He was four years old,

and in two months he had been in four placements. Our Assessment Center was the fifth, and it was obvious from his track record that we had our work cut out for us.

He was four years old,

and he had been removed from his home because he had set the house on fire. His mom had passed out in the bathtub after an alcoholic binge, and her little boys, Michael, our four-year-old, and Terry, his two-year-old brother, were left to their own devices. Terry was badly burned in the fire, and both boys were placed in foster care.

But Michael, who had behavioral problems requiring medication, didn't do well in a regular family. He didn't understand how families worked. He didn't trust anyone; he allowed no one to touch him; his language was abusive and vile.

Foster care became a revolving door as Michael would arrive and begin hitting, biting and cursing his way back out. In this ever changing world, his medication schedule went awry and was never regulated. His behavior degenerated accordingly.

Our good staff in the Mason Cottage rose to the challenge. They followed a strict schedule of administering the recommended dosage of Michael's medications and met with his doctors weekly to have them monitored. And in the cottage, they held Michael himself to a strict schedule of mealtimes, rest times, play times, and bed times. The medication he was on began to take the edge off his tautly strung nerves, and he was able to relax--not much, but a little. He watched the other children and how the staff treated them, and he began to wonder if things could be different for him too.

He learned that his rude and crude behavior never achieved the end he wanted. He grudgingly began to observe the standards of behavior required of all the children--proper table manners, no hitting, respect for others. His extensive vocabulary of curse words had to go.

Every night he watched as the staff rocked the other children, gave them a kiss and a hug, and tucked them lovingly into bed. He began to reconsider his policy of never allowing anyone to touch him and finally decided to exercise his privilege to be rocked.

"ROCK ME, MISS SHEILA!!!!" he demanded. Miss Sheila quelled him with a glance. "We don't shout or give orders here at Mason Cottage," she said quietly. "Try asking nicely."

Michael swallowed hard. Even after his daily lessons in getting along at the Mason Cottage, it was hard to remember that his old ways weren't effective here. "Miss Sheila," he said politely, "would you rock me, please?"

Miss Sheila smiled and gathered him into her arms. "I would love to rock you, Michael!" The taut little body relaxed against her as Michael snuggled down to enjoy the exquisite sensation of being cuddled and rocked--for the first time in his four year old life. The arms around him felt strong and safe and loving, the gentle motion of the chair soothed him. Miss Sheila's voice sang a simple lullaby above his head. Michael was getting a taste of what the world should be for a child.

Back to Assessment Center page.