CASA volunteer reflects on what it means to be a mentor
Posted: 12/1/2009
I first met Joe (not his real name) almost a year ago at the institution in Louisville where he lives in a cottage with about 10 other boys. Joe and his two sisters were taken from their home by the Cabinet for Families and Children a year and a half ago because of neglect. Joe had missed almost 50 days of school last year because no one made him go. He was sent to a boys' home while his sisters went into foster care. Joe's parents try to see him weekly, but they frequently miss visits because their truck breaks down or they run out of gas money.
I met Joe on a rainy January afternoon. He was sitting on a stool having snacks with about six other boys. He eyed me warily after we were introduced but then condescended to show me his room. The "monk's cell" was sparse and smelled like teenage boy, but he was proud of it.
Our relationship at first was awkward. Joe didn't quite know what to make of me and got embarrassed if another boy would ask if I were his dad. Because there was no privacy at his place, we would drive around for a while, but he was always ready to get back.
We broke the ice -- literally and figuratively -- when I took him to downtown Louisville one early February afternoon to see a hunting and fishing show. Turned out I had my dates wrong and the show wasn't until the following week. So we spent the afternoon chasing each other down the sidewalks of Louisville. He would shake a tree to bring down icy water on my head; I threw snowballs at him. He told me I was old and slow and he was "buff and getting to be a real man." I told him he looked like a tobacco stick and I would always be able to outrun him as long as he insisted on wearing his pants halfway down his butt.
Since that afternoon we have become comfortable together. We spend our weekends together fishing, hiking, watching movies, walking along the Ohio River, or just driving around. Now instead of being in a hurry to get back "home," Joe asks me to "take the long way back."
A few months into our relationship, Joe told me I was his best friend.
CASA kid
Joe came into my life because I am a volunteer for Court Appointed Special Advocates for children (CASA). A CASA volunteer looks out for the interest of a child, or children, who have been taken away from their families because they were abused or neglected. The CASA makes reports and recommendations about the child and appears before Family Court on the child's behalf.
Shelby and Spencer counties combined have about 200 children placed out of their homes; some are with relatives, some in foster care, some, like Joe, are in institutions. In those counties, 23 volunteers serve 53 children. You should know who they are: Portia Combs, Edith McGowan, Teresa Roberson, Julie Luviskey, Nancy Guilliom, Cheryl Van Stockum, Ruth Humphrey, Darlene Murray, Susan Travis, Burch Kinsolving, Bill Tuttle, Jane Griffin, Tyler Reid, Justin DeLorenza, Tara and Jonathan Stucker, Michele Fitzpatrick, Priscilla Hazelett, Linda Handorf, Mary Johnson, Teresa Hardin, Beverly Hilger, and, of course, me. We are taking care of your children.
Most of the out-of-home children in the two-county area still do not have a CASA volunteer. To serve them all, 50 to 60 volunteers would be needed, said Beverly Hilger, CASA of Shelby/Spencer director and the county's Mother Superior. To boost the number of volunteers, the local CASA has ratcheted up its public awareness efforts and will soon offer online training to make becoming a volunteer easier. If you see the CASA banner and a volunteer sitting behind a table at some event, feel free to ask about volunteering or to offer a check to help defray expenses. It costs $100 to train each volunteer and CASA has to pay rent on an office here. You can call 647-2155 if you can help.
Many CASA organizations across Kentucky have recently announced that offices will close because of lack of funding. Kentucky is one of the few states that does not give the CASA program any funding; instead the organization relies on grants and donations from private individuals, which have dwindled as the economy has tanked.
Making a difference?
Along with the fun we have together, Joe and I spend some time on reading and writing, and I stay in touch with his teachers in middle school, where he gets special tutorial help. Sometimes it's tough to get him to focus, but our relationship is such that I feel free to grab him by the head, make him look at me and listen to me. Sometimes Joe gets in trouble at school or in his institution because he never learned to deal with frustration (Joe always rushes to give me his side of the story before I get the official version). Nevertheless, when he misbehaves he knows he's in for a "come to Jesus" session with Mr. Walt. Sometimes the sessions get so rough, Jesus has to walk out the door.
I know what I'm doing is good for me. I hope it's good for Joe. I don't know if in the scheme of things I'm doing much good, but I think so. I'm reminded of the old story about the man who saw a little boy throwing objects into the ocean as he walked along the beach. Turns out the boy was throwing starfish back into the sea after they had washed up on shore where they would dry out and die.
"There's miles of beaches and thousands of starfish washed ashore," said the man to the boy. "Why do you want to throw these back? It's not possible to make a difference."
In reply, the little boy reached down, picked up another starfish and threw it back into the water.
"I just made a difference for that one," he said.
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