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18 MAY 2009

NO 1437

More than a file

In many ways, troubled youth share a marginalized status, like other minority groups. We first met 17-year-old Jonathan when he gave a moving speech to a conference for Canadian youth workers. He had been removed from his parents as a young boy and had spent several years in the custody of the state. With remarkable humor and insight, Jonathan shared what it was like to be "property of the government" and to be deprived of voice concerning his destiny. His story is a painful reminder that even well-meaning professionals can too easily slip into relationships based on power and superiority instead of relating to young persons with dignity and respect.

I know you are all busy — lots of work that demands paper, paper, paper. But I am here to tell you that I am more than a file. I am a person. I have feelings and am entitled to respect. Please don't only see the problems, see the potential.

I was an affectionate kid, but I was hurt too many times, so I turned to ice. I sometimes wish I could start my life over not knowing anybody. I have only about three good memories. I have a picture of me sitting on the lap of my Dad, but when I was 4, I watched my Dad's death. I have always tried to figure out why he shot himself.

I blamed myself for my Dad's death, but I didn't say anything about this until I was 15, when I asked my grandparents. I still want to know. I have always wondered that maybe I had done something to make him kill himself. I can't figure out if I was not a good kid and caused him trouble. I would have nightmares, but I didn't want to tell anybody. Even though it's a bad memory, it's my only memory of my Dad, so if I shared it, it would not be my own.

After my Dad died, my Mother got married again. She and my stepfather didn't want to keep my 8-year-old brother, so they got rid of him by putting him up for adoption. I didn't understand at the time, but later I wondered why they didn't get rid of me as well. I haven't seen my brother since he was 8.

I didn't get along with my stepfather and, between ages 9 and 13, terrible things happened in my life, not all of them at home. I endured what my stepfather did — physically abusing me until I was 13. Then I decided I wasn't going to be a victim anymore. One day he hit me in the head, hard, and knocked me down, but I got back up and stared right in his face with such hate that it scared him. After that, I was taken from my home. I didn't want to live with him again. I became a PGO — which we kids in care say means Permanent Government Ownership — because it feels like the government owns us. Of course, PGO actually stands for Permanent Guardianship Order, where the government becomes our guardian until we reach adulthood.

I was apprehended and placed in foster care before being admitted into the Saamis Children's Center. I lived there for 18 months and liked some of the staff. But there are a lot of things that have happened to me in my life that I don't want to talk about. Some people who work with kids don't understand — you have to let kids connect with you and not try to force it. They sent me to psychiatrists who tried to pry things out of me, and I said, "I don't even f — ing know you, I'm not telling you shit!"

I check out people very carefully. I am good at reading people. Sometimes I use reverse psychology, like if a counselor is getting too close, then I ask him about his life, his problems, and it scares him away. I can tell if a person really cares and wants to help or is just doing a job for the money. You know the saying: "Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer." If I don't trust an adult, I have to watch them even closer. I give staff respect even if they don't show it, but when they are not there, I live my life like I want. If I find a person who is open, his personality reaches my own and I bond quickly. But I don't want to talk about things that hurt. After being somebody who doesn't care about anything for so many years, it is hard to change. When I get upset, I ball things up inside, and then I finally blow up. Sometimes I hit my fist into the wall or I become violent, and then I feel guilty.

JONATHAN LAY

Lay, J. (2000). The person behind the file number. Reclaiming Children and Youth, 9, 2. pp. 68-69.

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