The names of Denise, her boyfriend, and her children have been changed.
Denise had believed for some time that she was a success, but she’d been waiting for the day when the system, which so often seemed impenetrable and hostile, would acknowledge it. Denise’s life now bore no resemblance to the one she’d led back in 1990, when she worked as a prostitute and needed crack to get through the day. Back then, she didn’t bathe, feed, or otherwise properly care for her children, and she sometimes left them with strangers while she turned tricks. The Department of Children and Family Services had stepped in, placing three-year-old William and two-year-old Brittany in foster care. Now Denise believed it was time for the system to step out.
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The continued involvement of the system seemed unnecessary to Denise, like an overprotective parent holding a teenager’s hand while crossing the street. With the state dictating and monitoring her every move, she was nothing more than a figurehead–a parent who wasn’t really in charge of her family. “I want the system out of my children’s lives,” she said recently. “We need to be able to go on, instead of feeling that someone is holding the key to our future.”
Stern smiled back, then reminded her that it was up to the judge.
William and Brittany had spent most of their years in foster care in one home. They loved their foster mother dearly, and Denise’s appearance had confused them. Nearly five years had passed by the time they started court-ordered visits with her. At times they clung to each other in her presence; other times they fought for her lap. During the early visits, Brittany masked her wariness of Denise, but William and caseworkers mentioned it. William was more expressive. One minute he’d tell Denise he hated her and never wanted to live with her, the next he’d write her notes saying he loved her and couldn’t wait for the next visit. He was disruptive in school and got into fights. He started stealing. His grades dropped. He now admits, “I used to be mad all the time.” Denise asked her caseworker if she could meet with her children’s teachers. She wanted to be more involved in their lives. But since she was not the legal guardian, the caseworker denied the request.
And it was a feeling that she got to know well–though the news wasn’t always good. In the first month of school Denise was called in for three parent-teacher conferences–one about William, who’d been fighting, and two about Brittany, who talked too much in class and in the hallways. Brittany’s teacher told Denise that Brittany was a “chatty little girl.” “I guess she takes after me,” Denise says.
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