Little Girl Lost

The little girl showed me the Valentine Card she made in library story time today. She is six years old, and one of the sweetest, smartest little girls I've ever met. She especially wanted me to read the decorated note she'd added in thin line markers, her lettering bright and colorful, running in single words like a border to the left of the photocopied, well known verse: Roses are red... The note said: I love you, Mom, but not Dad, and that is the truth.

I asked her, in some general, blubbering way, What is wrong with Dad. "He is not very good," she said. "He is not nice to us." (What do you say to that?) I said, I would show your card to your Mom, but maybe not your Dad. Later, after the program, after 6:00pm, as I was leaving the Children's Reference desk, readying to go home, she was wearing the bright pink plastic necklace with birds and flowers I'd included in party favor Valentine bags for all of the children, and I helped her to find some of her favorite books to read in the library.

This little girl is in my library almost every day, after school. We are a conduit for many elementary schools and several middle schools, all within walking distance, and we see the same children. Today, there were two new ones: a little boy who said he was watching his sister. How old is she? I asked. Six. And how old are you? A half and eight, he said.

I have two brothers, one six and one eight, in every day after school, from 2:00 to sometimes 6:30. I have three siblings, seven, nine and ten, in every day, from 2:00 to 6:00. I could go on and on, and they would only be numbers to you, but they are little people. Though there are signs up everywhere, and brochures and handouts stating the library is not responsible for your children, and that the library is a public building, library rules do not prohibit unattended school age kids.

They come directly from school, without snacks, except for some little left over from lunch they might sneak. None of them look underfed or especially neglected. Most of them are polite, and with some guidance and nudging they make an effort to keep the noise levels down and they are starting to clean up their scraps from after school homework from the tables. We've added a second security guard just to keep control of these children, along with the middle schoolers ages 11 to 14 who arrive by 4:00, and often stay until closing at 8:00.

Though some homework is accomplished, there is mostly dead time and squabbles and reservations for the computer and one hour sessions playing computer games. The kids socialize, with constant monitoring and admonishments to keep down the noise. There is no one watching them, except for the roaving eye of the security guards and the overwhelmed and bewildered librarians whose job it is to help people find information in the library, to manage the library collections, to provide library programming, and not in any way, shape or form to provide "after care."

I'll be keeping my eyes on the little girl more closely now, with her knee high boots and pink canvas backpack she's learned to always wear so it won't get lost or messed with by mischievous kids. I've never seen any sign to make me think she is abused, but I did notice one day a couple of story time/craft sessions back, that she isolated herself from other kids to do her work, and it felt sad to me.

In my state, teachers are legally required to report any indications of abuse, so I have to hope her teacher who sees her every day and is responsible to monitor her, and knows her name, and knows who is listed as her parents, and has hopefully met them, and knows where she lives, will be cognizant of any signs.

During craft time, I always go around to everyone to encourage and to compliment and this little girl is no exception. She is creative and there is much love in her, and perhaps more sadness than I've wanted to acknowledge. She comes to the library with an older brother, but I've never seen them interact. When she showed me her card, and I mumbled about showing it to Mom, but maybe not to Dad, I gave her a hug. Somehow, I hope these little things like party bags, and fun stories, and encouragement, though they can't be enough, can be something.

Though I'm hoping, hoping for a transfer to another work location, maybe there is some reason for me to stay, and if that should happen, and I can't transfer, maybe I'll be able to come to better terms with it. Or, between the uber elderly when children's librarians work the adult Reference desk in the morning, and the latchkey kids in the afternoon, I will not survive this placement.

And that reminds me- there is a poem I have started about the 98 year old man who visits every few weeks when he is transported to the library with the group from his Assisted Living residence.

Working with the uber elderly, the many people over eighty-five years old who come to my library, reminds me daily of my recent loss, and seeing people who truly are in that last few months or last few years from death can be very difficult, though I do everything I can to make everyone's visit to the library bright. I have never before worked at a library location that felt like this, and there are reasons when I was thirty that I changed careers and left social services.