When I first got this job, I didn't really consider just how much my job required me to step into some of the most broken, messy lives possible. Imagine being 10 years old with an alcoholic mother and a violent father. Now imagine it's your birthday party and your mom is drunk and laying in her own vomit on the bathroom floor and your dad is yelling at her through the bathroom door. The door bell rings - you're expecting the pizza man, but instead 2 police walk in. Even at 10 years old you experience the mixed emotions of extreme fear and extreme relief, that someone is finally going to answer your prayers - and get your mom the help she needs. Now imagine that drive in the back of a cop car with your little brother. Where are you going? Will you ever be back? Is your future in your hands in any way?
Tonight, while driving - this girl, who've I've been driving for the last 3 months opened up to me about how she really feels and about her memory of 'that day'. I can't go into detail about the event - but let's just say, as she shared her story in the way only a shy, broken 13 year old could - it felt like a thousand hearts were breaking in the seat beside me. She wasn't sad or angry - she spoke matter-of-factly. It's like she understood that no matter what she did - she had no control over what happens next in her life. Part way through her story, she saw an airplane but confused it for a star. She said, "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight - I don't care if you're an airplane - you're the only star I can see."
I told her that when there aren't any stars she should pray - but smiled and said it doesn't work. I smiled and we drove in silence. After 2 or 3 songs passed on the radio, she said, "I am gonna make a phone call to God tonight". I replied, "me too."
She then put on this CD and played her favorite song and told me about the music video on youtube to it. Here it is:
This city is full of hurting families - we can't even begin to imagine the depth of hopelessness. Do the kids in her school know she's a foster kid? No. No one knows who she is. Sure, they know she's native - and for most people in Calgary, apparently that's all you need to know about someone to figure out that they're not worth knowing. I can't help but wonder if her ethnicity has brought her family to this place.
I feel a jumble of emotions. Do we pray? Do we go and freaking introduce ourselves to our neighbors? Do we dive into the food pantry to avoid facing the hopelessness? Do we cry? Do we become foster parents? I don't know. But I can't help but suspect that if my eyes were opened to see reality - things like money and hairstyles and paint colors - starbucks and blogs wouldn't mean very much.
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