Meeting with the Caseworker. Finally.

He was a burly guy with a dark hair, a big smile, and an arm covered with tattoos. He shook my hand, and I invited him into the house.

"Show me around,” he said.

“Um, what do you need to see?” I asked. “Here’s the piano, here’s the fireplace, here’s the kitchen table.” The downstairs of our house is one big room, so I could point to everything without moving. The only separate space is my office, just off the front door. I stepped in and waved my arm around. “Here’s my office.”

He peered in and said with surprise, “Wow, that’s a lot of books.”

Then we sat at the kitchen table and talked. I showed him the manila folder of information I’ve accumulated on Little Biker Boy over the last four years. I’ve got names and phone numbers for a bunch of other caseworkers, mostly from the Child Protective Division.

“You’ve got more information than I started with,” he said. “When Little Biker Boy was assigned to me, I was given a blank file.”

This was my first time meeting Dark-haired Caseworker. Little Biker Boy’s foster mother and I started the paperwork months ago to get me approved as someone who could take Little Biker Boy on outings and bring him to my house. But it’s a slow process that included background checks on my husband and me, and a mandatory visit from the department of social services to inspect my house, which gave me this chance to talk directly to the caseworker.

Dark-haired Caseworker confirmed that Little Biker Boy’s mother had signed away any rights: she will no longer have any contact with him at all. But it’s also unlikely that Little Biker Boy will stay indefinitely with his foster mother: the department likes to get these kids into adoptive homes whenever possible.

We talked for about an hour. So much is still uncertain, but at least Little Biker Boy is getting the help he needs – a team of people looking out for him. 

"I wish he could have had this sooner,” I said to Dark-haired Caseworker. “I mean, I saw the red flags four years ago. So did some of the social workers at Child Protective. It sucks that nothing can be done until after the child has been badly abused.”

He nodded. “I know. That’s the way the system works now. It’s frustrating.”

After he left, I added his name and phone number to the manila folder. Then I called Little Biker Boy to tell him the news: he’ll be able to visit us now.