INTERNATIONAL CHILD AND YOUTH CARE NETWORK

3 JANUARY 2001
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Susan Kellam writes about a pilot program working with 18 to 21-year-olds transitioning out of the foster care system

Teaching Independence 

Chaos reigns in classroom 202: A teaching assistant races out into freezing temperatures to tail a student bussing it to her new job; the phone rings — Ingrid's mother calling with a question; notebooks, empty aluminum cans and budget ledgers clutter the desks, two classmates steal off for a tender moment, and Ronald's voice dominates the room when he phones a missing student, "Mario, brother, where are you?" The students slowly trail off for their afternoon jobs, except LaCoy, who sits placidly sipping on a grape soda, and Ryan, who types his name on a Blockbuster job application form, once — then a second and third time.

"Don't melt down on me, Ryan," warns the conductor of this ordered chaos, Wanda Means-Harris. "Don't rock my world. Not today," she gently chides the 20-year-old student. LaCoy will start a new job on Monday at the Food Service Warehouse, but she forgot to ask about work hours. Means-Harris turns to her, "We got a big problem sister girlfriend. You go call Vanessa and find out."

Means-Harris runs a pilot program on independent living skills for 18- to 21-year-olds with developmental disabilities on the campus of a community college in Montgomery County, Maryland. This program allows these "older" kids to receive a high school diploma —and, to do so in an age-appropriate environment. Two major requirements exist for participation: the students must arrive at the class independently and they must secure part-time jobs. That means deciphering the public transit system, job interviews, a regular schedule, interaction with people, and—a pay check, the first major step toward self sufficiency.

"I'm just teaching them about getting around and doing day-to-day things that most of us take for granted," says Means-Harris.

Yet some people consider Means-Harris a miracle worker. No doubt because she can transform a troubled adolescent with no skills, and even less self-esteem, into a functioning young adult.

Her hands-on teaching methods are particularly effective with teenagers transitioning out of the foster care system. For the most part, these are abused individuals who have spent the first 18 years of their lives trying to get a firm foothold on very shaky turf. Many of them have disabilities, emotional and developmental. These troubled teens, emancipated from the foster care system at age 18, can continue to receive government financial support and services through the Independent Living Program until age 21. But generally it takes someone like Means-Harris to finally get through to them.

Alyce Werthheimer, a veteran foster mother in Montgomery County, recalls instances when Means-Harris grabbed a basketball and shot hoops with a student because the gymnasium became the only place to command the teenager's attention and control their anger. "She's able to turn these kids around because she takes a personal interest. Because with all the abuse these kids have had, they knew that Wanda was one person who is real," says Werthheimer.

Nonetheless, the challenges are daunting. "I can't undo in two or three years what has happened in the previous 18," admits Means-Harris. "But I try."

The Phone Call in the Middle of the Night 
As the daughter of a teacher, Means-Harris grew up in a household where an extra child at the dinner table became the norm. Sometimes her mother's students would stay for weeks in the guest bedroom. Her mother influenced her to become a teacher — but when Wanda Means became Wanda Means-Harris — her husband drew the line at bringing any students home to live.

Then one night, late, the police called Means-Harris to say they had a 16-year old girl in their custody whose mother had just died after an alcoholic binge. The girl gave the police Wanda's name as the only other adult in her life. "That's when I realized how badly these kids with emotional scars needed the skills to survive independently," she recalls.

Eventually the 16-year old got reunited with her father. And Means-Harris has learned to channel the enormous warmth she feels for these kids into a program for teaching them the "day-to-day drudges" like keeping a bank account, paying taxes, going to a doctor, transferring buses, ordering in a restaurant and staying cool on the job.

The success rate of her work improves exponentially with the collaboration of foster parents, parents and social workers, according to Means-Harris. The Werthheimers recently placed one of their 20-year old charges, Priscilla, in the pilot program toward the end of the child's tenure under state care.

Means-Harris requires all of her students to keep expense reports and record every purchase, even the 50 cents for a can of coke. "This was hard for Priscilla because she didn't like to be accountable," the teacher recalls. She also had access to financial supports through the Independent Living Program that the other kids, not in foster care, didn't have. So Means-Harris had to work very hard with Priscilla to focus her goals on obtaining a job, to get her to understand that there wouldn't always be supports.

Priscilla expressed uneasiness about living on her own, though she did secure a custodial job with the Montgomery County School System that made her eligible for health insurance. There were many factors working against her: three social workers in two-and-a-half years and a family who criticized her for "cleaning toilets" for a job, reducing her already low self-esteem. Only through the joint efforts of a devoted teacher and caring foster parents did Priscilla eventually become independent at the end of 1998. Priscilla proudly invited Means-Harris to her apartment, knowing that she was the one person who had the most to do with it, according to Werthheimer.

Setting Goals and Achieving Success 
Plastered across the front wall of classroom 202 for all to see is the banner: Success is a do-it-yourself project. Those words form the core philosophy of this program—and express what Means-Harris is trying to achieve with a group of kids who might otherwise remain dependent for the rest of their lives. Adolescents in foster care often believe "that the world owes them and they don't have to work," says Werthheimer. "So this teacher is able to get through to them by requesting that they take responsibility for what they do and don't do."

Means-Harris coaxes the kids, tells them that "you can succeed." She does this by setting up little goals. And each time they reach one, she sets up another one. "I never miss a teachable moment," she says.  A class dinner becomes an all-day exercise in planning a meal, going to the grocery store, choosing the right ingredients, paying the cashier, taking a different bus route to a classmate's house, and cooking. As part of these activities, Means-Harris requires the kids to stay mobile and figure out where they should be and how to get there on the bus line.

Full Disclosure 
here's another key reason why this pilot program is beneficial to an older foster child: everyone in classroom 202 opens up and talks about their disabilities, problems and concerns. "For many foster children, their whole history is an embarrassment. Here there is full disclosure and acceptance," says Means-Harris.

Passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act, known as ADA, in 1990 ensured that people with mental and physical disabilities would be protected from discrimination in the workplace. These kids can now go to a prospective employer and reveal their disabilities. If they can accomplish the tasks required by the job, such as re-hanging clothes at T.J. Max or cutting squares of chocolate at an ice cream factory, they must still be considered for employment.

This openness also carries over into personal matters: Colleen talks to the class about an abusive boyfriend who stalked her; Mario has cerebral palsy which confines him to a wheelchair and puts limitations on some of the class outings—in fact, Mario is the first person everyone thinks about when planning any activity; Ryan easily admits his feelings for another student, Caroline, and takes jabs—with good humor—about spending too much time with her; LaCoy is told that she is too deadpan, something that actually forces her to crack a slight curl of a smile, and any transgressions of the rules become part of the class discussion.

Not everyone can take the fishbowl environment. With some remorse, Means-Harris recalls a Burmese refugee who attended the class until last November, when she suddenly went AWOL. "She was beautiful and sassy," says the teacher, qualities that often got her into trouble. On one occasion, the foreign student (who had been thrown out of her home by her father for continuing her education) found herself downtown with no money, robbed by people she had considered friends. Means-Harris didn't go retrieve her in the middle of the night when she got the phone call, but she did spend considerable time talking the girl through the situation and letting her know where she could find help.

For all the students in the program, the hardest question is always, "what's next?" That's also true for Means-Harris. "I don't know how long I'll be here," she admits. She's preparing manuals as she goes, making certain that her work is portable and can be replicated by other teachers.

But after watching Means-Harris interact with the students for several hours, the question becomes: How can such basic nurturing ever be put into words?

Susan Kellam has an extensive 25-year career in journalism and social policy, including editorial positions at Rolling Stone magazine and Congressional Quarterly and as communications director at the American Public Welfare Association. She is currently a free-lance writer.

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