When I worked in child welfare more than 20 years ago, my supervisor would assign to me what she thought of as the toughest “cases,” i.e., teenagers, and cases where the child ended up in the system because of an act for which the biological father was accused. Nonetheless, the case was given the mother’s surname, which revolved around the indisputable fact of biological motherhood before the advances of DNA evidence could definitively identify the biological father. My supervisor did not know me well, but she knew that I could not be intimidated by any male who beat children to the point that it was abuse, and the State stepped in as the “custodial parent.”

The younger children, and the teenagers in particular liked me. I think that children, even toddlers, are accurate barometers, even in their innocence, of innate human goodness. Toddlers instinctively know that they are safe in my arms. Then, I didn’t have children, which my female coworkers didn’t believe, because the kids took to me, as if being a parent was a prerequisite to working with children. And parents, their first question to a child welfare worker was, “Do you have children?” Anyone who answered that question in the negative, from these parents’ point of view, couldn’t begin to understand what they had to endure as parents.

Do you have children?

Even though it’s been more than 20 years since I worked in child welfare, occasionally I bump into individuals who were teenagers when they were in care. One young lady, whom I have continually bumped into, was 15 years old when I first met her. Bumping into her last night, she said, “I’m going on 40.” She was sporting a new hairstyle since I last saw her, and I commented on how it suited her: short and dyed blue.

I bumped into this young woman, A, when she was 19 years of age and no longer in care. As soon as I got on the #4 train, taking in the surroundings of the car, I saw her. She saw me and addressed me by name. She was surprised that I remembered her and addressed her by name. I remember that she was a teenager who wanted to feel wanted – she had been abandoned by her mother, maybe even trafficked, and her father did not know how to raise a teenage girl – that her paternal grandfather would want her and rescue her from foster care, which never happened. A toddler was sitting next to her. She told him to say hi to me. I saw maternal pride, and I knew in that moment that she would be a good mother, that her son would not end up in child welfare if it were within her power.

A. told me that her son was in his first year of college. She said this with obvious maternal pride. I told her that I was proud of her. She rushed me and gave me a hug.

I remember this young woman, when she was in high school and not feeling well, would tell the counselor to not call the foster parent, but to call her worker, Mr. Eric. She knew that I would show up, that I would not question how she was feeling.

Working with and even mentoring young people is not complicated. The first rule of thumb: Just show up, and leave all judgment behind.