Our Little Angels

My first week as a brand new direct care worker was spent in trainings and observing my coworkers on the unit. One of the trainings was held in the basement of the building by the head of maintenance, a man named Hank who sported a wicked handlebar mustache. He gave a talk on hazardous materials safety, emergency escape routes, fire extinguishers, and related topics, finishing up with a tour of the laundry and other maintenance facilities.

He opened up the training with a reference that has anchored my perspective of the clients ever since I heard it. Reminding us who we're working for, he said, "We're all here for the kids, who we affectionately like to call 'our little angels.'"

Our little angels. I liked the sound of that. It reminded me that these children were innocent victims, fallen angels, angels with broken wings. And it was our job to help them fly again. I was ready for that providential duty.

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The first group of kids I worked with was a motley crew of nine Bad News Bears:

1. Marky, a cute little eight-year-old African American boy with a robust head and body and disarming smile.

2. Calvin, a witty thirteen-year-old African American boy with sleepy eyes and a sense of humor that constantly caught you off guard.

3. Mariah, a melodramatic eleven-year-old drama queen in cat-eye glasses who loved attention and whose milk-chocolate skin was an even blend of genes from her mother (white) and father (black).

4. Doug, an anxious, freckle-faced ten-year-old Caucasian boy who could build anything out of anything -- the McGuyver of the gang, if you will.

5. Donika, an overweight eleven-year-old African American girl with schizoid episodes and a ravenous appetite.

6. D.J., a thin nine-year-old African American boy with big lips and eyes and a penchant for verbal non sequiturs and Flaming Hot Cheetos.

7. Vejee, an East Indian boy, eleven years old, with a large head, very poor impulse control, and an obsession with college sports and touching females inappropriately.

8. Lakeisha, a laconic, dark skinned, sexually charged eleven-year-old African American girl who had ghonneria when admitted and who collected diaries although she could barely read or write.

9. Kim, a stocky ten-year-old African American girl with a laid-back, street-tough demeanor and a gritty-smooth voice like a blues singer.

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© 2007 David Lee Cummings