American Action Fund for Blind Children and Adults
Future Reflections Summer 2021 PERSPECTIVES
by Anonymous
Reprinted from Braille Monitor, Volume 64, Number 4, April 2021
From the Editor: Most of the people who work for child protective services (CPS) across the country are deeply committed to helping vulnerable children. They face heartbreaking situations on a daily basis, and they try hard to make informed decisions. By law CPS workers must investigate every complaint they receive about possible abuse or neglect, no matter how implausible the complaint may be. Unfortunately, they may be ill informed when it comes to disability, carrying the same biases that are common in the general public.
All too often blind parents have been subjected to visits from CPS workers because a neighbor, a relative, or a casual observer questions their ability to care for their children. It is not widely recognized, however, that the parents of children with disabilities, including sighted parents, may also be subject to investigation because the ramifications of the child's disability are poorly understood by outsiders. In this article, the parent of a blind child who has autism shares the pain, terror, and humiliation of an unexpected visit from a CPS worker. Due to the nature of this experience, the parent has asked to remain anonymous. Although she does not share her name for publication, the Braille Monitor and Future Reflections believe that her story is an important one that should be shared with our readers.
"My name is Casey. I'm from child protective services. I'm at your house in response to a concern about your kiddo."
The adrenaline rush is instantaneous. Your mind starts racing. What is this about? Who called them? Why?
You won't get the answers to the last two questions. You will get some information about the nature of the complaint, but the visit or call will be a surprise. They want to catch you off guard so they can see what's really going on.
There is a red-haired lady at the house in her car on the phone. Is she taking a call about someone else? Is she doing a background check on you? Why is she here? Do you have to let her into your house? What if you don't? What will they do next? Is she here to take your child? Why?
She finally gets out of the car. She explains that they got a call expressing concern for your child's welfare. There is concern for his hygiene, his hair, and his teeth. He is blind, and the house is so cluttered he can't safely get around.
Now it dawns on you. The new babysitter called in this morning by text. She said she had a personal issue and couldn't make it today. She called. You say so. The CPS caseworker is smooth about this. "I can't say, but families can usually figure it out."
She had only been with you for two weeks, and yesterday didn't go well. She decided to help your son brush his teeth. You don't know how much toothpaste she used, but after he gagged, the toothpaste stain on his shirt was the size of an adult's hand. Then he threw up his breakfast.
He had cheese and toast. She directed him to the bathroom sink, then tried to wash it down the drain. That didn't go well either. The drain clogged, and one of you had to go out and get some drain cleaner.
The day got better, but not by much. Virtual first grade is not for the faint of heart. Going to school on Microsoft Teams when you are legally blind is . . . pointless. Maybe high school or college students can navigate the platform. Maybe the school can provide the materials in large print or Braille. But they don't. You've been pushing for a more appropriate educational approach to pandemic schooling for your legally blind child since September.
Actually, now you wonder. Was it the school? You are on the verge of filing state or federal civil rights complaints for violations of the special education law guaranteeing all children a free and appropriate public education. You've been trying desperately to avoid having to file a formal legal complaint, because you know that such complaints often take years to resolve. If the complaint is that your first grader is not learning to read, justice delayed is justice denied.
The red-haired lady is in your living room. She's got lots of questions. Invasive questions. Who lives here? Where do you eat dinner? Where do you sleep?
You let your seven-year-old give the house tour. He can get around the house fine. He shows her.
There are books and papers around. You've been doing virtual school and work from home for nearly a year. But there is a difference between cluttered and unhygienic, between stacks of schoolbooks and papers and a fire hazard.
You explain about the hair and teeth, though you feel exposed—not naked, more like skinned alive. Every nerve in your body feels like it might explode. She wouldn't take him over this, would she? Why did she call?
He has autism, you explain. Yes, he hates having baths, having his hair brushed, his teeth brushed, his fingernails clipped. All of it. These are textbook symptoms. You have worked with his doctors and his therapists for years on this. You do the best you can.
He gets therapy every day: applied behavioral analysis (ABA), occupational therapy (OT), speech therapy, physical therapy, music therapy, and social skills classes. Surely you explained all this to the new babysitter. Even if you didn't, some of the therapies are on Zoom. She was there. Did she not wonder why he was doing them?
Why did she do this? You have a theory about this. She was frustrated. She had been a nanny for years, and your kid didn't respond to her usual bag of tricks. You had warned her about that. He has autism. You offered to have his therapists give her some strategies, but she declined.
Most days he will cooperate, but virtual school is tough when you are seven—two to six hours a day of Zoom or Teams meetings—actually it seems inhumane. Many workplaces have rules against this for adults.
The cleaning lady has another theory: The job was more work than she expected. "I think she just thought her job was to make sure the house doesn't burn down." She wanted to quit but wanted the referral agency to give her another assignment, something easier. She had been bringing her homework with her and hadn't had a chance to get anything done.
Once the CPS lady is in your house, she wants to see everything: the kitchen, the stove, the fridge, the bathroom. She is monitoring your housekeeping. She wants to know when bedtime is. How do you get him to sleep? What does the morning routine look like? Is he attending virtual school regularly?
Your skin is crawling. But you know that the fastest way to get her out of your life is to answer her questions. You don't want your kid to see that you're scared or angry or confused. Actually, you hope he can't figure out why she's here at all. Unless this goes horribly wrong, you are never going to tell him that she was here to decide whether to take him away.