Back in the eighties....Yes I just wrote that, I worked at a residential psychiatric treatment unit for adolescents called Martin Center in the liberal refugee enclave called Bellingham, Washington. The residents were adolescents aged roughly 12-18 years with a variety of mental maladies ranging from stuff they were just plain born with to issues their parents somehow felt obligated to pass onto them.
They were damaged beautiful children with souls full of hope and hearts full of pain.
The staff were generally the idealistic young graduates from the nearby university.
I have many stories from those days, stories of hope, stories of bad therapy ideas gone way out of control, stories of staff affairs, stories of useless "parents", stories of how I was the only supervisor to hold pillow fights with residents, and since the place was part of the corporate Catholic Community Service social services empire, some interesting observations on Catholic psychology. But today I am writing about a playground.
Reagan's devastating and lasting blow to social services had not yet imploded the cultural safety nets so the children had many wonderful programs. They had an art therapist, a PE recreation program, and a lot of "outings." Because the center was located in the rainy Pacific Northwest they had a covered play center adjacent to the residence hall. This area served multiple functions. We played basketball, pickle ball, tennis and just about anything that can be played on concrete. When I was in charge of my shifts, we spent a lot of time there.
But as my own sentence grew in length there, I could not help but feel something was missing. I could not wrap my mind around what was missing until I just woke up one day and discovered what was missing. The children had no playground. As much as we tried to "normalize" institutional life for those children by providing every conceivable aspect of a regular childhood we had somehow forgotten to build them a playground. I never knew enough to not ask questions so I just asked one day at a staff meeting:
"Is there a reason we don't have a regular playground here?"
It seemed out of context at that gathering of minds but my question stopped the agenda in its tracks. Generally we discussed the medication levels of the residents, their behaviors and staff issues. And one nurse always wanted to know where all the towels went to. Apparently nobody had ever thought about that before. I did not think I was asking much. I just wanted the children to have slides, swings, and monkey bars like every other kid in America grew up with: a place to unleash the imagination and body at the same time.
So I wrote my first proposal to the powers that be at Catholic Community Services. I quoted some research, gathered some dollar figures and justified my reasoning as best I could in the best grant language I knew at the tender age of 26.I turned my proposal into the director who passed into a mystery person named Father Tom whom I never met but heard a lot about.Time passed and them some more time passed.Periodically I would inquire about my proposal and I was always given some stock bureaucratic response.
"As soon as we're through this transition."
"The directors have reviewed your proposal and will discuss it at their next meeting."
My sentence at Martin Center finally ended and I am sorry to say I never saw a playground built during my time there. But several years later I drove by the center and stopped my car to look at a playground that had been recently built. There were swings, towers, a slide and just about anything that a kid would want. I like to think that the process I had started finally resulted in getting something beyond medication and therapy for those kids. Maybe personnel had changed and a new person had found my proposal buried under a stack of papers or in a file cabinet somewhere. I will never know and I don't really need to know.
These days I am starting a new change process in the schools. I just want to liberate kids and staff from the excesses of the industrial and corporate food systems. I want them to play and experience a different kind of freedom: a body that works and moves as it was designed. Taking that lesson from over 20 years ago I'm ok with the goals of mini revolution being realized long after I leave. Namaste. Jeff
They were damaged beautiful children with souls full of hope and hearts full of pain.
The staff were generally the idealistic young graduates from the nearby university.
I have many stories from those days, stories of hope, stories of bad therapy ideas gone way out of control, stories of staff affairs, stories of useless "parents", stories of how I was the only supervisor to hold pillow fights with residents, and since the place was part of the corporate Catholic Community Service social services empire, some interesting observations on Catholic psychology. But today I am writing about a playground.
Reagan's devastating and lasting blow to social services had not yet imploded the cultural safety nets so the children had many wonderful programs. They had an art therapist, a PE recreation program, and a lot of "outings." Because the center was located in the rainy Pacific Northwest they had a covered play center adjacent to the residence hall. This area served multiple functions. We played basketball, pickle ball, tennis and just about anything that can be played on concrete. When I was in charge of my shifts, we spent a lot of time there.
But as my own sentence grew in length there, I could not help but feel something was missing. I could not wrap my mind around what was missing until I just woke up one day and discovered what was missing. The children had no playground. As much as we tried to "normalize" institutional life for those children by providing every conceivable aspect of a regular childhood we had somehow forgotten to build them a playground. I never knew enough to not ask questions so I just asked one day at a staff meeting:
"Is there a reason we don't have a regular playground here?"
It seemed out of context at that gathering of minds but my question stopped the agenda in its tracks. Generally we discussed the medication levels of the residents, their behaviors and staff issues. And one nurse always wanted to know where all the towels went to. Apparently nobody had ever thought about that before. I did not think I was asking much. I just wanted the children to have slides, swings, and monkey bars like every other kid in America grew up with: a place to unleash the imagination and body at the same time.
So I wrote my first proposal to the powers that be at Catholic Community Services. I quoted some research, gathered some dollar figures and justified my reasoning as best I could in the best grant language I knew at the tender age of 26.I turned my proposal into the director who passed into a mystery person named Father Tom whom I never met but heard a lot about.Time passed and them some more time passed.Periodically I would inquire about my proposal and I was always given some stock bureaucratic response.
"As soon as we're through this transition."
"The directors have reviewed your proposal and will discuss it at their next meeting."
My sentence at Martin Center finally ended and I am sorry to say I never saw a playground built during my time there. But several years later I drove by the center and stopped my car to look at a playground that had been recently built. There were swings, towers, a slide and just about anything that a kid would want. I like to think that the process I had started finally resulted in getting something beyond medication and therapy for those kids. Maybe personnel had changed and a new person had found my proposal buried under a stack of papers or in a file cabinet somewhere. I will never know and I don't really need to know.
These days I am starting a new change process in the schools. I just want to liberate kids and staff from the excesses of the industrial and corporate food systems. I want them to play and experience a different kind of freedom: a body that works and moves as it was designed. Taking that lesson from over 20 years ago I'm ok with the goals of mini revolution being realized long after I leave. Namaste. Jeff
No comments:
Post a Comment