Fornits

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An open discussion about the troubled parent industry

[ This Message was edited by: 85 Day Jerk on 2002-09-13 09:24 ]

There were a lot of changes that went on once
everything had come out in the open.  A lot of atrocities went on in the foster homes of the outer fringes.  Younger sibling sisters were a part of the drug use in some of these homes and sex was involved in some with girls as young as 11 years old.  These were the people who 'vanished' from the program.
I doubt that charges were ever filed, but the girls involved were most likely damaged psychologically for years to come.  Executive Staff tried hanging on the the ones who were more or less 'Animal House' material out of simple greed and fear of losing any more of them almighty Tampa dollars, but in the end less than a dozen out of nearly 40 kids remained in the program
and I gotta give them a lot of credit for that for they were truly hated by most.  It was hard enough to trust and believe in any of the horseshit that went on in there on a day to day basis, but when people that you were supposed to trust love and look up to are doing the very things that put your ass on front row........jesus!  I dealt with it by withdrawing into myself as fast as I could
like a submarine doing a fast dive.  No one trusted anybody anymore.  We went probably 2 solid months without a "Love Rap" and there was no longer any of that bullshit grand-standing that used to go on all the time where you could only get a few sentences out while relating before some asshole gets called on and starts laying into you about nothing just to look good.  The program had finally gotten to the point where it was for real, at least in group during the day.  The older phasers for the first time were scared shitless of coming back into group after school everyday.  Even though I was no longer being a Jerk, if one of the phasers pissed me off in a rap trying to grand stand or something, I would wait a couple of days, tell a fifth phaser that someone smells like pot after they sat down behind me, when they came in from school, and watch with glee as their permission for that weekend was denied!
I would be lit up like a Christmas tree when I could pull off shit like that, because staff really took stuff like that seriously
after all the shit that went down!  Night time and open meetings were a whole nother story though.  This was a period when Executive Staff was really up shit creek and without a clue.  Scotty and Jean Cassidy withdrew their severely needed support out of burn-out and disgust, leaving the Parent Group part of the program as helpless as a teething baby chewing on razor blades after a good rubbing of NUMZIT.  Open Meetings would drone on and on with absolutely no direction and for once, I seriously began considering splitting the damn program.  I think that this is around the time that Dr, George Ross joined the program and things started to get a little better.  By the grace of God we had Halloween coming and it helped take everyones mind off the crap.  I think I can remember that we actually had Halloween type decorations and it continued in the Morgan Yacht building through all the holdiays.  Once the lessons were learned we all went through a period where the program really started helping people, or maybe I had finally became brainwashed.  I can't decide which.  All I know is that I was home and every single one of my newcomers made it through the program.  They were treated the way that I should have been treated, their MI's were not a bunch of mindless ramblings written down just so they could go to sleep and when they were in group they did not sit and rot on first phase like I did.  As I progressed more and more through my program, and became more and more a part of the group, I slowly became aware that I was no longer a part of my own family.  But that is another story with it's own nightmares.   The End of the saga of the Tampa Screw-Up...... Coming soon -  School Daze

Following all the refreshers and people set back a phase or two, the group went from a day-time total of around 80 kids to well over 150.  The competition proved to be too much for me to handle, so once again, I turned on the juice and became a JERK, only this time with a lot more anger and determination.  These were the final days of life in the Milton Roy Building.  There was a lot of yelling, a few good fights broke out, one intake actually tried splitting the building and wound up running straight into the group during medication rounds.  That was pretty wild, getting tackled and restrained before you are even in the damn program, but it happened.  During this time there were several other clients like myself, who highly resented the intrusion of all these goddamn Tampa people who had screwed up.  It had said in the paperwork that we signed on our intake, that if we used drugs or had sex with another client, that we were to become terminated from the program and that our parents were entitled to no refund........period.  Me and other newcomers would discuss this at the drop-off's houses in the mornings.  Drop-offs were one of the few places where newcomers could communicate freely with one another. There was a growing anomosity towards all these Tampa Screw-Ups.  The way we looked at it, they all should have had their asses kicked out of the program for good, they conned there way through once, and would do it again, and were all just wasting our time and holding us up from moving through our programs.  One Saturday morning several of us made a pact to disrupt the Tampa clients as much as possible.  We went into the building with a purpose in mind, and proceeded to cause as much disruption as possible.  Our first tactic was to loudly clear our throats or cough whenever a Tampa person was called on, so that no one could hear them relate.  This went on all damn day, until finally Liz stopped her rap and stood a bunch of us up and asked point blank what the hell we were up to.  The truth came out and all hell broke loose.  Fists flew, and several guys got punched around by pissed off "in-towners" and for a brief moment justice was served.  A new mood settled over the group. It was now clear that those of us on lower phases were more than willing to kick someones ass, if they interfered in any way with our progress through the program.  Unlike the rich, spoiled Tampa brats, we were there to get Straight, because most of us were court ordered and had no goddamn choice in the matter.  We were through having these pussy ass private school homogenized human poodles try to call the shots any more just because they had parents with fat wallets.  The look of fear in the eyes of these once priveleged

fallen angels was priceless.  After about 3 more days of scuffles, splits, and outbursts a new routine fell into place as we all got ready for the big move to the Morgan Yacht Building where even more surprises were in store.                  - end part four

[ This Message was edited by: 85 Day Jerk on 2002-09-03 03:10 ]

The last week I stayed at my Tampa oldcomers house was kind of strange.  He had a lot on his mind and would tell me a lot of personal things about his job and pressures on the long ride home every night.  One thing that was unique was that it was just me and him in the car.  Most in-town foster homes had a parent driving to and from the program.  It took permission from executive staff to be able to drive a car while on the program.  My oldcomer wanted me to know how bad the gas crisis was, so he would open the curtains to the living room window where I ate supper at a desk with my back to the TV knowing full well that I could see the reflection of the newscast.  He drove me in for the last time on a Tuesday morning and explained the gas situation. I was the last newcomer he ever had.  A few weeks later, on a Saturday, a bunch of 3rd and 4th phase guys from Tampa filed into group almost 2 hours late.  Their excuse was that there had been a bad wreck on Howard Franklin Bridge.  Liz Cassidy was leading the rap and had them all find a seat in group and the rap continued.  The guys seemed abnormally happy and were cutting up and acting out of sorts.

What really raised my suspicions was when my former oldcomer chose to sit down in my row, up near the front of the group, which was unheard of for a 4th phaser to do unless he was there to babysit a JERK or something.  I whispered to Mike and asked him why he was'nt sitting with the rest of the guys.  He whispered I'dd find out soon enough.  Then he blew my mind by saying don't ever think anyone is your friend in here, don't trust anybody.  I really did'nt understand what he was telling me, but it did'nt matter

because the storm was coming................end part two.

[ This Message was edited by: 85 Day Jerk on 2002-08-22 01:34 ]

I saw Malcolm in the Middle tonight and it triggered the memories for the following post.


Coming home from school would entail walking through Kenneth City and then cutting through Memorial Park Cemetary with my step brother Scott and making fun of headstones with funny names.  They had alot, like Rusty Pipes and Peter Whacker, etc.  When we got to the house, I would pick the trash cans up and spin around discus style and let them smash against the side of the house a good 20 feet away.  I would then head for the laundry room to the object of my affection.  A beat to shit Montgomery Ward Signature Series Vacuum Cleaner.  I believe I destroyed 3 of them while living there.  Starting in the living room, I would vacuum the floor while throwing everything in sight into a grocery bag.  Full bags went on top of the washing machine.  Any paper trash not reclaimed was then thrown into the garbage along with whatever clutter left in the bag.
When the vacuum ran out of cord, I would curse, unplug it and throw the damn thing into the next room, usually where my brother was sitting on his ass watching tv, scaring the shit out of him and getting him to at least clean the clutter off of the coffee table.  I would whip the vacuum around like Starsky & Hutch were driving it and vacuum up the bits of plaster and dust left behind every time it hit a section of the wall.  Occasionally one of the wheels would come off
and I would have to put it back on.  When I got to the dining room I would suddenly change gears and vacuum like an English butler.  The china cabinet was way to fragile for any Starsky & Hutch action, but once I hit the hallway, it was action show time again.  Gracefully arcing through the air, it would crash into my older brothers dresser sending shit flying in all directions
which I would then vacumm up never to be seen again.  Following dinner, I would bust at least one settings worth of china while doing the dishes, or at least scratch the hell out of something.  I was nothing more than an indentured servant the whole time I stayed there.  My father and stepmother never showed the slightest interest in my schoolwork, plans for the future or anything.  I never once saw a dentist since coming home on second phase.  What the hell WAS I to them?  I am 39 years old and I still don't understand why my dad even bothered getting me to come live with him.  I just thank the Lord that my grandfather lived close by and I was able to establish a relationship with him that helped bring about
closure to the program, as I moved into my mid twenties and what waited beyond.   -Bob

(tonights episode was made possible in part by Marnie who is kicking up memories like a bunch of schoolkids in a Bubble Ball Tent)

August 1978;
     Summer is drawing to a close and the New Building Drive is going full swing.  Parents are doing something strange at Wagon Wheel Flea Market every weekend, I hear wild tales of big winnings at BINGO from oldcomers, yet the magic is fading, the parents are getting burned out.  I had been on first phase since June 16 and the fundraising had been going on since before I got there.  How much does it take to convert another warehouse?  Are they gonna have a petting zoo and roller coasters or some shit? It was another Monday Night Open Meeting and the parents filed in like they were part of the Bataan Death March.  There had been an unusually high number of refreshers and set-backs.  Not too many folks had graduated either, unless they were staff trainees.  These parents were whooped.  They had been put through the emotional wringer and squeezed of every dollar straight could get.  Whatever stupid song we were singing had ended, and I was sitting on front row and my lips were still moving.  I lip synched my whole first phase pretty much.  I did not want to lose what precious water I still had on my breath due to the lack of proper fluids in that hellhole.  Mrs Pete comes bounding up the middle of the Parents Side, trailing the microphone cord looking like a cross between Richard Dawson and Frau Blooker from Young Frankenstein.  She was wearing this hideous sky blue pants suit like Disco Night at The Nursing Home.  There was something in the air and for once, I was actually paying attention of my own free will.  She dispensed with the usual Building Drive News and then announced that the 4th and 5th phasers along with staff were going to do their part in raising money by putting on a Gong Show and that tickets would be $5 dollars.  Following this announcement, there was an unbelievable amount of murmuring throughout the whole building.  It was such distracting news, that I seriously considered making a run for the doors.  I don't know how she did it, but Mrs. Pete managed to take a bunch of broke down, discouraged parents and make them all look like kids the day before Christmas.  
              End Part 1

Every now and then another blood vessel would harden in Helen Petermanns brain, and give fresh non-Nazi cells a chance to run things for awhile.  Such a wonderous occasion happened near the July 4th weekend on the year of our Lord Nineteen Hundred and Seventy Eight.  I had finished with lunch, and sat there contemplating whether or not to nail the chick sitting 3 seats deep in the second row with the remaining cubes of ice still in my cup, for narking on me for checking out the new girls, or savoring the last of the coolness in my mouth.  Suddenly the Prehistoric outlines of Mrs. Petes enormous coiffure entered my field of vision as she sauntered up to the front of the group.  Her bombadier blue eyes gazed back and forth across the guys side like a searchlight.  She had heard that with the addition of a guy named Mark Bell, that we now had guys who looked like all four of the Monkees and wanted to see for herself if it was true.  She called on these guys and they all came up front of the group.  It was sorta like a contest, because we had three guys that could have passed for Davey.  I was nominated to be a Peter Tork look-a-like, but because I had been being a jerk, I had to sit down.  After about a half hour of haggling, they settled on four finalists and she had them do that arm & arm, leg over leg thing while we sang the Monkee's Theme.  Here we were, all happy go lucky, even the short scrappy Italian chick that had been brought to group after splitting the program carried to her seat "alligator style" seemed happy to be there. Something was'nt right, I felt and began looking behind the group towards the front of the warehouse and staff offices.  Them dumbasses should have never let me sit in the back, because I saw who all of this was for.  Marshal Cleaver, a promonent radio announcer and talk show host for WLCY studios.  I just wish he had been there 3 days earlier when this psycho girl named Susan had burst from the group, leaped into a perfect swan dive and landed on her face, sliding along the concrete like a freshly clubbed baby seal. Where was Geraldo Rivera when we needed him?

I am fairly new to these forums.  I bounce between Straight Survivors and Straight Alumni and use different posting names, yet some of you smarter members will know who I am in either forum since I often post the same message in either one.  If this were a football game, I would have to say that this forum scores more touchdowns, but Straight Alumni definately has possession of the ball more than we do.  Maybe people are running out of steam or something.  I was fortunate enough to get together with three collegues from my days of incarceration at St. Pete Straight.  It was awkward at first, but after being with these guys and some other very dedicated people, I felt the years melt away from me and it was like I was 17 all over again.  My biggest and most lasting contribution to the St. Pete Straight was that I was the brightest and most dedicated jerk (mis-behavior) of my era.  In the weeks to come I resolve to bring the Jerk back to life and place him in the lives of the scum-bags who profitted from our misery and who stole from us what may well have been the best years of our lives.  This drug testing thing for high school students is criminally stupid.  I plan to protest and hope others do the same. As for the differences that occur in these forums, hey whadda want? In my program, crack was a part of your ass, MTV had not yet been invented, CD's were something old people put their money in at the bank, and cell phones were as big as hairdryers.