2

“This situation is completely unacceptable, Miss Daniels,” Mrs. Gates said, speaking in a loud voice as she paced in front

of my desk. I was used to her antics, so I forced myself to sit quietly until she wound herself down. She reminded me of that

little yapping Chihuahua Mama used to have—saying a lot and nothing at the same time. After what seemed like hours but was

actually only a minute or two, she stopped pacing and yapping, and looked at me.

“Are you going to say anything?” she snapped, glaring at me. Clearly even after all the visits and interactions, this white

lady still didn’t understand that trying me wasn’t in her best interest.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “I was simply giving you time to finish. Are you done?”

“This is no joke, Miss Daniels. I should—”

“First, no one is laughing, Mrs. Gates,” I interrupted. I was tired of her and her attitude, and on top of that, I hadn’t yet had one cup of coffee that morning. She was lucky I wasn’t swinging chairs like Chad. “Second, you are out of line and out of place. If you had something to say concerning one of my boys, you should have contacted me first. Period. End of sentence.”

“As Chad’s caseworker, it is my right and duty to make sure he and his mother, when appropriate, are reunited,” she said with

a tone so snide that I felt a curse word rise up in my spirit—one of those words I’d need to immediately fall on my knees

and pray about. Instead of losing my religion this early in the morning, I did what I taught my boys to do. I breathed. Deep

breaths. Then I smiled, although I’m sure it looked more like a snarl to her. She backed away as if venom were spewing from

my mouth.

“Coming to the group home at the crack of dawn—when you knew I wouldn’t be here—was absolutely out of order, and you know

it. I run a group home filled with high-risk boys from unstable environments. These boys had never known a day’s peace until

they came here. I will not allow you or anyone else to disrupt their routine or their peace of mind.” I enunciated every word

carefully and precisely. “I understand that you have a job to do, but neither your needs nor the needs of the foster care

system will ever supersede the needs of my boys. Do I make myself clear?”

“I am here to take Chad Montgomery back to his mother.” She placed her hands on my desk and leaned forward with a glare. “She

has successfully completed a rehab program, she has been clean for three months, and she attends weekly AA meetings.”

“Three whole months and AA,” I said, clapping my hands slowly. “Well, she’s ready for the ‘Mother of the Year’ award. Will

you give her a trophy, or should I?”

“Your sarcasm is not benefiting either one of us or Chad. Lena Montgomery wants her child back, and there is no reason to stop her from getting custody of him again,” Mrs. Gates said in a stern voice. The caseworker knew all of her Department of Human Services handbooks by heart and could recite protocol better than the originators of the rules could. I respected rules, and as often as I could, I honored them. But it would be a cold day in hades before I’d give Chad up to the system so they could return him to his mother—not without some assurances that she was ready to be a mother to her son again.

“This is not the first time Lena has ‘turned things around,’ according to your office,” I said. “Time and time again she does

all of the ‘right things,’ and in less than a few weeks or a month, Chad is right back in the system again. Aren’t y’all tired

of putting that young man through that torture?”

“The law states that—”

“You will need to submit the paperwork...” I started, but Mrs. Gates was ready. She reached into her briefcase and handed

me a stack of papers. Of course the paperwork was in order. Some judge likely signed off on it during his lunch break, barely

giving it a cursory look.

“This time we will need to go to court and stand in front of a judge. I am not surrendering Chad without a thorough investigation

and the recommendations of a judge who actually knows something about the case.” I resisted touching my pounding temples.

I wouldn’t give in to it. Not in front of her.

“There is no need for all of that, Miss Daniels. We can—”

“This is going to a judge, and we are all going to be in the room with the judge so he can hear Chad’s case properly.” I didn’t care about her glaring at me. They always wanted to hurry up and wash their hands of Negro boys like Chad. If Chad were white, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. Mrs. Gates never would have tried to bypass me, and she absolutely would want to ensure that Chad was returning to a safe environment. As overworked as she was, I knew she’d make the extra effort to try to protect a white child. I’d seen it time and time again.

They knew Chad wouldn’t be safe with Lena, but they saw him as collateral damage. I’d first read about the term in an article

by Thomas Schelling, an economist who wrote about the concept in the early 1960s. He was referencing civilian casualties during

war, but it was a perfect term to describe young Negro boys in the system. Everyone who worked in this field had unrealistic

caseloads, so when it came down to who got sacrificed, they would rather it be the Negro children.

“This could take weeks or months to resolve if we do it your way,” she said angrily. “Judge Smith signed off on Chad returning

to his mother. There is nothing left to do but surrender him to me so that he can be returned to her.”

“No,” I said, looking at her unblinkingly. I was not surrendering Chad to her. Not like this. Not without everyone doing their

due diligence to determine his mother’s fitness. “I understand you are given much latitude when it comes to deciding when

a boy can be returned to his parents, but with this particular case, you should be in agreement with me that we must do everything

possible to make sure Chad is protected and Lena is ready to be a mother to him again.”

“There is no way anyone can be absolutely sure that something bad won’t happen again. But the law is clear: children belong with their parents, and it is my job and your job to return them to their parents without giving any resistance,” she said.

“Children belong in safe spaces,” I said firmly. “And my job is to protect Chad Montgomery—whether that be from his mother

or a system that couldn’t give two flying figs about his safety. I thank you for the paperwork. Now, as I have already said,

get me and Chad in front of a judge.”

“You do realize I could call the police and have Chad arrested for his violent behavior? Or I could just take him with me—I

have legal documents saying I have the right to do so.” Her eyes were fiery with emotion. Now she was the one who looked like

she wished she had a chair to hurl.

I pointed toward the wall near the door. “Do you see those photos over there, Mrs. Gates?”

She glanced at the wall. “Yes, of course I see them. Yet I don’t see how any of this relates to Chad Montgomery.”

I stood up and walked over to my “wall of honor,” as I called it. “This young man,” I said, pointing at the photo at the top

of the corkboard, “is entering his second year of law school. This young man below him is an assistant defensive football

coach at Tuskegee Institute. This young man at the bottom right is a high school English teacher, and the young man beside

him graduated magna cum laude from Howard University in May of this year. Do you want to know what all of these young men

have in common?”

She sighed long and hard, but I had a point to make, and her snotty attitude wouldn’t stop me.

“These young men were once residents of this group home,” I said, returning to my desk where I gingerly lowered myself into my chair. My sciatica was messing with me again. Stress.

“The system said they weren’t going to amount to anything, but they came here, and we helped them prove the system wrong.

Don’t make me call your supervisor, Mrs. Gates.” I wasn’t entirely sure that calling would make a difference, but I knew Mrs.

Gates well enough to know she would hate being “reported.”

“Fine,” she said with a huge sigh. “I’ll file the necessary paperwork for a judge to intervene with a hearing, but you know

as well as I do that the judge is going to see it my way. You are just delaying the inevitable.”

“Be that as it may, I will be awaiting the formal paperwork from the courts,” I said. It could be weeks, even months before

the case went in front of a judge—at the very least, after Thanksgiving, maybe not even until Christmas or New Year’s. The

court system was so bogged down that we both knew nothing would be done about changing Chad’s living conditions anytime soon.

I just needed to buy some time. If Chad’s mother followed her usual trajectory of drug addiction, before a judge could review

the case, she’d once again be strung out on heroin.

Mrs. Gates seemed poised to say something else, but then we heard a light knock on my door.

“Come in,” I called out.

Chad entered the room. He was cleaned up and dressed for school in a pair of freshly pressed blue jeans and a white button-down shirt. His expression could be perceived as sullen by those who didn’t know him, but I knew he was scared—terrified that in spite of all my efforts, I wouldn’t be able to protect him. I wanted nothing more than to embrace him, but he needed to own up to his behavior more than he needed hugs.

“Chad, do you have something to say?” I prodded.

“Yes, ma’am.” His tone was wooden. “I’m sorry for cussing at you and throwing that chair, Mrs. Gates. I just... I...

I won’t do it again.”

I was proud of him for not trying to deflect responsibility. I nodded, then looked at Mrs. Gates.

She sighed and then crossed her arms. “Thank you for your apology, Chad. Unfortunately, I will have to document your behavior

in your file. I understand that you have reservations about returning home to your mother, but trust me when I say it is for

the best.”

Chad looked at me with panicked eyes. I had to say something fast or all the good he’d done with his apology might be wiped

away by another impulsive outburst.

“You aren’t going anywhere today but to school and back here, Chad.” I smiled at him. “I promise.”

I watched as he began to do the deep breathing we’d taught him and angrily swiped away a tear. “You’re dismissed, Chad. Go

and eat something before you have to leave for school.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said and rushed out of the room.

“You are not doing these boys any favors by coddling them so,” Mrs. Gates said.

If I had to hear one more white person tell me what was right for my boys, I might scream.

“What do you know about these boys besides what’s in your files?” I snapped. “How many Black boys have you raised? How many Black boys are members of your family? You don’t know anything about these boys other than what the DHS handbook tells you. Next time you want to come to my group home, Mrs. Gates, you call first. Otherwise, we are going to have issues with each other. Good day.”

“You will hear from me soon, Miss Daniels,” she said and huffily marched out the door.

I had some choice names to call her, but I released all of that and went to the dining room to check on the boys. All of them

were sitting together at the family-style table. The room was usually filled with lots of noisy chatter and laughter. Today

everyone was silent, barely eating their food. Pee Wee was trying to coax Chad into talking to him. I was pleased that Chad

didn’t snap at Pee Wee—he just shook his head.

Pee Wee had come to the group home a week after Chad did, and before long the unlikely pair became like brothers. Chad took

up for Pee Wee if any of the other boys tried to pick on him for his stuttering or short stature, and when Chad’s temper flared,

Pee Wee was usually able to make Chad smile and forget his bad mood.

All eyes turned to me when I walked into the room. I went and sat at the head of the table. As often as I could, I tried to

take my meals with the boys.

“I know you are all confused by what happened this morning,” I said, looking from one boy’s face to the next. “A lot of emotions were on display, and I am sorry you all had to witness it. But I hope you won’t let it mess up your day. Your job is to go to school and learn new things, and my job is to take care of everything else. Am I understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.

“Chad, do you have something to say to the group?” I asked. The boys knew the routine. They put down their knives and forks

and looked at Chad.

Chad stood up and made eye contact with each boy as I had taught all of them to do. “I’m sorry for messing up everybody’s

morning. I let myself get mad and I shouldna. Forgive me?”

“Yes, Chad,” everyone said, Pee Wee loudest of all. “We forgive you.”

“Thank you, Chad. Thank you, everyone,” I said. “Someone explain why we accepted Chad’s apology just now.” Everything was

a learning opportunity at the group home, and I wanted the boys to see merit in what we asked them to do, from taking out

the trash to mowing the yard or saying “I’m sorry” when they did wrong.

Pee Wee raised his hand, waving it frantically.

I couldn’t help but smile. He was such a lovable child. Always wanting to make sure he was on my good side.

“Yes, Pee Wee.”

“We forgive Ch-Ch-Chad because we want to b-b-be forgiven when we m-m-make mistakes,” he said, smiling broadly.

“That’s right, Pee Wee,” I said. “Good answer.”

Jason entered the room and looked from the boys to me. I nodded, signaling to him that I was done talking.

“Y’all go wash up one more time and meet me out at the van,” he said. “It’s time for school.” The boys got up and carried their plates to the kitchen. Instead of racing to the various bathrooms, they moved slowly and quietly, especially Chad. It was clear that they all were still a bit rattled. During their time together, they bonded like brothers, and whenever they saw one of their brothers in distress, they took it hard. Managing the emotions of fifteen rambunctious boys was no easy task. I was grateful for my staff. We worked well together, and even though I was displeased with this morning’s outcome, overall they’d done the best they could.

I watched as Chad hesitantly walked up to Jason with his head down. Jason didn’t move. He simply waited.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jason,” Chad finally said, raising his head and looking Jason in the eyes. “I didn’t mean to disrespect you

that way. You been nice to me, and I was awful to you. I won’t do it again.”

Jason considered Chad for a moment and then offered him a hand so they could do one of the elaborate handshakes Jason had

taught the boys. “You and I are good, man. Just watch that temper of yours. Don’t let nobody get inside your head like that.

Every situation can be figured out. Breaking up walls ain’t the answer. Now, go finish cleaning up for school.”

Chad smiled for the first time that morning. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” He hurried out of the room. I could see a lightness in

his steps that almost caused me to tear up. We could offer them crumbs, and it would often be better than what they’d ever

been offered before.

Jason came to the table and sat beside me, appearing almost as gloomy as the boys had looked. He was an earnest young man who took his work here seriously. He reminded me of my brothers in a number of ways. Studious. Hardworking. And anxious to gain my approval.

“I apologize, Miss Daniels,” he said. His voice was solemn, and his eyes were shining, but he held back the tears. “I take

full responsibility for everything that happened this morning. I should have been more proactive with shutting things down

until you arrived, especially once I knew why she was here. I just didn’t expect Chad to have that kind of reaction. With

her having all the paperwork, and her insisting on seeing Chad, well... I just... I didn’t think.”

I nodded my head in agreement. I didn’t believe in letting people off the hook when they messed up, even when it was unintentional.

This work we did was important and none of us could risk falling down on the job.

“Thank you for your apology, Jason. You’re right. Balls were dropped today. None of you followed protocol, and as a result

things got out of hand. Thankfully, we all survived. When you get back from taking the boys to school, we’ll have our staff

meeting. The other houseparents plus the on-site counselors will be here as well, so we can all go over this incident together.

No one is guilt-free, but as a team we will fix what is broken and move forward.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, getting up. “I’d better get the boys to school. Don’t want them to be late.”

“That sounds good,” I said, getting up too. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

I made my way into the kitchen, where Mrs. Dorothy Kennedy and Miss Theresa Grant were washing dishes and talking animatedly to each other. I was in desperate need of some coffee, and the heady scent of freshly brewed java was wafting throughout the house. I didn’t have an appetite, but the coffee was calling my name.

Both Mrs. Kennedy and Miss Grant had worked as part of the kitchen staff since the group home opened. Every meal they cooked

was like Sunday dinner, Thanksgiving, and Christmas all wrapped up into one. Both women were amazing cooks and made sure we

ate well. The boys called them Mama K and Mama G, and it was typical to find one or more of the boys seeking them out for

hugs, advice, or a freshly baked cookie from the cookie jar they kept on top of the refrigerator. Mama K and Mama G never

overstepped their boundaries, but they were always ready to share a scripture or say a prayer with anyone who needed it, resident

or staff.

When I entered the room, they both stopped talking and looked up, smiles on their faces as usual. It was a relief to see both

women. I often sought their counsel as much as the boys.

“Good morning, Miss Daniels,” Mrs. Kennedy said, walking over to the coffeepot. “I already know what you want.” She poured

me a cup of coffee, splashing it lightly with cream. She handed it to me, and I took a sip without even blowing on it. I coughed

but continued to drink the fiery liquid that was burning my throat. I needed that caffeine in the worst kind of way. As I

drank, I could feel the coffee-induced calm begin to wash over me. I felt the urge to do what my boys did and seek solace

from these older, nurturing women, but I just smiled.

“Do you want some breakfast, Miss Daniels?” Miss Grant asked. “You’ve had a long day and it ain’t even started good. You need some fuel in your gas tank. There’s some eggs, toast, and bacon over here with your name on them.”

“No, thank you. Thank you, ladies, for the coffee.” I hurried out of the kitchen and down the hallway. Leslie wasn’t at her

desk, so I was able to make it into my office unnoticed. I wanted to take a couple of aspirins, but before I could reach inside

my desk for the bottle, the phone rang.

I stared at it like it was a two-headed snake. Something wasn’t right. I just knew it. I had a sixth sense that dated back

to my childhood. On the night Daddy’s mama died, when I was only five or six, I felt her spirit hover above my bed, reach

down, and give me a ghostly kiss, and then evaporate like a cloud. No one believed my story, but ever since then, I’d had

premonitions and ghostly visitations. Whoever was on the other side of the phone did not have good news for me.

“Hello,” I said into the receiver.

“Baby,” Mama said. That one word made me sink into my chair, bracing myself for what I’d hear next. “It’s your brothers. They

lost. The government letter say they lost.”

I shook my head without saying a word. Not this. Not this of all things. Not my brothers. I squeezed my eyes tight, trying

to get a feeling about their whereabouts and their condition. I didn’t sense them being dead, but I didn’t sense them being

alive either. I didn’t know which was more frightening.

“Baby, are you there?” Mama asked, her voice cracking.

“I’m coming home now, Mama,” I said and hung up the phone. I jumped up and grabbed my things. Even as fragile as Mama was, I needed her to wrap her arms around me and reassure me that my brothers would be found and be alright. Right before I ran out of my office, I stopped myself and took several deep breaths. In and out. In and out.

“Please,” I said, the only word that would come out of my mouth at that moment. I prayed God could interpret everything that

was encompassed in that one word. I prayed that God was, as Mama always said, on the throne and in control.