V 1 N. 1 Laura and the Underdogs

 

Laura and the Underdogs

 

             I needed a break and shut off the internet, and tried writing a bit of semi-fictionalized stuff about my work as a mediator with Children’s Services.  I also wanted to check out Laura ----- to see how things were at her home.  Laura was a twenty-one years old single parent raising three of her own children, all with different fathers.  She lived in a public housing project on the south side of the city, surrounded by slums.  It was easy to differentiate the public housing as there was some occasional maintenance on the buildings and an effort by the Metro Housing Authority to keep drug dealers from living in the small apartments.  The apartment complex was built to 1960’s social engineering standards with small rooms, in two story condo style dwellings.  A social services office was on site, but the human vultures hovered on the sidelines waiting to victimize anyone who looked the least bit vulnerable when they walked off the property.  It was slightly better than the township housing I had seen in South Africa and Zimbabwe when I had worked there twenty years in the past. 

 

            Laura was raising three of her siblings in addition to her own three children.  When she was fourteen and living with her mother and eight brothers and sisters, Laura’s mother, in a bout of depression, had locked the doors and set their house on fire.  Laura managed to get all the children out and save her mother as well.  Her reward was seeing her brothers and sisters placed in a multitude of foster homes and her mother sent to prison for 15 years.  Her need for a caring relationship led to her bad choices in older male companions.  Nevertheless, Laura worked two jobs and went to school in the evenings to train to be a nurse.  She had told me that she wanted to make something of herself, to break the cycle of dependence on others.  As a seventeen-year-old she had traveled three states away to fight for custody of one of her younger sisters, and she had won her case.  The sister was now one of the three siblings living with her.  Laura was one of the many single moms that I knew from my work in mediation and Family Stability cases.  Her story was the one of the few that inspired me.  I had gotten several outside organizations to provide some support to Laura and her family.  At twenty-one, just about the only thing this woman had not suffered from  was sexual abuse, and I wasn’t sure of that.

 

            She was in her kitchen sitting at the table with her newborn in her arms.  A pot of stew was on the stove and Laura was helping her sister with high school homework.  Laura had finished a six hours shift at a fast food restaurant and would go to a second job after supper.  Three nights a week she attended classes at the community college.  She was still a year away from graduation.  Her sister helped with babysitting when Laura was away.  It sometimes caused truancy problems for the sister but it was the only way for the family to survive.  I had talked to the prosecutor, to drop the case against Laura for contributing to the truancy.    He and I had first learned of the case when Laura came to a Family Stability meeting at the County Children’s Services office when another sibling had been having problems with behavior at school.  The family had been under supervision for a long time, but it was my first meeting with Laura.  I had since been bringing some clothes to her for the younger ones and had a group of university students I was coaching in track and cross country donate some of their time and belongings toward helping Laura’s family.

            “Man, what’s happening?”  Laura was always glad to see me.  She said I reminded her of her grandfather.

           “Not much.  How’s class and everything else?”

            “I’m struggling a bit with my physiology class.  All these hormone and feedback loops in the body.  If I’d only known a bit more before my family started growing.”         

            Because she had brought up the subject, I felt comfortable asking her if she planned to have her tubes tied. 

            “I really should.  But when do I have time?”

            “You’re gonna have try really hard, Laura.  How many more can you take care of before they’ll need to be taking care of you?” 

            “Goddammit,  I try not to be a burden on anybody.  Sometimes though I just want some time to myself or a little enjoyment in life.  Fucking is the only thing I don’t have to pay money to do.

“Well, if you put it that way, I guess it makes some sense.”  I said sarcastically.  Then I realized she had probably heard that trite response regularly.

            “It’s just that I see you doing so well, but just adding more burdens on yourself.”

            “I know, I know.  And I’ve got an appointment with my OBGYN next month.  She’s strongly recommending it too.”

            “I know , it’s your choice but it just doesn’t look like that hard a decision from where I’m sitting.” 

            “The evangelicals were down here last week with the same response, just with a different message.  They harassed me when I went to the clinic.  They didn’t even ask me if I was keeping the baby.  They just assumed that because birth control and abortions were available there that I was going in for that reason.  Hell, I was just getting a pre-natal check up.  I had this kid in spite of those fucks.”

Sometimes Laura’s vulgarity was shocking even to me.  But I still saw her as an angel in a sea of the damned.  I left her some money before taking off.  She didn’t need anything in the short term.  She thanked me and I left without extending a hand or a hug.  

            Two 11 year old gang banger wannabees were leaning on the car when I got to the parking area.

“Hey, motherfucker.  What you doin’ here?  You fuckin’ that white girl? You want some crack?  I be getting’ you what all you all want, Man.” 

            “Not today Lavonne.  I’ll see you next time. You coming down to Diversion next week?  Let me know if anyone is comin’ down on her, OK?”

            “You da fuckin’ man, Bro.” 

            When I stayed out of the ‘hood’ for a while it was so nice not to be addressed in the pejorative case.  At least these kids were honest about their feelings.