One I'd Rather Forget....

Joyce

When she was only nineteen Joyce found that she was pregnant. Our parents were recently incarcerated and I cannot help but think that the pregnancy was a result of her seeking the attention she was no longer receiving at home. The baby was unexpected for all of us. What did we know about raising a baby? But the baby came, and although my parents posted bond for a brief time period, it wasn't long before they were tried and sentenced and sent back to their permanent home and we were once again alone with a new baby boy. It became a group effort amongst all of us to try to figure out what this crying thing needed, but once we did, taking care of Steven was therapeutic. He cries, you feed him. Simple. Unlike anything else in my life I felt like I could fix it.

As weeks turned into months, and months into years, we all began to deal with the reality that our parents were never going to come home. I still remember when I realized, at the age of fifteen, that I was no longer an adolescent, and how from that point on I would have to carry the burdens of an adult. That idea was not untrue. Our situation was was already difficult to say the least, but soon Joyce along with my other brother Devon began to experiment with drugs and alcohol. A vice that was unknown to any of us at the time. They were so preoccupied with partying and hanging out with their new "friends" that they both lost their jobs. This left Jack bringing in the only income from his part-time minimum wage job.

The day I turned sixteen I found an evening job at a Dairy Queen. When I realized this still didn't pay all of the bills, I took on a morning shift at a Pizza Hut. But even that wasn't enough for five people and a baby. The rent payments fell behind by six months, and our lights were turned off several times for late payment; once for a week in the middle of winter. I still remember how we had to sleep in our coats beneath every sheet or blanket we owned, huddled together on the floor trying to make sure that we kept Steven warm. Those times spent in the darkness were the hardest. I wanted so badly to make things work, but it didn't matter how hard I tried, it still wasn't good enough.

As time moved on, Joyce cared less about the son she had at home and more about the "friend of the month" she could hang out with. Sometimes she would be gone for days, one of those times being Steven's first birthday. I realize that she was dealing with her pain by ignoring everything else, but it was hard then and even now to empathize.

A couple of years ago, I visited my old hometown. I wanted to see Steven, who was at the time nine years old. He was at the "babysitter's" house, where he practically lives now. When I arrived at the house (which was really an old tin can on wheels), I was mortified with what I found. First of all, the stench from the camper as I walked in was almost unbearable. Steven looked as if he hadn't bathed in days which was likely the case because I later found out that the camper was without plumbing. I also discovered that the "babysitter" (I will call her the toothless old witch) relieves herself into an old coffee tin can and that it is Steven's job to discard of it's contents. The couch which served as Steven's bed was covered in brown crusty stains, from where the dog routinely vomits onto it while Steven sleeps. This visit resulted in a string of events in which I obtained custody of Steven for a period of nine months. Joyce was supposed to be getting her life back together during that timeframe, but even then I knew it wouldn't last.

Since then, I have tried to look out for Steven but it has been a useless battle. I have reported the drug binges, the pill runs, the child neglect.... I have talked to social workers and police officers, but nobody cares. Steven is on his own. What breaks my heart is that I fear I will watch him follow in his mother's footsteps. I hope not, but the odds are stacked against him. I know a little something about those odds. They beat you down over the head and remind you daily that no matter what you do, or how hard you work you will never be good enough. The odds tell you that you will always be sitting in the darkness in the middle of January huddled on the floor trying to stay warm.