E's story.

I have carried this story with me for a long time, so my facts are a little fuzzy. I am sorry for that. The big stuff is clear, however, and I hope you will value it as I do. I worked in a psychological model group home for girls that were removed from their "home of origin" for a variety of reasons. Our objective was to prepare these girls for the "real world" and somehow we felt qualified to do that.

We had all kinds of case files in that house. All abused, some orphaned, some on probation for a variety of crimes; some had been prostitutes, some had been thieves, some chronic runaways, some gang members --- all so very young. 13-17 years old. (At 18 you're on your own...) Each girl had a case file, and we were told by the psychologists and social workers what we had to work on with that child. For E, the issue was anger. We were to help her get in touch with her anger.

E came to the United States when she was a little over 8, maybe 9. She became a part of the system at 11 or 12. I met her when she was about 15. She had a wonderful smile and a fresh face and a sense of security about her that was a little different that the others in the home. She seemed a little more mature. Unlike most of the girls, her mother would come to visit her on a pretty regular basis--once a week, if I remember correctly. Her mom was a member of a church that required them to wear uniforms, like the Salvation Army. She would come in a Khaki Green suit with a matching hat. They would speak quietly in Spanish, lovingly. She was not allowed to be alone with her daughter. She had to schedule the visits. And so she did.

E helped me with my Spanish and I helped her with English. She introduced me to jicama with salt and lemon, I introduced her to bagels and cream cheese. I helped her with her homework, helped her find an after school job, even encouraged her to go to college. I don't know if she went. I really don't know what became of her --- you don't keep in touch with the case files.

E was many things, but she was never angry. Ever. For the social workers and psychologists, this was a travesty. It was the one thing she needed to do before she turned 18. She had plenty of opportunity to get angry in a group home. After all, her roommate was an avowed Skinhead whose boyfriend had made it his personal mission to kill as many Hispanic people as he could before he died. He was successful once. The roommate, W, held on to the hate. It was all she felt she had left. She made a constant effort to get a rise out of E. E never responded. E only got angry once that I know of, and that was at me.