I’m not a “bleeding-heart liberal”…though my heart
definitely “bleeds” for some down-and-out people I know.
Along
with the people sharing them, I say, “Yeah! That’s right!” when I see the funny
posters and sayings about how those welfare people have more goodies than those
of us who work for a living; that our hard-earned money is going for taxes that
give those welfare people food stamps that they can use for tattoos and
pedicures; that those welfare people are just sitting on the couch eating
bon-bons and watching Netflix..
And I agree that there are abuses, and that “those welfare
people” don’t seem to be expected to take responsibility for themselves, and
that’s not right.
Of course, that hurts those welfare people more than it
hurts us non-welfare people.
I know that, because once upon a time, I was one of those welfare people. I was a
single mom with a baby boy and no job…and no intention of getting a job. I thought
it was important to be home with my baby boy rather than having him spend his
time in day care. And I hated going to the welfare office. They treated me like
I was just like everyone else, The attitude I encountered there suggested that
I wasn’t quite up to par, that I didn’t have a plan for my life, and that I was
just another one of the sheep they were herding through the line to get food
stamps and WIC and the monthly cash payment.
Probably in part because of my experience as a welfare mom,
and being acutely aware of how other people felt about that and how they looked
at me and treated me, I’ve always had a soft spot for the welfare – especially
when I see a young mom with a baby and no dad in the picture. I know a little
bit about what’s going on inside that young mom.
With that background, here’s the story of Janie (not her
real name), a girl who became friends with my daughter Ruthie when they were
about 11 years old. Janie’s mom, Donna (not her real name), was a fallen-away Catholic
who somehow became inspired to return to the Church and to have her daughter
baptized. Ruthie met Janie in RE class, and they became friends.
Donna’s had a rough life. Her mother forced her to have an
abortion when she was 16; I don’t recall whether she had any other abortions
later, but I know she gave birth to three baby girls. Janie is the youngest. Donna
told me that she and Janie’s father stayed together for a time (unmarried), but
one day in the midst of a long trip to somewhere, he got angry, stopped the
car, forced her to get out with little Janie, and abandoned them there. She’s
never seen him since.
Ruthie and Janie’s friendship was on-again-off-again, as
Ruthie would become irritated with something Janie had done – like tell stories
or downright lies, or spread untrue rumors about Ruthie – and break off the
friendship for a time. I encouraged her to maintain the friendship, always
citing the sad circumstances of Janie’s life, but Ruthie reached her breaking
point in high school, and hasn’t had much to do with Janie for several years.
But I couldn’t seem to keep myself from following this
little girl-turned-young-woman’s life. I watched as she struggled with math and
Ruthie and I would pick her up after her remedial math class on Wednesdays and
take her home with us till it was time for RE. I watched as, year after year,
she got D’s and F’s in her classes, and they passed her up to the next grade
anyway, sending the problems along with her. And I watched as Janie was moved
from the high school to the alternative school because she was a senior in high
school with no hope of accumulating enough credits to qualify for graduation.
I felt for her, because I could understand why a child in
her situation might not have the motivation to persevere in school work. Her
mother was trying to do her best by Janie, but she had her own issues; she had
a live-in boyfriend who was an alcoholic and occasionally was jailed for his
transgressions; in addition, Donna she had her own problems with depression. I
remember one summer evening as Ruthie and Janie and I jumped in the car and criss-crossed
the country roads looking for the small semi-residential “facility” where Donna
had gone for some sort of “counseling” as she had become overwhelmed with the
difficulties of her life. She had called Janie – who’d been left in the care of
some people who really didn’t care much about her – and asked her to find a
ride and bring her some personal items.
I was elected to do the driving.
We
found the place with some difficulty, and I was appalled at the spiritual
darkness I perceived there. It did not seem like a good place for Donna…or
anyone else for that matter. The girls went out to wander around, and I sat Donna
down and told her what I thought.
“Your daughter needs you,” I remember telling her. “This is
not a good place, and you’re just sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. Life
goes on. You need to do something.”
She surprised me by standing up and saying, “You’re right.
Can you give me a ride?” She started grabbing her things and stuffing them into
a duffle bag.
We had to talk to the director of the facility, who had to
make a phone call to a social worker and explain that “Dr. Jay Boyd has agreed
to take Donna home”. I started to feel a little apprehensive; I’m not a clinical
psychologist, and for all I knew, Donna was going to go home and commit
suicide! But I clung to my faith in God and my gut feeling of what was right,
and I took Donna and Janie home. I checked in with Donna a few times in the
following weeks; she thanked me for what I had done.
So, with this history, I felt some anguish when Ruthie told
me Janie was pregnant. It wasn’t unexpected, really, given that Donna had
allowed Janie’s homeless boyfriend to move in with them.
The baby, a little girl, was born recently, and Janie is now
proudly learning to be a mom. She still lives with Donna, and I don’t think the
baby’s father is in the picture at all. Ruthie showed me Janie’s photos of the
baby on Face Book; it tore at my heart because I know the story. And I know
that they are trying – they really are. Janie wants to be a good mom; Janie’s
mom wants to be a good mom and grandma.
I went by their house the other day to deliver a card and
gift certificate for the new mom. I’m getting old and cranky and impatient, and
I don’t see much point in beating around the bush; so, inside the card I wrote,
“Go back to church, and get that baby BAPTIZED!”
The house is a single-wide mobile home in a trailer park.
There’s a pick-up with junk piled in the back; one dog is chained outside in
the driveway (there isn’t really much of a “yard”); another is barking from
behind a fence in the back; and a couple more are barking from inside. The
porch is strewn with stuff…I don’t even know what; it’s just messy.
I got in my car and shed a few tears. That baby, I have told
my husband, already has a few strikes against her.
Later, Janie sent me a thank-you message via Face Book, and
we became “friends”. And after that, I looked at some of her “status” posts and
saw this one:
I
love you [baby’s name], though this morning was not what I expected to wake up
to. I just wanted to feed you and change your diaper…our normal routine!! I
didn't like that you woke up screaming your head off, and I pick you up and you
have a full diaper, so I go to change it and you poop some more all over me,
and as I'm cleaning it up you roll over into your dirty diaper and get it all
over yourself, and as I wiped you off and picked you up, you peed like a horse.
Crying for grandma to start a bath as she starts laughing and takes a picture… “PICTURES
AT A TIME LIKE THIS?!?” mommy thought to herself. Grandma replies, “you are
doing great honey, you are an awesome mom, and you will look back at this and
laugh.”
Thank
you my dear daughter, for showing me some more joys of memories and motherhood.
Now
to do laundry.
I shed a few more tears, since I’ve got that bleeding-heart
thing goin’ on…even if I’m not a bleeding heart liberal. And, knowing Donna’s
story, I thought to myself that the situation was sort of like the blind leading the blind.
But then…in God’s eyes, isn’t that how it is for all of us?
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