Saturday, April 08, 2006

Ah, Springtime

The sky is blue. The sun is shining...the crocuses I planted last fall FINALLY made an appearance, although weak, and I can't seem to keep my head indoors. As I look at the thermometer it's cracked 50 and will rise a little more before waning. Spring is definitely here, and I'm going to bug out and start the installation of the invisible fence for the dogs.

But before I do that, I should notify anyone who's interested that "Josie" called her mom this morning and discovered that the PO told her mom that he will be recommending she go to a residential treatment center at her twice-delayed court appearance next week.

That's right. We find out from the kid, who is the last person who should know about something like this.

According to the county we live in, we are not a method of helping fix the problem, but instead basically a kid-drop, where they can put problem teenagers until they figure out what to do with them. They don't ask for our thoughts or feelings on the matter because they're not interested in the whinings and pulings of people who actually know the kid. After all, they know best, don't they?

They've had a trained social worker living in the same house with the kid for several months...but who cares what her professional opinion might be? After all, there are stuffed suits to make those kinds of decisions, why on earth would they want to talk to someone with social work training and experience plus real life experience living with the child in question?

No, no, no, no. That would be far too logical. Send the kid to one of those tanks where they hold kids good and tight. What? The kid isn't dangerous? She's been doing well when she's at her current foster home except during home visits? Who cares about those things? That would be ridiculous.

After all, cutting off home visits for an extended period would be far too simple and logical. Better to just send her out of sight so we don't have to think about the ungodly bills it will generate for the taxpayers.

Talk about swatting a fly with a '69 Buick.

Final note on that unpleasantness: As I think I've mentioned before, in our particular county, the voice of the PO is usually considered 50.1% of the voting stock in the future of children who's cases are assigned to him/her. We have almost everyone who knows "Josie" personally on our side, from her teachers and counsellors and psychologists to social workers and her lawyer. No matter. The PO's word is God's word when the case is juvenile rather than child protection.

And my regular readers will have seen that there is just as much reason to treat this case as child protection versus criminal. She hit a cop. I wanted to do that once. The only difference between her case and mine is my greater maturity and understanding of how far hitting a cop will get you in life. No matter how much of a prick he is.

So anyway, I'm going to put all this out of my head and go out and try to begin the process of making our yard far more fun for the dogs. Turn the radio to my favorite local 80s station (very little real music has been written since about '91 or '92 in my not-so-humble opinion), grab a jug of juice, grab my spade, and work in the sun.

Very little in the world could be finer than that on a sunny April Saturday afternoon in Minnesota. The only thing that would improve it would be if I didn't know that my mind will be turning over how often we'll feel compelled to drive the 60 or 80 or however many miles to visit "Josie" and help her keep her chin up, and try to help her finally understand that there are people who love her. I don't think she's really gotten that yet.


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