crossing over

driving to my first day at DCF this morning, I came up Rt. 9 North. To my right was the Connecticut River with the morning dew rising from the river to greet the sunrise.... The Arrigone Bridge was shadowed slate blue in the fog. The scenery touched me in the deepest emotions of my heart. . . . .

today as I was driving north on 9 from Middletown to Hartford; I was crossing over the great divide. Finally at 38 years old I am employed by The State Of Connecticut; Department of Children and Families.

no longer a foster child. . . . no longer a parent being investigated . . . . no longer a foster parent. . . . no longer an intern . . . . no longer an employee of a non-profit agency linked to DCF but finally a real bonafide, DCF EMPLOYEE.


As I came upon Hartford now from Rt. 91 North, I looked in awe at one of the most beautiful cities that exist.

Like most cities, it has it's past, it's present and it's future. There is the old COLT building with a huge blue and gold dome as you pass it on the left. I hear it is now a historical museum, our country tributing it for the historical contributions to our country's firearms. The Traveler's building sits high in the city with a tower on top; looking much like the city's lighthouse. As I get closer to my exit, I see all the new construction from Adrienne's landing; our former governor's (the felon, convicted and in jail) attempt at a legacy to beautify the river's edge.


I parked my car in the parking lot that had once upon a time been a huge city building. It had since been crushed to the ground, making room for the desperate parking problems in Hartford.

I, dressed in ultra- professional attire for the first time in 5 years (not counting the job interview); grabbed my date planner, my purse and my notebook. I walked towards the Central Office building which was about 5 blocks away. I heard my shoes clanking on the side walk, feeling quite proud of myself. I walked past the worst projects that Hartford has given birth to....I smelled the garbage, looked at the broken bike tossed next to a doorway, looked into a child's bedroom that had toys stacked up high behind a torn curtain. I picked up my speed because even though I felt like I was one of the project's inhabitants, on the outside I was not dressed as one and knew I would not be considered as one belonging. I was afraid but reminded myself that most of the dangerous people would still be sleeping at 7:30 in the morning. . . .

I continued past a park that was nothing more than an empty field dedicated to a dead guy.

Looked up at a Cuban American grocery store with a clerk sweeping the steps, passed a woman that looked Jamaican- said hello to her but she looked down and kept walking.

I looked up and saw Hartford Hospital looming straight ahead with the orange flag hanging on top near the Lifestar landing. I knew that I was closer. The contrast struck me. . . the apartments and local shops were secured with black metal bars...and then there like a beauty queen walking amonst the paupers was the beautiful, dark pink granite, tall as far as the eyes can look up, DCF Central office building. It was secured in an iron fence with security locks and cameras everywhere. There is parking, but just for the very elite top positions or those who have given their lives in service now being gifted with a parking spot in the name of senority privilage.

As I walked closer to the building, with the trees beautifully cared for, the windows impeccably washed. I felt like a fraud. The closer I walked with my shoes tapping a rhythym, I noticed my reflection in the windows.

I was a professional 30 something woman coming to work. The middle age damage was covered by make-up and hairspray. The smile on my face was disguising the fear in my eyes.

I opened the door, walked up to the granite desk and announced my name. While I waited for the security office to verify my name and identification, I noticed the metal detectors that were on my right; they were trying to look like an arbor entrance to the stairs but I knew that they were really there to protect the staff from angry parents carrying weapons.

The security card cleared my arrival but as I passed through those metal detectors, I expected them to sound. "fraud. fraud. we have a fraud."


See, no matter how many courses that I have taken to qualify my existance. . . no matter how many children that I have fostered. . . no matter how many foster parents that I have trained to parent. . . . inside me is a woman accused not once, but twice of child abuse. Deeper in those eyes is a child.


A child who waited on the rock in the front yard for Beth Taub DCYS social worker to pick her up for court. A child who waited with every foster placement for the foster parents to call her worker and say, "get her out! she is not good like you said!" A child who waited in court for the judge to decide if she was guilty of being incorrigible or not. A child who waited for the pscyh hospital to release her brother from the lies against him. A child who no matter how many times you told her she was worthy, never believed you and always knew the truth.

That there is a fraud now working for DCF. Someome pretending to be a social worker with credentials wanting to help the children just like her... she is really still a very scared child.

Today that child put on her professional clothes, drove from home to the city and Crossed Over.... she is the social worker, no longer wating for anyone; ready now to fulfill the very dream that she was made for, to reach out and love the forgotten children.

-jane
called out of darkness and into the light-
from locked in chains of the child welfare system into
one with keys to unlock. . . . .