Until Cobi (Until Him 3)

During my first visit to the Shelps, I saw for myself that the school’s concerns were valid. Mr. Shelp greeted me at the door drunk then led me into his home, which was a wreck. The place wasn’t just “lived in.” It was unlivable. There were dirty dishes everywhere, along with open alcohol containers, full ashtrays, used condoms, and trash… so much trash. The floors were covered in a thick layer of garbage, including the kids’ bedroom. Worse, there was no edible food in the cupboards or fridge.

It was during the first visit when I made a decision that both kids should be removed from the home until things were cleaned up, and only then would their situation be reevaluated. Today was my second home study. I expected to come and find things better than they were the last time I was here. Unfortunately, I found that nothing had changed, including Mr. Shelp, who was wasted yet again.

Once I get myself under control and know I will be able to drive without endangering anyone, I pull out onto the street and head back to the office to fill out the necessary paperwork. Both Mr. Shelp’s children have been placed with a local family for the time being, and I know from working with their foster family in the past that they are being well taken care of.

Sadly, some foster families are in it for the money. Those are usually the ones people hear about on the news or through the grapevine, but there are families who just want to help. Families like the McKays, who have never been able to have children of their own and have thrived off being able to take in kids who need a soft place to fall when life is rocky. The McKays have now adopted ten kids, and three of them are currently in college. They’ve also had countless foster kids stay with them over the years, and most children don’t want to leave when it’s time for them to return to their biological parents. I wish more foster parents were like them.

Unfortunately, being a foster parent is not easy and is often a double-edged sword. When you sign up to foster, you know what your role is. You know you will likely have to give the child back to his or her biological parent or parents, but attachments happen and feelings get involved, making it difficult.

I have never done it, but I can’t imagine loving a child after knowing their history and their story, and then having to let them return to a situation that might not be the healthiest for them. Still, the courts believe kids should be with their biological parents and that we, as social workers, should work toward that, no matter what, which means often times kids are taken from people who could provide for them and returned to their parents who are just that—their parents.

Not all situations that come across my desk are the same. I have, over the years, had more than a few adoptive families who just need me to help them with finalizing their adoptions, or families who’ve had calls placed against them that have been inaccurate. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve had to investigate a family because someone made a false claim against them out of spite.

When I reach the office, I see Marian’s car is the only one left in the lot, meaning all my co-workers are out. Great. I park, then head inside the building and rush toward my office. I don’t even stop in the staff kitchen for the cup of coffee I desperately need, because I don’t want to run into my boss. It’s not nice, but I try to avoid Marian as much as possible. She rubs me the wrong way. She’s judgmental and arrogant and always talking down to anyone and everyone, including the families she’s supposed to be helping. How or why she became a social worker, I do not know. What I do know is that she would better serve as a warden for a prison.

When I reach my office door, I grind to a halt and stare at Marian sitting at my desk, looking at my computer.

“Is everything okay?”

At my question, her head flies up and surprise fills her eyes before she wipes the look away and attempts to frown, the Botox she’s had done making it difficult.

“Why wouldn’t everything be okay?”

“I don’t know.” I move into my office, and when I start toward my desk, I see she has some forms pulled up on my computer. I try to get a look at what she’s doing, but she quickly exits whatever it is she’s looking at.

Okay, what the hell is going on?

“I needed to use your computer. Mine isn’t working.”

I study her for a long time, trying to gauge if she’s lying or not, but I can’t read her. Really, I have no reason to think she would lie about her computer not working, since our systems haven’t been updated in years and my computer just went out a week ago.