Knock Knock

 

 

by Laurel Senick

 

 

Knock, knock.

Who’s there?

The Social Worker.

That ain’t no joke.

That’s right, it’s not a joke. For many people the Department of Social Services is the enemy. Is their sole purpose to take away their children? My experience is different. By God’s grace, I am a person the social worker turns to after the child is in custody.  I am a foster parent.

Being a foster parent obligates you to be in constant communication with social workers through doctors' appointments, parental visits, visits to your home by your social worker and the child’s social worker. Yes, each foster parent has one too. They may pop over without notice late in the evening because of an inquiry. Once after the children were asleep and my husband and I were relaxing with a glass of wine… Knock,knock.

An unfamiliar face informs me that she is the on-call worker and that a complaint was made about the dad and she needs to investigate immediately. I inform her that the children have been in our custody for a week.

“Surely they could do this tomorrow,” I plead. “How can it be an emergency since they are no longer in the parent’s custody? They’re fast asleep!"

“I have to speak with them tonight,” she said.

 “You can follow me into their room to wake them up.”

 

 

I was determined she was going to feel guilty and it worked. She saw those sweet angels sleeping so comfortably and she cracked. She backed out of the room, saying she would have the day worker see them at pre-school. Relieved, but no less irritated, I ushered her out the door. Out of our house, but in every bit of our business.

 With this sibling group alone, I have dealt with seven social workers. It feels like a scary movie where they are robots with drawn-on caring faces.

Recently I planned a sleepover with the girls’ siblings because they only get to see them for an hour once a week. I planned to take them all to get their hair done and then to a movie. Sadly, it was as complicated as the signing of the Constitution.  I would have to purchase two beds and paperwork would need to be signed and approved in the state capital before they could stay. I was so flabbergasted I called my social worker’s boss to confirm this crazy story. As it turned out, the other foster parent didn’t want them to spend the night because of scheduling. Should I have been surprised that they lied?

Simply put, dealing with the Department of Social Services in any capacity is the pits. It causes extreme irritation of the poison-ivy kind. If a slew of profane words escape your saved and baptized mouth you might have had a DSS encounter. I enjoy being a foster parent but, at times, I want tell them to take this job and shove it.

 Except that it’s not a job, it’s a calling.

 I’m sure God knew about these annoying, confusing, overlapping and sometimes lying social workers when He called Don and me to open our home to children in need and to share our love. When the irony of the term social service lodges in my brain and causes cross-eyedification, I try to remember that God loves the little children and the !@%$@! workers from the Department of Social Services. And I’m supposed to, too.

God’s grace has made it possible for us to bless children and He is helping me keep my sense of humor.

How many social workers does it take to screw in a light bulb?

One to notice the light is out, one to unscrew the bad bulb, another to locate and read the directions, one to screw in the new bulb, one on call monitoring the new bulb to confirm it is working properly, another to…well you get the picture!

 

Laurel Senick has journaled her experiences and prayers to God for years. As a member of Word Weavers Wilmington, Laurel is shaping her writing into works that will bless and encourage others. She is married to her sweet husband Don who supports all her creative endeavors. They attend Live Oak Church.