More "Fun Phone Calls" from KDS

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As I’ve chronicled earlier, at The King’s Daughters’ School I was often required to monitor phone calls between parents and their children.  Here is another such tale.

Kids would come into custody for a variety of reasons:

1. Sometimes a child would come into state custody because of something the parents had done (neglect or abuse.)

2. Sometimes a child would come into custody because of something they had done (violence, assault, runaway, sexual acting out.)

3. But sometimes a child would come into custody because of something (or things) they had done because of something their parents had done (i.e. Parents didn’t feed them so they stole or parents beat them so they beat-up their teacher or someone in the family sexually abused them so they acted out sexually with someone else.)

Which brings me to Imogene…

I hesitated to accept Imogene into our program.  Imogene was from East Tennesse somewhere in the “hollers.”  She had become unmanageable at home.  She had reports of violence against her parents. The final straw was that Imogene beat her parents with a broom handle, driving them into the yard. Eventually the police were called and she was hauled off. Not bad for a 13-year-old girl.

We finally relented and allowed her to enter. I was surprised when she walked into our lobby.  She couldn’t have weighed 80 lbs.  She looked malnourished.  She had an “ashen” color.  Her hair was stringy and lifeless.  Her wrists and ankles looked so thin and frail, like twigs.  The most unsettling part of her appearance was her eyes.  They looked almost fogged over. They were such a pale blue almost grey color, her eyelids were droopy and she had a very flat expression.

She spoke slowly and drawn out. “Whhhhhen…can…I…ccccccall…my…Ma…..ma?”  I wasn’t naïve.  We had had plenty of tiny people who could whip-up into a frenzy of hurt if you weren’t watching. But this girl had no energy.  We found it hard to get her to do anything.  At times she was irritating, but never close to aggressive.

Then I monitored a phone call between Imogene and her parents.

I took the phone call in my office, put it on the speaker phone, and shut the door:

            IMOGENE: Maaamaaaaa? Are you there?

            MAMA: I’m-a here Genie. How are you?

            IMOGENE: I’m fine Mama. How are you doin?

            MAMA: I’m fine Genie. I miss you. How are things at your new school?

            IMOGENE: Fine.  Where’s Daddy?

            MAMA: He’s right here.

            IMOGENE: Can I talk to him?

            PHONE: (shuffle/creak/crimple/crumple/muffled voices/crinkle)

            DADDY: Hello? Hello?

            IMOGENE: Daddy is that you?

DADDY: Hello?

            IMOGENE: Daddy?

DADDY: Hello? Hello?

            IMOGENE: Daddy is that you?

            DADDY: Imogene?

            IMOGENE: Daddy?

DADDY: Imogene?

            IMOGENE: Daddy?

(This goes on for some time.)

DADDY: Hello Imogene.

IMOGENE: Hello Daddy.

IMOGENE: Daddy?

DADDY: Yes Imogene?

IMOGENE: Are you wearing your new leg?

DADDY: No. It don’t fit right.

IMOGENE: Daddy, you got to wear that new leg.

DADDY: I tried to the other day, but it fell off and I fell down in the front yard and I couldn’t get up.  Your mama had to try to get me in the wheel chair.

IMOGENE: Daddy, you gotta start wearing that new leg.

DADDY: Ok honey. I’ll start wearing my new leg.

(and on it went)

Later we intercepted a cassette tape Imogene’s Dad (or Grandpa, or both) had mailed to her.  It sounded like circus music that was recorded with a microphone held up to the speaker of an old record player.  On the “B” side of the cassette Imogene’s one-legged Daddy/Grandpa was heard whispering inappropriate sexual comments, presumably for Imogene to hear, but maybe he was just mumbling then to himself while he recorded the twisted circus music.

I really wanted to beat him with a broom handle.

chris