“I am, somehow, less interested in the weight and convolutions of Einstein’s brain than in the near certainty that people of equal talent have lived and died in cotton fields and sweatshops.”
- Stephen Jay Gould, Evolutionary Biologist
I was touched by the responses to this piece from those who expressed concern for Louie and his sister, Lourdes. I have also been concerned that I was not clear enough about the message, which is that neglected children aren’t just something to be sad about and that it isn’t just about these children. The story of these two is so compelling that it shadowed the reality that as long as gifted children, as Louie clearly was, are not supported and educated, we suffer as a society. Louie had a gift that could have been used to solve many of our serious problems today. However, Louie and his sister were raised by a homeless mother before they entered a system that could not begin to give him the education that he deserved and needed. Louie lost his future, which should be enough to demand change, but until people fully understand that losing children like him cost us all our future, change is less likely. As you read this story, please balance the tragedy that belongs to Louie and Lourdes with the tragedy of a society where children’s futures are based on the circumstances of their parents and not the needs of society and the world.
“She’s the one over by the window masturbating under a blanket.”
I was nervous about my new job in a residential treatment center for disturbed children ages 6-12. While interviewing for the therapist job, I was in the Holly Residential Treatment Center, where I saw kids running around making noise, much like any other place with 50 children of that age. I had begun my first day a few miles away at the school. I knocked on the door to ask the teacher for my first patient.
“We are so proud of the progress she is making.” The teacher’s eyes glistened, and she was sincere. “It wasn’t long ago that she did it at the table and wouldn’t cover.”
This dramatic and fortuitous beginning to my next four years didn’t make me run. I took Lourdes off to a private room. She was hyper in a way some might find charming, but other than that not all that different from many children her age. She demanded attention and in an individual session, that was not a problem as our time together was about her.
It was her brother, Louie, who grabbed my heart. No matter where Louie was, even in the middle of the room, he could manage the trick of camouflage. But I could see the intensity, the pain, and the charm that was being fiercely protected.
The children were unlikely to have the same father, but they could have been identical twins except for the gender. Mom was Puerto Rican, and Dads were thought to be African American. Mom was homeless and did what she could to live. They had light mocha skin, dark blonde hair, loose Afros, and green eyes. They were two of the most beautiful children I have seen.
In a milieu of horrific stories, theirs stood out. Mom had managed to keep them together, living in cars and abandoned buildings and feeding when they could. It was unclear if she finally surrendered the children or if they were taken away. No one thought it would be hard to place them for adoption, even at the ages of 5 and 4. They began the tragic series of homes that led them to the Holly Center.
A family was found immediately. They wanted to adopt and weren’t interested in dealing with a baby. One look at Lourdes, and they were sold. The hitch was that they only wanted her. When told the siblings would not be separated, they reluctantly took Louie. They later admitted that they assumed that once Lourdes settled in, they could return Louie, and no one would take her from a happy home. Two families repeated that pattern before the children were placed in a foster home with older boys. It was thought that at least they would not be rejected because of Louie.
It was there that Lourdes began her compulsive masturbation, and both developed severe UTIs. When they went to the bathroom, one or more of the older boys would molest them, which caused them to wait as long as possible.
Then they came to the Holly Center when Lourdes turned 6, and they were eligible to go together.
Once past their striking looks, the two couldn’t have been more different. He seemed to will himself to disappear. He was a chameleon who worked to be anything anyone wanted him to be.
He didn’t use the toys for our play therapy sessions but did develop two games of his own. #1 Louie instructed me that I was a monster and that I was coming to hurt his mother. Louie would play the hero who rescued her from me, the beast. There was a lot of laughter, but it was clear that he was intensely serious. He wouldn’t allow me to use the game in the therapeutic manner that I was taught, but he was trying to make himself something he thought he should be but could only do there in that room.
#2 This was the “Who Am I” Game. It varied a little, but he would demand I ask who he was; I would say he had green eyes, and he would say, “No, I have brown eyes.” This child had invented two means of therapy that hit directly onto his two most significant issues.
Lourdes was not that interesting but could be a challenge. She appeared to be an entitled and pampered child, although she never was. DYFS (New Jersey Division of Youth and Family Services) insisted that they not be separated. I argued that, in this case, they should. Lourdes needed loving discipline, while Louie needed loving indulgence. She required clear boundaries, and he needed someone to help him crawl out of his prison. Some parents can do both, but not with these siblings in the same house.
I don’t remember why I brought them into my office together, but I will never forget it. I remember nothing about the session until Louie showed us his gift. When I started the job, I was given a budget to buy toys for play therapy and help the kids relax with me. I don’t know what I was thinking when I bought the doll stroller, it wasn’t really useful and it was “to be assembled”. Once I saw the number of pieces and the number of tools needed, “not included,” I set it aside. Lourdes nagged me to play with it, but that wouldn’t happen.
She did the same that day when suddenly Louis went into a frenzy, tearing open the box, parts went flying, me thinking of throwing it away, when he started putting it together with his bare hands, still in a frenzy. The only way I could have stopped him would be by sitting on him, and I wouldn’t do that. He put it together without directions or tools, put his 40-pound sister in it, and pushed her around the office.
His shoes also demonstrated Louie’s issues. We had budgets to clothe the children and did well, but Louie had a pair of sneakers held to his feet by threads. When I announced I was taking him to the store for new ones, he excitedly described to the laces what he wanted. He must have seen them in a window, and there they were. He was so excited.
The next day, he went to school in the old raggedy shoes. His attachment to those shoes was very personal. They represented what he saw himself to be. We couldn’t just throw them away. I got a shovel and gathered several children and a couple of therapists. We dug a hole, and we had a funeral for the shoes. People read the Bible and said nice things. Louie could then put them to rest and move on, happily wearing his new shoes.
But then the placements started. DYFS, with the best of intentions, started having adoption parties. Children were brought to a reception with prospective adoptive parents. If you have ever been to a college mixer or a club and worried about being a wallflower, you can begin to understand what it was like for these children hoping for a home with a Mom and Dad. The Holly staff argued that the tension was too much for these children, and DYFS insisted the children didn’t know the purpose of the parties. Of course, they all did. They weren’t stupid. We continued to argue against the parties, DYFS said there were a lot of matches, we reminded that none had led to successful adoptions, the practice continued.)
Louie’s first was a single woman who had adopted a girl near Louie’s age from Nicaragua. When Rosa was 5 the Sandinistas raided her village killing everyone that she had known and loved. The last thing she remembered before passing out was two soldiers arguing. She had only been hit in the foot. One insisted they shoot her in the head. The other argued not to waste the bullet, as she would bleed out eventually. Adoptive Mom felt terrible for Louie and knew he would fit into her family. But she could not comprehend that Louie was worse off than Rosa. I tried to explain that the girl had had five years of a loving family, extended family, and neighbors. Yes, it was torn away in unspeakable acts of violence and cruelty none of us could fathom, but she had that foundation that Louie didn’t.
We insisted that she never mentioned the word adoption during their weekend visits. She agreed but knew so much more than we did. So Louie had a new home until he didn’t. “Mom” brought him back for the last time.
I didn’t know why, and it’s probably good that I didn’t until later. However, she still wanted him to visit once a month or so. I wanted to reach down through the phone and pull her heart out, but I knew that would have been considered unprofessional. When she explained in all her wisdom that this would be her being good to the boy, I replied, “ Look, what you have done is not the worst thing that has ever happened to him, and unfortunately, probably won’t be the worst that will. However, you have done something terrible by repeatedly making promises and showing him that he isn’t good enough and people can’t be trusted. His visiting you will help you feel less guilty about what you have done, and perhaps it will make you a great person in your mind. However, what you did was bad; it was hurtful, and if I allow him to go there again, every time you send him back, it will reinforce his feelings of not being good enough for anyone. So no, you deal with your guilt in another way.”
I found out later that when Rosie wanted Louie to play dress up with her in Mom’s clothes, he went along. He would do anything to be liked. From that, she decided that she couldn’t raise a ‘homosexual’ and he lost his new home.
His teacher, Barbara, and I were excited about the next find. They were childless, she had a daughter from a previous marriage who the father stole. The couple had spent all their money and lost their house on investigators trying to locate that girl. Another situation with a sister, but this one was different enough that we ignored it. This sister was a phantom. The director pointed out that the Dad looked like an alcoholic, but we ignored that also. Besides, there was nothing we could do but hope for the best, and this time Louie moved in. And it went well. Barbara got great reports from the new teacher. It went great until it didn’t. Dad did go on a bender that didn’t stop. I couldn’t get much more information except that the last thing people knew about the then 13-year-old Louie was that he had a 3-month bus pass and was somewhere on a Greyhound. It was a place to sleep, and he must have done what he had to do to get food and a new bus pass as long as he could. It was the mid-1980s, the AIDS epidemic was starting.
Lourdes did find a permanent home. I was happy for her that this family knew that she needed to learn discipline. That was good until I learned she was sent to school wearing a sign that said, “I am a liar and I steal”. Can people understand that discipline does not have to be punitive or cruel?
I know that we can’t all worry about all the Louies or Lordes of the world. I have gone without thinking about these particular ones for years, even though I kept his picture. It’s just too much for those of us who also need to lead lives and care for the children we have. We have to compartmentalize. I also know some people really don’t care at all.
However, remember that boy who, in a frenzy, tore open a box, causing parts to fly, and put it all together without the required tools or reading instructions? Maybe everyone can care about what the world lost when he took that ability, and instead of being educated or trained to use it to solve global warming, he spent his life on a Greyhound doing what he had to do to survive.
“I am, somehow, less interested in the weight and convolutions of Einstein’s brain, than in the near certainty that people of equal talent have lived and died in cotton fields and sweat shops.”
- Stephen Jay Gould, Evolutionary Biologist