Stoked
Over the weekend, the eldest granddaughter's aunt on her father's side ferreted her out at Facebook. Since then, we've been in touch. :D
This removes the gatekeeper - the foster parents who vetted my e-mails to her, keeping some away from her because they mentioned people the granddaughter didn't know (imagine keeping books away from a kid because they didn't know the characters!) They also decided when, and if, to give presents that were sent - my daughter, the granddaughter's mother, sent Christmas presents late one year, so they didn't give them to her - to punish the daughter, I suppose, since the effect would be: hey, your mom didn't send squat, she must not think of you. And, one year at least, they let the post office box where we sent our presents, lapse without telling us, so we got returned gifts and letters.
I don't get their reasoning. They didn't tell her for a couple of years that we had moved from SD to SC - didn't want to ruin her fantasy of meeting everyone in SD, they said. So, what do you write about when you move, things are different, you start school at a place that has the state's name in it (I mean, no way am I attending the University of South Carolina while living in South Dakota,) you go to the beach (no ocean in SD - when you go to the river, you say you went to the river,) and so on. It was like they were discouraging me from writing.
Anyway, in the few times that I'd had any contact with them, they gave me the impression of a child with a delicate grasp of reality, a child with significant mental problems who had to be shielded from the harsh realities of life, who had built, and who needed, a fantasy world that included an idealized view of the reservation, and people remaining static despite their growing older or changing jobs. I honestly despaired for the child's mental well-being.
There have been phone calls between the granddaughter and her paternal relations, and phone calls between the granddaughter and her mother. I've texted with her, and have messaged with her over Facebook. She's a normal nearly-sixteen-year-old, a little goth, a little vulnerable, in and out of relationships, having friends, losing friends to moves, on-again, off-again with the boyfriend, silly, serious.
It's ironic that the paternal relations were the ones to find her. The granddaughter had been promised a visit to the rez when she turns sixteen - as of a couple of years ago, the foster mom wanted to back out, saying that she didn't want the granddaughter to see the realities, thought it would destroy her perfect fantasy world. The paternal relations embody the image that the foster mom dreads the most - poor, unemployed, alcoholic, ailing, under-educated, defeated. Except, now, they're empowered, because they have succeeded in finding the lost lamb where everyone else, including me, with my masters-level search classes, failed.
So, she's back. Not physically, but in fact. Reminds me of the Welsh version of Hallelujia by Brigyn - Haleliwia - in the first verse, the walls are built up, the doors are closed; in the last verse, music tears the walls down. While there was no music involved, there were walls, and there were gatekeepers who "...yn dal ei gôt i wylio'r dyn / Yn chwalu pob un hoel o Haleliwia" - held "Mankind's coat / while he destroyed every trace of Hallelujia." Walls down = gatekeepers rendered ineffectual.
Observation: you can't protect kids from reality; you can't stop them from growing up, not even for the best of intentions.
This removes the gatekeeper - the foster parents who vetted my e-mails to her, keeping some away from her because they mentioned people the granddaughter didn't know (imagine keeping books away from a kid because they didn't know the characters!) They also decided when, and if, to give presents that were sent - my daughter, the granddaughter's mother, sent Christmas presents late one year, so they didn't give them to her - to punish the daughter, I suppose, since the effect would be: hey, your mom didn't send squat, she must not think of you. And, one year at least, they let the post office box where we sent our presents, lapse without telling us, so we got returned gifts and letters.
I don't get their reasoning. They didn't tell her for a couple of years that we had moved from SD to SC - didn't want to ruin her fantasy of meeting everyone in SD, they said. So, what do you write about when you move, things are different, you start school at a place that has the state's name in it (I mean, no way am I attending the University of South Carolina while living in South Dakota,) you go to the beach (no ocean in SD - when you go to the river, you say you went to the river,) and so on. It was like they were discouraging me from writing.
Anyway, in the few times that I'd had any contact with them, they gave me the impression of a child with a delicate grasp of reality, a child with significant mental problems who had to be shielded from the harsh realities of life, who had built, and who needed, a fantasy world that included an idealized view of the reservation, and people remaining static despite their growing older or changing jobs. I honestly despaired for the child's mental well-being.
There have been phone calls between the granddaughter and her paternal relations, and phone calls between the granddaughter and her mother. I've texted with her, and have messaged with her over Facebook. She's a normal nearly-sixteen-year-old, a little goth, a little vulnerable, in and out of relationships, having friends, losing friends to moves, on-again, off-again with the boyfriend, silly, serious.
It's ironic that the paternal relations were the ones to find her. The granddaughter had been promised a visit to the rez when she turns sixteen - as of a couple of years ago, the foster mom wanted to back out, saying that she didn't want the granddaughter to see the realities, thought it would destroy her perfect fantasy world. The paternal relations embody the image that the foster mom dreads the most - poor, unemployed, alcoholic, ailing, under-educated, defeated. Except, now, they're empowered, because they have succeeded in finding the lost lamb where everyone else, including me, with my masters-level search classes, failed.
So, she's back. Not physically, but in fact. Reminds me of the Welsh version of Hallelujia by Brigyn - Haleliwia - in the first verse, the walls are built up, the doors are closed; in the last verse, music tears the walls down. While there was no music involved, there were walls, and there were gatekeepers who "...yn dal ei gôt i wylio'r dyn / Yn chwalu pob un hoel o Haleliwia" - held "Mankind's coat / while he destroyed every trace of Hallelujia." Walls down = gatekeepers rendered ineffectual.
Observation: you can't protect kids from reality; you can't stop them from growing up, not even for the best of intentions.