(So, I'm sharing this longer piece because I didn't do the work last night! Hope it's not too long. Rosie's duct tape story brought it to mind)
Stephen Nottingham was our first foster child. He came to us newlyweds because he needed a
place and my mother’s foster home was full. He was nine years old and his
teacher had recommended he be placed beyond his own home in a more therapeutic
situation. I had teaching experience, loved kids and was assured it would be a placement
for a short time, perhaps no longer than my new husband’s Navy training and deployment.
Two years. The $300 a month would be a nice addition to my salary and Jon’s
meager stipend.
We first met his teacher at the Los
Gatos
“His folks have had a lot of trouble with him, but I think
he just needs a different parenting style,” she said with confidence and the
wisdom of her many years of teaching. She was also my mother’s best friend, and
I was pleased she considered Jon and me appropriate for the task. We were both in a Master’s Program at Santa
Clara University
We met Steve in his home in Los Gatos
His home was upscale, located in a toney foothill location
in an affluent community. It had lovely views and furnishings. In fact, it was
hard to imagine how these people of means could not handle a little boy. Surely,
they would have access to whatever that child needed. Well, it turned out what that child needed
was us!
As we were shown around their home each door we came to had
a hook lock at the top beyond Stevie’s reach. His mother explained it was their
solution to his insatiable trouble-making. At each room the hook was unlocked,
the door opened, and we were ushered in. Little Stevie greeted each new opening
with manic delight, rushing past us and throwing himself with a wild abandon.
Jumping, running, opening drawers, searching closets, he was a frenetic
imp. His parents ran after, and finally,
his dad took him away while his mother and I continued to talk. She was beside
herself with nervous anxiety, she confided.
“He’s a monster! I have no peace. He’s after me every
second, demanding attention. I have to watch him or he will destroy everything.
I have no time-off! Please take him so I can get some rest. I’m afraid I’m going crazy!” And, she sounded
as if she were. What had we gotten into?
Steve came to our cabin, was dropped off with his suitcase
and a box of toys which seemed to hold no interest for him. His interest instead was focused on our
house. There were no locks on our doors. Our cabinets needed no keys. Everything we had was accessible. And, access it, he did! That first day he
went through everything. All of our newly combined childhood mementos, high
school memorabilia, wedding presents, clothing and equipment, was touched,
inspected, examined, taken out and put back in its place. His focus was
intense, his energy boundless.
On the second day he put his room together. Whatever he
wanted to do to establish his own domain we allowed. We helped when he wanted
it and he kept checking to see if he could do… whatever. We said ‘yes’ every
time he asked. That was our strategy. We had discussed how we would manage this
little guy who had been denied for so long and that is what we had decided to
do.
By the third day we noticed an odd trend. He was taking
blame for things. Everything! Oh, sorry! I left the milk on the counter. Oh! I
spilled water. And, the bottom line was always, what punishment do I get? Guess I’ll be sent home now, he said, many
times.
Jon and I tried to understand what we could do or say to
help him. We discussed more interventions and strategies to change his old
manipulative habits. By the second week, he was more relaxed, sleeping regular
hours, and relatively content. But, he still was overly concerned about being
bad! He seemed determined to point out to us how bad a kid he was! It was as if he needed to show us because we
were so naïve we didn’t recognize how ‘bad’ he was.
Jon and I decided that he had always been told he was bad
and responsible for the many acts he had been punished for. His perception of
himself was as a bad boy. And, he was trying hard to act like one. However, he
had probably never been punished for something he didn’t do. So, we decided to
give him an unjustified ‘accusation’ to see if he would stand up for himself.
Could we get him to a point where he perceived himself as a good boy?
The test came when Jon turned over the garbage can outside
and came in and accused Steve of doing it. He admitted it! Interesting… Steve
was sent out to pick up the garbage and put it back in the can. He did it. No protest.
When he came in we talked about what had happened. We knew he was not responsible for the can
being turned over. Jon did it! How did he feel when punished unjustly? Why
didn’t he tell us he didn’t do it? He was a good boy. Etc. From that point on
we wanted honesty. Could he do that? If not, we couldn’t help him. Yes, he
said. We never had any trouble with Stevie from that day on.
About a month later Steve and Jon decided to fly a wooden
airplane Jon had had from childhood. As he and Stevie put it together, Jon
remembered a part was missing that made it inoperable. It was a little nose cone
which held the propeller on the body. He
knew it had been missing since he tried to fly it as a boy. Steve’s eyes lit
up. “I know where it is”, he shouted
gleefully, and ran off to a closet. Sure enough, inside a package of odds and
ends, inside a little box, beneath a pile of knicknacks he found a little nose
cone that fit the propeller. And, the plane flew!
Steve was with us uneventfully for two years after which his
parents divorced and he eventually went to Phoenix
