by Gay Courter
A few days later the packet containing my next case arrived. I opened the legal folder and saw my guardian appointment papers with the name Lydia Ryan and her date of birth next to my name. Lydia was sixteen. I almost signed the acceptance papers at once, but considering the seriousness of the crime, I decided that it would be prudent to read the file first.
The most recent document was from the division of Children, Youth and Families stating that Lydia had been detained in the juvenile jail until the judge ordered her release, but her parents had refused to allow her to return home. One long sheet was filled in with the attempts made to contact Lydia’s family, her parents’ adamant refusal to take her in, as well as the investigator’s attempts to find Lydia a bed for the night. This “lockout” constituted parental neglect. The next pages were computer printouts from the Florida protective services abuse hotline reporting system. All calls to this central registry were filed in this computer. An abuse complaint on Lydia’s lockout had been entered against the parents. On it were listed two other children in the Ryan home: a ten-year-old sister, Audrey, and a seven-year-old brother, Mark.
Also attached was the shelter petition saying that there was no available parent, legal custodian, or responsible adult relative to provide supervision and care because “to wit: It has been alleged that Lydia’s parents are refusing to pick her up from the detention center. The parents are also refusing to make any plans for Lydia’s care.” This document helped make Lydia a dependent of the state and was the reason why a guardian had been appointed. At the bottom it stated that “Lydia was charged with aggravated battery on her sister in May.”
Her sister. I rechecked the official printout. Only two children were mentioned. The sister was ten. How could you put a ten-year-old in a microwave oven? Maybe there was a stepsister or the relationship was wrong. With multiple marriages and partners as well as children from various alliances, family kinships were sometimes confusing. Nothing in the file clarified this for me, nor did it explain where Lydia was presently living.
Our training had emphasized that the first chore of the Guardian ad Litem was to become a skilled investigator. We were not supposed to rely on—or duplicate—the previous work of caseworkers or law enforcement but rather locate and examine every relevant fact in the case. By applying creative insights we hope to evaluate and integrate our data with that of others to determine what action might be best for the child. Working back from the immediate crisis, we were to scrutinize other major turning points in that child’s background, delve into the family circumstances as well as what had influenced the parents to make the decisions they had, also to analyze community and extended family resources.
Essential to this duty was the ability of the guardian not to jump to conclusions about the innocence or guilt of the perpetrator in cases of abuse. Actually the guardian was advised not to interview the child about the immediate incidents leading to the case because this was to be left to professionals, who understood how to minimize damage to the child as she relived the event. This policy also avoided having the guardian called as a witness. We had been told that if we used good listening skills the child would eventually tell most of the relevant details without being quizzed, but I wondered if this might be the case if Lydia had something to hide.
Anxious to locate the child herself, I contacted Mona Archibald, the HRS protective investigator assigned to the case. “Where is Lydia now?” I asked after the usual introductions.
“She was placed by her parents, with the approval of the agency and the court, at the Tabernacle Home for Girls,” Mona said. “Have you heard of it?”
“Actually, I have,” I replied. Knowing that I was the guardian of several teen girls, a friend in the community had given me their brochure.
“Then you know it has a religious orientation.”
“Yes, but a sheltered environment might be better than a foster care home for a hostile and confused young woman. What I don’t understand, though, is why she can’t go home again?”
“Her parents believe she poses a risk to their other children.”
“Do you think she’ll be there for a while?”
“The judge ordered her not to run from this placement or she will be returned to juvenile detention.”
“Then I guess I’d better see her there,” I said, and thanked Mona Archibald for her help.
“Tabernacle Home,” said the sunny voice on the phone when I called for an appointment to visit Lydia. I introduced myself and was told I was speaking with Marjorie Hoffman, one of the counselors. I explained that I had been assigned as Lydia’s Guardian ad Litem and wished to meet her as soon as possible.
“Are you a Christian?” Marjorie asked.
After a pause, I decided to be utterly frank. “No, I am Jewish.”
“Well,” Marjorie said with exaggerated politeness, “we really cannot permit a non-Christian person to interfere with Lydia’s program. She is a very vulnerable child, and until she is stabilized, we must be selective about who influences her.”
“I understand that,” I replied coolly, “however, I have been asked by the court to monitor this placement. I would be happy to come to discuss my role with you, and I believe you will find that we should not be in conflict, since we both have Lydia’s best interests at heart.”
“Any policy change would have to be approved by the directors of our program, Pastor and Mrs. Shaw.”
“Fine. When might they meet with me?”
“They’re unavailable until next Wednesday.” Reluctantly I had to agree to wait until then.
I immediately contacted Lillian and explained my predicament. “Perhaps you would prefer another volunteer, one more acceptable in terms of religion.”
“Never!” Lillian huffed. “What about separation of church and state?”
“What if they won’t permit a non-Christian to visit her?”
“You are her court-appointed guardian and nobody can prevent you from seeing her.”
“Shall I tell them that?”
“It shouldn’t be necessary,” Lillian said with conviction.
The Guardian ad Litem training classes compressed a mini-course in child welfare and legal issues into a three-day class for volunteers from other fields. Before being accepted for the program, our applications were vetted, thorough background checks were made, and references were carefully checked. But there were no special requirements. We were a diverse group of professionals, blue-collar workers, homemakers, retired people, students, teachers, nurses, and even writers. We came from a wide range of ages, races, backgrounds, and interests. Some were single, some were parents and grandparents, some were childless. Our reasons for wanting to volunteer were equally complex. A few had been from or knew of abusive families. Others, like me, had been galvanized by the Bradley McGee case and other horrifying press reports. Many worked in fields like education or medicine and saw the results of injury to children. Frustrated, they believed they could make a difference with their guardian work, if only to one child at a time.
When I completed the classes, I felt that I had neither absorbed the complex material nor was even remotely ready for any case, but in retrospect, I see that the preparation was much better than I realized. Nancy Hastedt, the circuit director, gave an excellent overview of the program, while Lillian Elliott, the case coordinator, instructed us on the rights and responsibilities of being an advocate. The staff attorney delivered a concise, yet thorough, outline of dependency law. A psychologist discussed milestones of child development, the cycles of abuse that permeate dysfunctional families, and the essential issues of attachment, separation, loss, and permanency. An unflinching presenter, who had slides and films to introduce the revolting ways children are injured by their disturbed caretakers, covered sexual and physical abuse. There were also lessons in communications, interviewing, and writing reports for both the program office and the court. A staff member of the Department of Health and Rehabilitative Services explained their rules, regu
lations, and partnership with guardians. A seasoned guardian offered vivid examples of what the volunteer job entailed from her personal experience.
When I accepted the Ryan case more than a year after the training and after having worked intensively as a guardian, I felt more secure in my role, and yet nothing I had been taught or learned in the field had prepared me for a confrontation with people who mistrusted me because I did not share their belief system.
The Tabernacle Home for Girls was set on the banks of a quiet curve in a meandering river that fed into the Gulf of Mexico. Directions took me through a pine forest, past live oaks draped in Spanish moss, down a bumpy dirt lane, to an old colonial house that had been recently repainted. A shiny van with the home’s name on the side was in the driveway. I entered through the door marked OFFICE and met Marjorie Hoffman, a heavyset woman dressed entirely in white. The small room held two desks, a new computer system with a laser printer, a copy machine, and a small library. Every surface gleamed and materials were stacked in tidy piles. A girl knocked at the door and her request was dealt with. She was wearing a loose plaid pinafore hemmed at mid-calf. Her long hair was pulled back with a matching ribbon and her freshly scrubbed face was devoid of makeup. In her hands she clasped a Bible, and when she replied to Marjorie, she looked down and said, “Yes, ma’am,” then backed away.
“That’s Tiffany,” Marjorie explained. “She came to us six months ago after living for more than a year on the streets. She’s one of our success stories,” Marjorie continued as she ushered me into Mrs. Shaw’s private office. This room overlooking the cove had been recently redecorated in pinks and blues, with oriental prints, silk flowers, and a couch with embroidered throw pillows.
After a few introductory remarks, Marjorie left me alone with Alice Shaw. Mrs. Shaw, in a tailored teal suit, silk blouse, and stockings, was formally dressed for Florida on a sizzling day.
“I had heard that this was a lovely facility,” I commented, “but it is even nicer than I imagined.”
“Then you probably know that we are all volunteers. We receive no compensation nor do we accept any state or federal funding. We survive on the generous donations from Christians, who believe in our work, and therefore we are free to run our program without any governmental interference.” She stared at me challengingly.
“Tell me about Lydia. How long has she been here?”
Mrs. Shaw pointed to the file on my lap. “That must be in your paperwork.”
“I know it was in June, but not the exact date or how she came here.”
“Because of confidentiality rules I really cannot be that specific.”
“I apologize for not giving you this sooner,” I said, fumbling for a copy of my court order. “Guardians are privy to all records on a child.” I handed her the document and read the pertinent sentence. “ ‘Upon presentation of this Order to any agency, hospital, organization, school, person or office … Lillian Elliott, Gay Courter, and the Circuit Director are hereby authorized to inspect and/or copy, any records relating to the above-named child without consent of said child and parents of said child and records relating to her parents including any drug/alcohol records and any routine progress reports relating to therapeutic goals, without any further consent of any party to this action.’ “
Alice Shaw held the paper as though she found it distasteful. “My husband will have to study this.”
My patience was waning, but I tried another tack. “I’m very interested in learning more about your mission.”
Mrs. Shaw allowed herself a small smile. “Currently we have five girls in our program. We have a rigorous approach that works because it offers the girls discipline for the first time in their lives. Initially a girl like Lydia is shown how to ask Jesus to forgive her sins and to accept him as her personal savior. Then she is introduced to the scriptures and learns how the Lord’s word impacts on every aspect of her daily life.”
“What sort of routine do they have?”
“We wake them at five-thirty in the morning and they are in bed by nine-thirty in the evening. Every moment is accounted for with Bible study, exercise, and one hour of chores.”
“What about school?”
“They receive a religious education.”
“What about regular schooling?”
“It takes a year before the girls are ready to accept anything besides the teachings of Christ. At the proper time they will be tested to see where they are in school, and then an individualized program is designed. Since the longest anyone has been with us is nine months, we are not teaching school yet.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“These girls have already dropped out of school, so we are listed as a remedial, therapeutic facility preparing their minds and hearts to accept and appreciate an education when the time comes.”
“Why does everyone have to lose an entire year?”
“We do not deviate from a well-established program that works.”
“How long have you been doing this?”
“At this home, only eleven months, but it is based on a national program called Teen Crisis Care.”
“Is there any counseling?”
“The entire program is one of spiritual training, but we do have a Christian therapist who works with us.”
“A psychologist?”
“She is trained by the church.” Mrs. Shaw shook her head like a teacher annoyed with a slow student.
“How is Lydia adjusting?”
“Extremely well considering everything she has done.”
“Actually, the records I have are somewhat confusing as to exactly what it is she did.”
“In what way?” Alice Shaw asked in a helpful tone.
“Well, this business with the microwave oven for one. Was it her sister she injured?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what did happen?”
“We’re aware that Lydia, like most of these girls, lies and cheats and manipulates to make herself sound better, but her mother has corroborated these facts. Lydia’s boyfriend came over when the Ryans were not home. Her sister warned that if Lydia wouldn’t let her do something she was not supposed to do, she would tattle to their parents. Lydia’s boyfriend then threatened the sister that he would ‘cut her up in pieces and put her in a microwave oven’ if she called her mother. The poor child was so frightened she ran to a neighbor and the police were called.”
“That’s why Lydia spent three months in juvenile detention?”
“Lydia did not protect the child who had been left in her care.”
“What happened to the boy?”
“His parents got him off, but the Ryans wanted Lydia to learn her lesson once and for all.”
“What had she done to deserve a jail sentence?”
“Let me just say that she was no darling angel.”
Two more girls in plaid pinafores strolled by the window. I asked, “May I see Lydia now?”
“Lydia does not have visitor privileges yet.”
“I’m not a visitor. I am her court-appointed guardian and I have been directed by the judge to see her,” I replied softly, but forcefully.
“We cannot make an exception. Before the girls can learn constructive ways to manage their lives, they must be isolated from the old destructive influences. For their own protection they have no money, receive no mail or phone calls. Nor do we allow any contact with the outside world, and they only see their parents once a month under supervised conditions.”
“But I need to see Lydia so I can make an official report on her welfare.”
“Unfortunately the other girls would not be able to separate a guardian visit from other special attention. Besides, Lydia’s HRS worker is satisfied that she is under good care. As you can see, this is a safe, hygienic facility.”
“I don’t work for HRS, and as congenial as this home appears, I need to know how Lydia feels about living here.”
“That’s precisely why you cannot see her. Lydia could say
anything, tell all sorts of tales to get released. She is a chronic runaway who escaped from her last shelter placement, and if she leaves here, she will be remanded to the juvenile delinquency center.”
“I understand your point of view,” I tried again, “but maybe I can explain it another way. Let’s say Lydia was in a foster home, but the foster parents would not permit the Guardian ad Litem to visit. Might you not think they had something to hide? If I don’t talk with her, I won’t be able to attest to the fact that everything is fine.”
“Just look around,” Alice Shaw gestured. “Does this look like an abusive home?”
“Not at all,” I allowed, “but I still need to see Lydia, and this court order gives me access to her.”
“We won’t be bullied by the court when we know we are right,” Mrs. Shaw said, rising. Then she turned and gave a thin smile. “However, because you have gone out of your way to visit Lydia, and Marjorie may not have prepared you for our rules, I will arrange for you to meet with her briefly. Since she is legally our responsibility, I cannot grant you an unsupervised visit.”
I was taken aback. Only known abusers were ever subjected to supervision when visiting a child. Seeing my offense, Mrs. Shaw’s voice became honey-smooth. “Believe me, I am thinking of your protection as much as our own. These girls will do anything to get their way, even if it means unfairly accusing someone of improprieties. This is a delicate time because while Lydia has taken Jesus into her heart, she does not yet have the strength to fight off her demons.”
Alice Shaw took some keys from her desk drawer. “One more thing. At this stage it is unhealthy for someone as fragile as Lydia to dredge up her past. Girls in this phase are filled with negative thinking that has to be erased. I am sure you know that the glass is better half-full than half-empty. We are teaching our girls to look at every day as a fresh start. I trust you won’t violate this.”
“I am here to introduce myself, to explain my role and, if she is amenable, to ask her a few questions so I can better understand her present situation.”