I Speak For This Child: True Stories of a Child Advocate (9 page)

“I should talk to her,” I said.

Nancy pulled me back. “Not until the judge rules.”

I smiled in Lydia’s direction, but Alice Shaw blocked me, then took Lydia’s hand, bowed her head, and said a prayer.

The bailiff called the Ryan case. We trooped into the judge’s chambers. I was relieved that Judge Donovan preferred to hear juvenile cases privately. He also felt that black robes frightened children, so he wore cowboy shirts with pearl buttons and string ties with fanciful ornaments on the slide.

“Anyone else?” the bailiff called before closing the door. A short man, with a square frame, appeared from the waiting room. “Who are you?” the bailiff questioned.

“Stuart Ryan, the kid’s father.”

I looked around for Catherine Ryan, but she had not accompanied him. The guardian’s chair was to the right of the judge, who sat at the end of a long conference table with the court reporter on his left. I deferred to Nancy, expecting—even hoping—she would take my place as spokesperson, but she gestured for me to be seated. Thorn pulled out the chair to my right, facing Calvin Reynolds, the HRS attorney, who had his paralegal at his side. Since there were not enough seats at the table, Nancy and Lillian stood behind me. Mona Archibald sat on the HRS side of the table, along with her supervisor. Stuart Ryan took the head of the table directly across from the judge. The Shaws, with Lydia between them, were given the bench behind Lydia’s father.

Calvin Reynolds introduced the case while the judge thumbed through his papers.

“Who speaks for this child?” the judge asked. Calvin pointed to me. “Where’s the guardian’s report?”

Calvin indicated which document it was. Since this was an emergency hearing, the judge probably had not read my report ahead of time. Instead of skimming the introductory paragraphs, then skipping to the recommendations as he usually did, Judge Donovan leaned back and began reading the pages word for word. Those who had official copies read along.

My report first reviewed every court action and placement in chronological order, then was followed by a list of the people I had interviewed and the records I had in my possession. Next, I gave a factual account of the information I had received, the points of view of the people I had interviewed. In giving my impressions of the Tabernacle Home, I reported my observations in a flat, unemotional style. As to the educational program, I stated:

A girl is not given any schooling until she has committed herself to changing her life and turning herself around. This takes a year. Only counseling and various therapies, combined with spiritual work, are undertaken during that time. Once a girl has been in residence for a year, she will be tested by the Accelerated Christian Education curriculum to determine where she is in school. Then she will begin her studies with individual tutoring. Since no one has been in the program longer than nine months, no one has received any education yet.

 

Regarding the strict rules, I quoted from the Tabernacle Home manual and summarized Mrs. Shaw’s explanations.

The girls have very limited contact with the outside world, see only their parents under supervised conditions, have no money, and are restricted in their fraternizing with members of the church communities they visit for worship. This isolation is considered important in having them give up their old, destructive ways and building a new positive future for themselves.

 

I factually described when and how I had been permitted to be in contact with Lydia, quoted from my discussions with her psychiatrist, and included copies of the clinical notes Valley View had sent in response to the court order. These medical files were not circulated to the others but were available for the judge to read and would become part of Lydia’s sealed file.

Determined to set the record straight about the microwave oven, I retold that incident in some detail, quoting from police files, and went on to say:

Lydia Ryan was sent to the juvenile detention center and release 45 days later. The Ryans were very upset with Lydia. They did not visit her in JDC because they felt she allowed this situation to happen, even if she did not fully participate. “She crossed the line,” reported Catherine Ryan. At the time of her release her parents refused to allow her back in the home and she was placed in shelter care. Lydia ran away from there, but then found the Tabernacle Home through a friend and her parents signed her in. Lydia Ryan was deemed a Child in Need of Services (CINS), was placed under Protective Services of HRS, and adjudicated to remain at the Tabernacle Home and complete their one-year program. She was also ordered not to run from tat placement.

 

I recounted my visits to the Tabernacle Home and described its amenities and cleanliness, then noted the problems I had experienced in trying to see Lydia.

Alice Shaw explained that if the rules of the Tabernacle Home were violated, they would rather dismiss Lydia Ryan from the program than bend to the Guardian ad Litem’s request. Since Lydia Ryan has been unable to speak freely to her Guardian ad Litem yet, her real wishes and desires are not known at this time.

 

Kit Thorndike had faxed me some legal points he wanted included in the report and I had been careful to use the language he proposed.

The Florida Supreme Court Administrative Order for the Guardian ad Litem program states in
Standard 5.3
Guardian ad Litem Right of Access to Child:

“The circuit director shall assure that the Guardian ad Litem’s access to appointed children is not restricted by any agency or person. Visitation by the Guardian ad Litem, which includes transporting the child away from placement, should be arranged with the caretaker or supervising agency prior to the visit.”

At this time, such access is being willfully withheld by the Tabernacle Home, which makes it impossible to continue oversight by a Guardian ad Litem. Lydia is thus denied protection of her civil rights. There is little or no supervision of this program by any outside licensing or unbiased authority. However, Lydia is involved in a rigorous conversion program that could have positive benefits for this fragile young woman.

 

Everyone in the room turned to the final page, my list of recommendations. I glanced at Lydia’s father, whose beefy face had reddened from his neck to the top of his almost-bald head.

As Guardian ad Litem for Lydia Ryan, I make the following recommendations:

That, if she wishes, Lydia Ryan be allowed to remain at the Tabernacle Home temporarily until a better situation can be found. This desire to remain should be communicated, in private, to her Guardian ad Litem and another witness of the Court’s choosing.

That Lydia Ryan remains, if possible, in Child in Need of Services status so that an appropriate placement outside the traditional foster care system can be found.

That if such a placement cannot be found within 30 days, that Lydia Ryan shall be adjudicated a dependent of HRS.

That if she is adjudicated dependent, HRS should endeavor to find her the least restrictive placement that meets her needs.

That she receive a psychological and educational assessment to help place her in the most appropriate program and environment.

That she be placed in a non-punitive program that will help her prepare for independent living, while catching up on her high school education.

That the appointment of the Guardian ad Litem be continued in this matter.

 

Judge Donovan put down his papers. “I would like everyone to leave the room, with the exception of Lydia Ryan and the court reporter.”

Calvin Reynolds started to say something, then thought the better of it, and stood.

We stood in predictable clumps in the judge’s antechamber, a room too small to comfortably hold this divergent group. The Shaws took one corner while the HRS attorney, paralegal, Mona, and her supervisor conferred in the other. Stuart Ryan crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling while Nancy, Thorn, Lillian, and I formed our own tight circle.

“Is this usual?” I whispered.

“Never saw it happen before,” Nancy replied.

“What do you think she will tell the judge?” Thorn asked me.

“That she wants to remain where she is.”

“But do you think she can speak honestly?” Lillian wondered.

“It is all she knows right now.”

Since we were the only ones talking, it was hard to be certain our words weren’t overheard, so we fell silent too. After an interminable fifteen minutes, the court reporter opened the door to the inner office. Sitting where her father had been, Lydia looked shattered. As she clutched her Bible, tears streaked her face and her nose was running. I waited for the Shaws or her father to hand her a tissue, but nobody offered her one.

We were barely seated when the judge gave his ruling. “I have decided that the Tabernacle Home is too restrictive for an almost seventeen-year-old girl, and I am removing her from that facility. She is going to have to make her way in the real world soon enough and needs proper preparation for that challenge. Any comments?” He looked directly at me.

“I want to make it understood that I am not asking for her removal from the Tabernacle Home, and have only requested traditional access for her protection.”

“Anyone else?” He raised his eyes toward the Shaws, but they didn’t respond.

Stuart Ryan cleared his throat. “As her father, I do not understand what is going on. She is our daughter, and her mother and I want her home.”

This came as a surprise, but perhaps he did not want to go on record as rejecting her again.

“Maybe that will be possible in the future, but not now,” the judge said firmly.

“Then where will she be placed?” Calvin Reynolds asked.

Again Judge Donovan turned to me. “The Guardian ad Litem is to find Lydia a home where she would like to stay, and Lydia is to participate fully in the decision.” He replaced his glasses, turned to the next file, effectively dismissing those present.

Stuart Ryan departed abruptly. Alice Shaw said, “I’m sorry it worked out this way, Lydia.” Lydia handed her the Bible and the Shaws exited the room. Mona followed them, presumably to make arrangements for the transfer. The rest of the Guardian ad Litem staff passed behind me, while everyone else stayed in their seats in preparation for another hearing. Lydia seemed frozen in place. I guided her through the judge’s outer office, into the hallway, and toward the elevator bank just in time for her to see her father getting on an elevator with the Shaws.

“Daddy!” she said so softly he could never have heard. She turned away, so I took the full force of Alice Shaw’s glacial stare. In a paroxysm of pain Lydia gasped and I thought she might vomit. I pushed her into the rest room and rolled off a wad of toilet tissue in a futile attempt to assuage her cascade of tears.

“Lydia, I’m sorry. I know it is my fault that you are feeling like this, and if there had been anything I could have done to prevent it, I would have.”

“What’s going to happen to me now?” she sputtered.

“I have some ideas …,” I began lamely. After my trying to stop anyone from punching holes in her bucket, my very actions had opened this mighty cavity. Now, empty-handed, I stood before her with nothing to plug it.

“I want to go back to the Tabernacle Home. I liked it there! Why won’t anyone listen to what I want?”

“What happened when you were alone with the judge?”

“He questioned me about the program, and then asked if I wanted to stay.”

“And you told him you did.”

“Yes, but he didn’t care! He said he thought it was not healthy for me to be shut away. Everyone is always pushing me around and telling me what to do, and then when I finally am getting somewhere, they kick me out.”

“I know that is how it seems, but the Shaws would not follow the rules of the court, rules that are in place to protect you and other children. Otherwise a lot of kids could be abused and we would never know about it.”

“They didn’t abuse me, they showed me how Jesus loves me and how to turn my life around.”

I thought of Phil’s words about what it meant to be saved. “You have accepted Jesus as your personal savior, right?”

“Yes,” Lydia said with a hint of defiance creeping into her voice.

“Then he will always be there for you. Nothing that happens can ever take him away from you.”

Lydia’s sobs became muted. “Where will I go?”

“Tonight you will stay in a shelter home. I already spoke to a wonderful family, and if HRS agrees, they will look after you for a few days. Then, we’ll do what the judge said. You and I will go around and visit lots of places and you will decide where you want to live.”

“I want to go back with the Shaws.”

“Maybe the Lord has other plans.” I waited a few beats, then added, “You heard your father, he said he wants you to come home. Maybe that is where this is all leading. Would you like to go home?”

“More than anything …,” she said, followed by a fresh gush of tears.

“But that is not going to happen tonight.”

“I have to go to a Christian home.”

“The people I spoke to are Christians.”

“Are they the right sort of Christians?”

“What would be the right sort?’

“Pentecostal Christians, who live God’s word.”

“I am not sure whether the people tonight will be exactly that, but we can make that our goal for the future,” I said, thinking that a canvass of some fundamentalist churches might lead to a home for Lydia outside the social service system. I smoothed back Lydia’s hair.

Mona opened the bathroom door. “There you are!” she said to Lydia.

“I’ve been on the phone trying to find you a bed tonight, but nothing is available yet. Why don’t you come back to the office with me and we’ll see what we can arrange?”