The Not-So-Magic Castle

Aside from working at the library, I also work as a team leader at a place that provides children and teens a place to hangout outside of school, that keeps them off the streets, and attempts to enrich their lives in various different ways. For anonymity (and probably legal) reasons, I am going to call this place the Castle. I choose this name specifically because of one little girl, who on her first day said to me, "When my mommy took me here I thought this place was a castle! It looks like a princess lives here." And to this little girl's credit, the building actually does look like some sort of bad mid-twentieth century mash-up of a medieval fortress and Victorian manor. To her dismay, however, the bleak inside didn't quite live up to her royal standards...

When I was interviewing for my job at the Castle, the lady in charge of HR asked me question after question about my history working with children. While I have no formal training what-so-ever, I do have experience volunteering with children from high school (over four years ago keep in mind), performing in children's shows (I am an actress), and babysitting periodically throughout the last eight years. The woman was so enthusiastic about the fact that I had a theatre degree, and kept talking about how I could have the children perform in skits, that I barely got a word in edge-wise. When she asked me about how I would handle certain situations that I may get into with the kids (arguments, fights, temper-tantrums, etc.), I gave my most educated guesses at the best possible answers... which were mostly rip-offs from teaching and education sites I'd found on Google the night before.

So needless to say, I got the job. Yet within the very first few days of working at the Castle, I was already aware of the apparent lack of organization and chaos. They are always short-staffed, their employee turnover is a tad ridiculous, and they don't train very well at all. My third day there, and my first official day on the schedule, I got called in early and had to cover not only my position, but the position of the person who was supposed to work in the same room as me. Basically, on my first official day, I baby-sat upwards of 90 kids, ranging in age from six to eighteen, by myself.

And because this is a place that is supposed to be a sort of haven for these children, they're practically allowed to do whatever they like, provided they follow the rules of the Castle. But this doesn't typically play out right. To the kids, the Castle is their place. Therefore, they get to do whatever they what, whenever they want, however they like. And I can't blame them, they're told from day one that this is a place where they're the ones with the power.

One of the most basic, fundamental rules of the Castle is: no running. Simple enough. But these are children we are talking about. Everyone is running, all the time. And there is no stopping it, but if you're caught not doing something about it, watch out, because you will be talked to about how it is a hazard and you have to do your very best to prevent it. Yeah, right. The back stairs soon became a circus of children sitting in "time-out" for running. It was a joke. They knew it. And I knew it.

I hated the job. I didn't feel like I was helping the kids, which was why I originally applied for the position. And what little tolerance I had for children before had been completely wiped away just one week in. They were pernicious little brats and no matter how my many times my friends kept telling me, "But the good ones, they make up for all the bad ones," it didn't matter. The "good" kids didn't make up for anything. I was trying to connect with the kids, I would put myself in their place, on their level, do whatever it took for them to at least respect me, but it was impossible. To them, I was just that awful girl that kept telling them that they couldn't throw their toy cars across the room or have more than one pool stick at a pool table.

I tried talking to my boss about my problems with the kids, about how I wanted to be more than a police officer to them, but he just kept saying things like, "Just give it more time, they like you, you just don't realize it yet" or "This is just how they are. They're kids."

One time I even said, "I don't think this one particular group of teens respect me at all. I leave them alone and they watch me, pointing and laughing. I try to talk to them, encourage them to do something besides sit around texting on their phones, but they just tell me I'm dumb and I should go away."

I was expecting him to be at least slightly concerned about this, but he simply laughed and said, "They're teens. They don't respect anyone."

But did it really have to be this way? I wasn't so sure. But nobody really seemed too concerned about.

I sighed to myself... so this is how it was going to be then? Perfect...