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Recently, I was asked the question, “What do volunteers get out of being a CASA?” by a local reporter.

My answer:

The delight in observing a family formulating a shift from dysfunctional to a light of knowledge.  On the other hand, watching the sun rise on a child’s face, when they believe they are finally safe.

Wouldn’t it be a world to live in if there wasn’t any suffering?  Wait -that isn’t until we get to Heaven, or possibly, when the Earth becomes the new Heaven.

Whichever, we still have to live here, until that day comes.  So, suffering we will endure, no matter what religion, or personal belief system you live by.  I’ve seen my share, just as most, if not all of you, have.  It angers me!

Why are we so selfish and self-absorbed that we simply don’t even notice the price our families pay?  I have never met a parent, yet, that believed the problems in their family were partially, at least, due to their personal choices.  Most believe the responsibility lies on other family members, their jobs, the child, and past experiences forcing their dysfunction.  All are in denial of the possibility to their own wrong doing.

Possibly, when they are completely alone, they will cry or curse themselves for their mistakes.  Don’t feel sorrow for them during these moments, as they are just a prelude to justify their next bad choice.

When I was a teenager, I frequently babysat for a child, I adored.  One night, her father came home early.  He seemed angry.  Actually, I am now unsure if he was angry, or fighting with his internal dialogue.

After throwing something across the kitchen floor, he stormed past me and up to the steps into his daughter’s room.  I was scared, so I decided to go up to my room and hide.  I looked in on the little girl, still in her crib, sound asleep.

I observed her dad standing aside her crib.  I nearly said something, but something about the moment frightened me even more, and I quietly backed away.  I hate myself for not speaking up, facing my fears.  I would have saved that child.

When this little girl was around three, I witnessed this same incident.  It never occurred to me that this man would be doing anything so disgusting and sick, so again, despite my discomfort, I walked on past.

Many years later, this child’s sister came to her mom and asked her mom to make daddy quit touching her chest.  Naturally, this mother called to the older child, who was by now around the age of twelve.  She asked her daughter to tell her if her father had ever touched her.

You won’t be surprised that things had progressed to where this little girl, and her father had been engaging in sexual intercourse for several years.  Why hadn’t I saved her?

I am a CASA (Court-Appointed Special Advocate) for foster children, because I refuse to remain silent any longer.  I’m no longer afraid.  I need to stand up and say, “you’re wrong.”  I no longer hide behind a bedroom door and pretend everything is “okay.”

Many times I have been asked the question, “How can you help these people?  Don’t you hate them?”  This sick man was once a child, suffering.  I don’t have time to hate him, I think…if, I want to change these children’s lives.

This entry was posted in: irumeur...


I am a mother of 16 children and grandchildren. Some of them are by blood and the rest by heart. I was a foster mom for a few years and the children I cared for during that time have mostly stayed with me through the years. I love to write, read, dance, paint, and play with my animals. I enjoy dressage riding and just being in the barn. My words are my gift, as they allow you to know me as I really am. Thanks for joining me on this ride of life!

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