Court Ordered Custody

Chapter 7

Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were the only Black foster care couple in my caseload. The two were southern friendly and never without a warm smile and warm greeting. The two would often stop by the office to ask a question or provide me with an update on my two children in their care or just to see how I was doing. Every once in a while they'd drop off a slice of freshly baked cake or pie, knowing that there were days I didn't get out to lunch until near closing time. Some days I missed out on lunch altogether.  

The couple drove one of those oversize vans that were popular in the late eighties and nineties and long before the advent of SUVs. The two stopped by today to drop off some cookies Mrs. Taylor had baked and to update me on Jessika and her brother Andy. She told me that for the second time in three weeks she's had to treat their hair for lice. She was convinced that they were getting these critters from school and had even complained to the school about it. She said she was going to go to the health department next if the school did not take action. She said she has only had this kind of problem with blonde haired Caucasian children, never Black children or brunettes. The rumor mill had it that because Blacks used petroleum products in their hair it was an environment lice could not tolerate, thus lice were never a large problem in the Black community. This was hearsay that I could never validate. Obviously, Caucasian children who were brunettes did not use petroleum products in their hair like Black children and some of them suffered from pesky lice. So there had to be another explanation, I'd tell others. 

Jessika and Andy had been placed in foster care after their mother's boyfriend suffered complications after doing drugs at the home. He was found unconscious in the bathroom by their mother who made a desperate attempt to revive him. But he remained unresponsive and was probably already deceased. Once weekly I'd pick the children up and they'd meet with their mother at the library in Palm Coast for an hour or so. Jessika was twelve and Andy nine. Jessika was a pretty girl and a sweet and pleasant one. The only problem I had with her was that whenever I transported her she liked to constantly play with my car's door locks. Andy was the child who seemed to have disturbing emotional issues. He could be calm and collective one moment and irritable and explosive the next. We were still awaiting tests to determine if he was bi-polar or had some other issues going on in his life.  

I thanked the Taylors for the tasty cookies and said that I'd share them with my co-worker when she returned to the office then they drove off.  

Taking a seat at my desk, I answered a call coming through. It was Maria telling me that she had been moved to a new assisted living center named St Augustine Health & Rehabilitation Center the evening before. I jotted down the address and told her that I'd be heading up that way later with Doniella. After looking up the address on MapQuest, I took the opportunity to fax a copy of Doniella's new court order, showing her now living with the Swartz's, to the Social Security Office in Daytona. Hopefully, that would get her survivor funds flowing again. I spent the next couple of hours working on case plans and judicial reviews before heading over to the Guardian ad Litem office to drop off paperwork they wanted for one of my cases. When I arrived there I did not see their familiar cars in the parking lot. That's when I remembered that they were closed on Fridays. No big deal, I'd just drop by on Monday. 

There was a Subway restaurant a block away, so I headed over there for lunch. It wasn't what I'd expect in a hoagie, but then again, I was from Philly and we were well known for our hoagies. Down here in the south they were called subs and rightly so. In my eyes, and good taste, subs could never be considered hoagies. And that went for cheesesteak as well. There just wasn't any comparison. But right now I was hungry and it was nearing two o'clock. A sub, a bag of chips, and a drink would have to do. Just wished they'd played music in their restaurants.