Nutmeg

By Jacqueline Kinnie

Nutmeg, a child who describes herself a "white on the inside, black on the outside," and who names herself, comes to Children's Garden Treatment Center for evaluation and treatment after the courts sever her parents' rights due to extreme abuse. A difficult child, she had drifted in the foster care system from early infancy, arriving at Children's Garden at the age of seven with more than ten foster placements, a failed adoption and really wicked behaviors.

Though fictionalized, the narrative by the author mirrors her experiences with this child and many more children over thirty years of working with emotionally disturbed, abused children. The book tells the reader how it feels to belong to no one, to try to make it in a world which has hurt you physically, emotionally, spiritually. It will make you cry, laugh and walk in a world hopefully unknown to most of us.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jacqueline Kinnie
• Release date: Oct 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465994288

Jacqueline Kinnie

mother of four daughters,lover of languages, music, writing, creating art. Have lived long enough to have had and enjoyed several careers and career changes, now enjoying a very active retirement, still writing and creating art. Co-Author of The Magic Theater with Ernest Kinnie

Book preview

Nutmeg

Copyright 2011

Jacqueline Kelley-Kinnie

Smashwords Edition

Prologue

There was once, really and truly there was, a wonderful place called Children’s Garden, in Marin County, California. In our country, many small children are released from the parentage of their dysfunctional biological parents by the courts. Most have been seriously abused, physically, sexually and/or psychologically. A good many passed through Children’s Garden’s doors, treatment homes and fost-adopt homes to live better lives in safe places with people they learned to love and trust.

Children’s Garden came about through the efforts of a wonderful dedicated woman, Doris Kirgan, a Boston Clinical Social Worker who, dismayed at the plight of children adrift in America’s foster homes, decided to try to show that there was a better way. Doris led us, her staff, to learn the developmental theory of attachment, originally written by John Bowlby and greatly elaborated upon since its beginnings. Doris knew that helping children to separate and re-attach was a monumental task and urged her staff onward with the simple sign on her desk: "I know you CAN, but WILL you?" Long before a campaigning young presidential candidate used the phrase Yes we can, we all knew the phrase as certain to come out of the mouth of Doris at every staff meeting. Of course, you/we, they can was her most frequent verbalization. And so we learned we could and we did.

My years at Children’s Garden were spent first as Coordinator of the Evaluation Program, then as Counselor and Coordinator to the Treatment Homes and their houseparents and children, thirdly as Coordinator of the Foster Home Program and finally as Assistant Director to Doris. I shall always cherish those years as the finest learning experience in human relationships I would ever have.

The story told in this book is fiction in that it does not really represent one child but is the culmination of the experiences of several staff members and many children who went through the doors of Children’s Garden. I have written this book to increase our awareness of the pain and suffering known to all too many children in America and the world, and to tell some ways in which we can provide a path wherein they may learn once again to trust a world from a safe haven for their young lives.

I am grateful to Doris, to the staff of Children’s Garden with whom I shared these experiences and years, and most of all to the children whose lives I shared for a brief moment in time. I am also grateful to the members of the Humanist Writing Camp of Sarasota, Florida which prodded me to write and complete this tale, and whose feedback has been so valuable.

Chapter 1

Nutmeg Arrives

She was, according to the records we had received, just seven years old, reportedly a bright child who had failed six foster homes and an adoption placement in the Bay area since the age of three months. When she was but three months old, the courts removed custody from her schizophrenic mother and made her a ward of the state of California. Now she stood here defiant, stating that she had indeed fried the goldfish on the radiator, and she was proud that she had.

So what you gonna do ‘bout it?

Not much at the moment, I replied. "What’s your name?’

I am Nutmeg.

Hmmm, it says here your name is Katy.

My name is NUTMEG! She screamed. I wasn’t at all sure the sounds coming from this cute little girl in front of me were human, but they were intelligible and very, very loud.

How did you get the name Nutmeg? I asked in a quiet voice.

I made it up for myself and it’s MY NAME! She screeched back at me, stomping a little foot in a Mary Jane patent leather shoe with a lacey sock above it.

I see. OK, then Nutmeg it is. I said quietly as I kneeled down to look eye to eye into this little girl’s face. She pushed me away. I don’t like you, she screamed.

Well, welcome to Children’s Garden anyway, I replied quietly. Since this will be your home for the next few months, would you like to see your room? I stood up and offered my hand.

I get my own room? She asked, peering at me finally with incredible deep brown eyes as a small tear fell from her left eye. What color is it?

Pink and white, said the housemother who had stood and witnessed these somewhat bizarre moments.

I don’t like PINK! she shouted.

It was clear to me that this little girl was used to intimidating people, with her temper and shouting. It was just as clear that we, the staff of Children’s Garden, were unlikely to be favorably impressed with such behaviors, though we were certainly used to dealing with them.

Nutmeg, I said very quietly, Your room can be any color you want, but for today it’s pink and white. Tomorrow you can go with your house mom and pick out whatever color you want.

At Children’s Garden, we sometimes worked from the outside – in to change the behaviors, feelings and self appraisals of our seriously disturbed children. We gave them beautiful rooms which they designed for themselves after moving in, and beautiful but sturdy clothes they were not used to. We made every attempt to let them know that though they often misbehaved in hateful ways, we respected them as people and we let them know we cared enough about them to not let them continue their sometimes hateful and usually less than polite and amiable ways.

You’re lying, said Nutmeg, but took my hand suddenly and pulled toward the hallway which was evident to all. So began a journey and a relationship between a little bi-racial child and me which I would never forget.

Chapter 2

Nightmares

At first I thought it was a dream. Then I recognized the ringing phone. It was 1:30 AM. Hello I said picking up the phone.

Hi, sorry to bother you, but we can’t get Katy to sleep and she’s been screaming about voodoo outside her window and insisting her mother is there. She’s wakened the whole house twice now, and all the kids are on edge. She says her mother is going to kill us all. And she’s not dreaming.

Have you tried some warm milk, singing to her? I asked rubbing my eyes and sitting up to try to wake up. I’d had a rough couple of days and nights with the children in the Evaluation Home, and this was the third night it looked like I was going to have to get up and go again.

We’ve tried everything. Nothing works. There she goes again … she’s making the most awful sounds! The housemother, Marci, sounded frantic.

OK, I’m coming, I replied. I quickly grabbed my jeans and a flannel shirt. I looked bleary eyed into the bathroom mirror and quickly ran a brush through my hair, then grabbed my car keys and purse from the hall table and went to the garage to start the car. As I backed out of the garage, I felt the fog close around the car. Putting on the fog lights, I headed up Highway 1 to the house in Novato where the nighttime ruckus was happening again.

As I drove, I tried to collect my thoughts about what I had read of Katy’s social and medical history provided by County Social Services. It had been sketchy, but I recalled something about her mother being a voodoo practitioner, who in one of her more insane moments had cut off the tip of a finger on her baby, believing that it would release the evil spirits within the child. I didn’t recall seeing a short finger, but I really hadn’t looked for one when Katy arrived. Everyone had been focused on the nasty little girl who had immediately fried the family goldfish upon her arrival.

Arriving at the house where our house parents live with six young seriously disturbed children, I saw that all the lights were on. Oh boy, I thought, she’s got the whole house going. As I opened the front door, I heard the wailing. Both Marci and Jack, the house parents of the Evaluation Program, were in the living room with Katy on the couch. Marci stroked her hair and Jack was trying to reason with her in a quiet voice.

Katy, Katy, I said quietly moving toward the group.

My name is NUTMEG! She screeched, and suddenly stopped the wailing, sitting bolt upright and staring at me silently.

OK Nutmeg, I quickly corrected myself. What’s all this about?

I can’t sleep in this house – EVER! Nutmeg yelled.

Hmm -- is your bed comfortable? Do you sleep with your teddy bear? I knew from reading her history that she had a teddy bear she had carried around with her from home to home for as long as she had been in foster care.

That’s not it, she sobbed, tears now rolling from those beautiful deep brown eyes down her face.

And? I said.

SHE’S here -- she’s gonna kill us all! she sobbed.

Who, Nutmeg?

Betty Lou. I knew Betty Lou was her birth mother’s name.

Betty Lou is not here, Nutmeg. She can’t get to you here, I said quietly and moved a bit closer.

You don’t know, she cried. She’s -- she’s outside my window! She began to shake as she pointed a finger, the short second finger of her left hand, at me. You don’t know! she sobbed.

I know she hurt you very badly a long time ago, I said.

She almost killed me. The sobbing was softer now. And she curled into Marci in fetal position, softly crying. I nodded to Marci who picked up my cue and carried her very gently to her pink and white bedroom, cuddling her as she placed her on the bed beside her.

After settling the other kids with Jack and getting them off to bed, I went to the pink and white bedroom to find Marci still cuddling Nutmeg in her little bed with her teddy bear held between them, softly stroking the long black curls and singing a lullaby. Nutmeg was huddled close, and seemed quiet now.

As I entered the room, Nutmeg looked up with those big soulful dark eyes. It’s always like this the first night, she whispered. Her words broke my heart: she was obviously considering this just another move -- one of many in her short life.

I sat on the bed near her. It’s OK, Nutmeg. You are safe here in Children’s Garden. We won’t let anything hurt you here. We promise. And we always keep our promises, you will see.

I’m sorry, she whispered and closed her eyes, holding the teddy bear and Marci tight.

The Evaluation Home now quiet and the kids asleep, I hugged my house parents, and bid them a good night. It was 3:30 now and I had yet a long drive home before I could sleep.

Chapter 3

School

As I made my tea and toast the next morning, I kept hearing her words in my ears: it’s always like this -- How were we to find a way to this little girl’s heart so that she could attach normally to someone for at least her growing up years, setting the stage for good adult relationships and attachments? How were we to