Seminole County's Guardian ad Litem program keeps kids safe.
“I know a place where no one's lost, I know a place where no one cries. Crying at all is not allowed, not in my castle on a cloud.” —Les Miserables, the musical.
Two sentences were scribbled on a piece of torn-out notebook paper in Judge Lester's hand. The uneven, misspelled words penciled the wishes of an 8-year-old whose parents and attorneys argued in front of Lester to decide where he would grow up.
The parents admitted to skipping classes that would teach them to stop beating their child. They skipped a lot of things, falling ever shorter of the requirements of clearing their case. The father had missed two scheduled visits with the guardian ad litem volunteer who visited to check on the child. The mother's last drug test came up positive for oxycodone. When the judge read the note, scribbled in a tiny hand, it said the child didn’t want to live at home anymore, with either parent. He wanted to live with his grandmother — the only place he felt safe.
Then Judge Lester had to make one of the hardest decisions any parent could make — and one that, as a judge, he has to make nearly every day.
Caught in the crossfire
Lester and Judge Galluzzo preside over dependency cases for Seminole County and decide permanent placement for children under court protection. In these cases, domestic violence, substance abuse, homelessness, job loss and mental illness mix disastrously. By the time the authorities find out about a child growing up in an unfit environment, it may be too late.
It usually starts with a concerned phone call. A neighbor, teacher or friend reports their suspicions to the Florida Abuse Hotline. The Seminole County Sheriff’s Office Child Protective Services usually investigates within 24 hours or less. Many children are temporarily placed with a relative or foster family and a GAL is appointed at the first available hearing.
The GAL interviews adults in the child's life, visits the child, discovers the child's needs and acts as their community and courtroom advocate.
Gaining the child's trust is crucial. Case Coordinator Sandi Ciuba recalls a toddler who loved Ciuba's giraffe bracelet. “I made sure I wore it each time I visited. It was the first thing she looked for,” she said.
Shaken and addicted babies
Case coordinator Karen Ruberti and her 26 volunteers remember their youngest substance abuse victims, who may suffer long-term effects.
“We have a 2-year old who can just stand by herself, but we're not sure how well she can hear,” Ruberti said. An addicted baby often has tremors and wakes up screaming — unable to fight cravings for the drug that pumped through their bloodstream while they were still in the womb. Their GAL volunteer visits medical staff, checks on the baby's progress and sometimes cradles them in a warm embrace.
There’s a photo above case coordinator Lisa Jarvis’s desk. It’s a smiling dark-haired boy that she last saw on his 6th birthday. He has seizures and cognitive disabilities sustained from shaken baby syndrome, but he’s doing as well as he can now. His case is closed, but his smile is a constant reminder of tragedy and hope.
The stories cut across communities and social strata. No class is immune. Inside a nice house in a gated community, a fourth-grader pours Cheerios for her little sister and prepares for school. They walk to the bus stop while their mother sleeps next to vodka and pill bottles.
A 12-year-old is on his fourth placement in two years. His mom left him with his grandpa; his dad is in prison. Grandpa suffered a stroke; his first foster home didn't work out; his second foster dad lost his job, and now the child is in a group home.
Education rescues troubled teens
Case coordinator Lorenzo Polk and his guardians ad litem work cases affecting 100 children, but Polk's forte is teens.
“I don't sugar coat life, but I understand their anger when they are shifted from foster families to group homes, because nobody in their family can pass a background check,” Polk said. “They didn't have control over what has happened but they can control it now. My hope is for them to learn entrepreneurial skills like culinary, photography, tile work or carpentry.”
But there’s a limit to that gateway to a better life. Teens whose academic performance falls below a ninth-grade level may not qualify for vocational schools or tuition waivers. Children who learn good study habits early may find school a welcome insulation from the chaos.
“We have children who become attorneys, teachers and GAL volunteers because of the impact of these people,” Ciuba said.
Case coordinator Beth Townes has noticed a rise in mental illness and prescription drug abuse complicating childhoods that are already marginal and nomadic. “I've had children left alone in a shelter while their parent went out and drank,” Townes said.
Even a veteran coordinator can grow weary of runaways, multiple placements, stalled court proceedings and cut budgets. But when Townes thinks of her own teenage son, she finds strength. And then there are the times when she sees hope, even inside a courtroom.
“Even in the tough cases, when relatives or parents are engaged and want to see the child, it gives me hope that they are not alone,” Townes said.
This is the first of three articles about Seminole County's Guardian ad Litem program. The following scenarios are based on actual cases but are not intended to represent specific families. The first names of judges have been removed to preserve anonymity. Florida statutes mandate that every child alleged to be abandoned, abused or neglected, placed under court protection, must have a guardian ad litem.