Yeah, right. I’ll bet the daughter’s living in a Section 8 apartment with her boyfriend who’s also a drug addict and they’re collecting checks and getting food stamps, which they also sell. It’s a B movie.

“Are you sure now how long they’ll be living with you?”

“No, I’m not.”

This just means she needs another source of income for as long as she can. She probably needs a new car. Maybe behind in a few of her bills. Something. The grandmothers are usually just as bad as their trifling-ass daughters, but will they accept any responsibility for it? No, they don’t. Most of them are uneducated and just as ghetto as their grown children. Which is where they got it.

“So your daughter has a substance abuse problem.”

She nods a yes.

“And what might her drug of choice be?”

“Crack cocaine is all I know about.”

Cookie!

“It says here that your daughter’s whereabouts are unknown?”

“No, I know where she is.”

She’s lying.

“And where might that be?”

“In the streets.”

“And what about the children’s father?”

“What about them?”

“Oh, so there are two?”
Surprise, surprise.

“That’s how it looks.”

“Do you know either of them?”

“No, I do not.”

“Do you know their whereabouts?”

“If I don’t know them, how would I know where they are?”

Who in the hell does she think she’s talking to? I’m the one who determines if I’m going to get her any help at all, so she needs to chill.

“I have to ask these questions.”

“Un-hun.”

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t say anything. I just want to know how long it might take for me to get some kind of help for my grandsons.”

“It’s the reason we’re going over your information now. To determine if that’s even going to be possible.”

“I’m having a hard time including their expenses into our budget is all.”

“It says here that you own your own home.”

“Yes.”

“Which means you could borrow against it if you needed to.”

“We already have a second.”

“Don’t we all? So your husband’s retired?”

“Yes.”

“He was much older when you married, I see.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“No need to get defensive, Mrs. Butler.”

“I’m not. But out of all the things on my application I just find it inappropriate for you to say that.”

“My apologies. I also didn’t mean to imply that there was anything wrong with marrying someone with such a huge age difference.”

“I agree. Which is why I married him.”

Bitch
.

“How long has he been retired?”

“Two years.”

“And how’s his health?”

“Excellent.”

“And yours?”

“Excellent, also.”

“So, this means he gets Social Security?”

“Yes.”

“As well as a pension?”

“Yes. A small one.”

She is trying too hard to impress me with this woe-is-me hard-luck story.

“I see you’ve worked in the hotel industry for quite some time.”

“Yes.”

“In what capacity?”

“I work out of our in-room-dining department.”

“So you deliver food to the guests, then?”

“Yes.”

“Which means you should do okay on tips.”

“It depends on the season.”

“Based on your salary, it doesn’t look as if you report those tips. Or am I being too presumptuous?”

“I report them.”

She must think I just look like a damn fool. I worked as a waitress during college and wouldn’t dream of reporting a penny in tips. But whatever.

“And how many years before you retire?”

“I was considering taking early retirement in two or three years, but that may not be possible now. If I become legal guardian of my grandchildren, I’ll probably need to wait.”

“Well, that’s sort of putting the chicken before the egg, wouldn’t you say?”

“It’s the reason I’m here. To find out if you can tell me which comes first.”

I can tell I’m getting on her nerves. But part of my job is to make sure this isn’t some kind of scam. That maybe she’s just trying to get her grandkids so she can get a few extra dollars into the household. Plus, sometimes the parents don’t even need our help. Betty here doesn’t exactly look destitute.

“I thought as an employee of the state you worked in this department to help in the care of children, especially if it would prevent them from being put in foster care, which costs the state a lot more. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

I try not to roll my eyes at her and keep reading.

“What shift do you work?”

“Morning.”

“Then how will the children get to and from school?”

“I’ll have to make some adjustments.”

“Wasn’t this the same problem their biological mother had?”

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

“Her adjustments didn’t include the children and her arrangements weren’t very carefully thought out or consistent, and had they been, these children would not be in your care, would they not?”

“And your point?”

“You could answer my question.”

“Do you have children?”

“Yes.”

“And it looks like you work every day.”

“This isn’t about me. I don’t need financial help from the state.”

“All I’m saying is that in order to survive in this day and age, to make a decent living, both parents usually work and there are many ways to get them to and from school, including after-school care. Does that answer your question, Mrs. Hunter?”

“No. But moving on.”

“Let me say this. I’ll do whatever it takes to make them feel safe and secure. It wasn’t as if I planned this.”

“I believe you, but it doesn’t matter if I believe you or not.”

“I’m not trying to convince you of anything. I’m just telling you why I’m here.”

“Has your daughter ever disappeared like this before?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the longest she’s been absent?”

“A week. Maybe two.”

“What would you do if she suddenly reappeared and wanted her children back?”

“It depends on her situation.”

“Well, I can tell you from experience, once they abandon their children, they usually appear out of nowhere and swear they’re going to clean up their act, but it rarely lasts. Until your daughter gets treatment for her addiction, and can prove that she’s been drug-free for at least ninety days, I suggest you file a petition with Family Court about getting temporary custody, at which time you come back to see us and we’ll determine what we can do to help you at that time.”

“So, you mean you can’t help me even with food stamps?”

“Did I not make myself clear?”

“Very.”

She gets up in a huff without so much as a thank-you for giving her a clue as to what steps she needs to take. She should be glad she has a source of income. Some of the grandparents that come in here are living on Social Security and food stamps. We are not a charitable organization. But they think just because they have trifling kids who didn’t need to become parents in the first place, that it’s our responsibility to pick up the slack. Everybody’s got a sob story. I’m burned out listening to them. Burned out watching them act like beggars. I am tired of this job. Tired of being depressed all day long. Tired of not being able to fix everybody’s lives. Tired of not breaking the rules and people hating me for it. Which is why I’m putting in for a transfer to a different department—any department—where no one is asking for money.