Who are you?

Just being admitted to the first group home of three, I sat through my indoctrination. Rules, regulations, policies, procedures. For an 11 year old kid this was a hell of an introduction to a lifestyle of "structure". Structure that would lead most kids to either live a better life as a member of their own home, or totally flunk out of the family dynamic. They either become some independent soldier in life, dependant upon their vices in life, grasping for pills, therapy or co-dependant relationships. Or just become huge fuck up. 

For those of you who have done this, you know the setting. Wooden furniture, secure lockdown rooms, kids screaming because theyve been without an ass whooping their whole life. Staff members being kind, but still reiterating "the rules" like you're supposed to know them all immediately. Kids in a group setting already complaining because you're still in that free lifestyle from your parents household. 

"Hes lining up without permission" 

"Hey, gold level goes first" 

"Can't you follow directives on first cue?" 

"I've got a good week goal for you tonight in goals group". 

The list goes on really. Psychological professionals, institutionalized at such a young spot in life. Smug teenage hormones with a pseudo authority because their seniority from the patting of a head for taking pills and lifting their tongue for the nurse gives them such a position to speak. 

So you sit back down, ashamed, not realizing you're feeling that sense of entitlement already. When the next new kid comes in you'll bitch about it too. 

"Hey they're out of line". 

The blue Berber carpet. The Tupperware box for your toiletries. Roll on deodorant. Underwear labeled with your name. Socks have your name on the toe. The impatient staff helping you itemize your belongings. Totally bored out of their mind because every thing you own is a treasure. One Hefty bag of clothes turns into another. Boxes of papers from school projects follow you from home to home. You say goodbye to your radio until a later level in this bureaucracy. 

While sorting through your life, you get the rules read to you. 

"No fraternization" (yet youre there to work on social relationships, I mean who are we kidding you don't get anywhere in life without the people around you) 

"No touching" 

"No phone calls until level 2" 

"No depictive clothing of drugs or bands" 

"No talking about drugs and bands" 

"No to this, no to that" 

"Do you understand?" 

"Yeah sure" 

You don't understand because this is your first home, but you're ready to go upstairs and fraternize. 

Then the kid makes the proverbial mistakes. 

"Can I watch tv before bed?" 

"No" 

"Can I call my parents" 

"No" 

"Can we go the mall on Saturday?" 

"No" 

"How about sports, football starts soon, can I play?" 

"No, not until commitment level" 

(That's a story in itself later) 

Her name was Andrea Murray. Her hair cut shoulder length. She fiddled with a coffee mug. Always tracing the coffee drops on the lid like she was playing some sort of Pac-Man game. Fidgeting like she had other places to be. 

First thing I'll tell you about staff in these places, is they're all kids. Looking back they were all still trying to find a place in this world. Mostly undergrads doing internships or working to make a few extra dollars to down a few shots on Saturday night. 

Not real people yet. 

I say this with an 11 year olds view point, as an adult, some of these people became great friends. They realized the bullshit they were putting us through and found that what they isntilled in me by being reasonable human beings turned me out to be a better person. 

But there sat Andrea. Her words echoing in my mind. 

."Who are you?" 

"I'm Eddie" 

"I know that, but who are you? What defines you?" 

Jesus woman, I thought. I just got here 6 hours ago, have no belongings, my hair smells like lice shampoo, these sweats itch and some kid out there is mad at me because I ate my pudding before I ate the rest of my meal. Im told I'm a normal kid in an abnormal situation, but you're telling me I don't have a clue. 

Whatever 

I'm 37. I still don't have an answer to her damn question. I'm learning how to balance roles between being a boss, a father, a husband, and a best friend. So how in the hell did she think I could answer that question? 

So I bs-ed the question. I think she expected it. Of course she was a clinical psychologist, she wouldn't have understood slang, my reality, or that I had no more idea who I was than a dog realizing their own identity. 

"I like sports." 

"Girls are cute" 

"That reminds me, have you been made aware of our fraternization policy?" 

"Yes" 

"There will be no boy girl relationships in this home, were all here to work on our problems" 

"What problems do I have?" 

"So denial about your situation? You have a history of sexual behavior and anger issues." 

Let's pause here. This was complete bs at the time. I was told I needed to be there due to instability at the time in my mother's home. Nothing about my behaviors was ever mentioned to me as I came into this situation. 

So like an idiot, I nodded along. I didn't know what the hell she was talking about, but the flashy certificates on her wall, expensive furniture and title on her desk name plate told me maybe I should listen and nod along. 

"Well I think that's enough for one night, we will meet in a week or so once you're through your first few levels. You control your success here. You can go home when you've successfully completed this program". 

Let me note here, I never left a home on an "upper level" I was a normal teenager when I left. Had the undergrads raising me at the time embraced that a bit more, they would have known I was a kid. Just like them. That they themselves probably acted worse just a few years before. What the hell did they know? 

That night I found my first sensual memory. A staff member brought in a new Enya CD. I had to sleep in a common area for observation. But for once I felt ease to sleep. This was supposed to be a safe space for me. So I trusted it. 

I got a backrub as it was offered. It was probably the last, most child like emotion I remember feeling. I didn't know how fast I needed to grow up at that point. 

"Who are you?" 

I don't know. But this back rub feels good. 

"Let me sail, let me sail, let the Orinoco flow..."