In ancient times communal life thrived from the skills each person had to offer. While there was a form of money, it was mostly obtained by the wealthy. The barter system is what was most frequented among the common people. Basically, if I was a farmer, I would trade my produce with a blacksmith for a bridal bit to hitch to my mule. Unlike today where you can practically create a job for yourself, skilled labor was most likely passed down through the generations. If the father was a blacksmith, it was not uncommon that the son was too. If the mother was a midwife, then so was her daughter. The goal in passing down one’s trade to your child was to ensure a respected livelihood. Just like back then, as is today, there are some professions that are derived through our circumstances. Unfortunately, they tend to have a bleaker outcome.
I was a substitute in an alternative school that catered to students in middle school through high school. Since I was a regular there, everyone knew me, and the kids respected my position. One day I was asked to monitor the cafeteria in the Assistant Principal’s absence during high school lunch. An argument broke out between a female and male student. Arguments in the cafeteria were not common between boys and girls because they were seated separately from each other. In this case, the boy barely reacted to the girl, who was beyond upset. Together, a teacher and I intervened and got her to calm down. The young lady was new to the school and sometimes it took a while to adjust to the environment. Thus, I did not think much about the incident. Lunch ended and everyone went to their classes.
The next period happened to be my break and about midway through I went to consult with the middle school Assistant Principal. When I couldn’t locate him at his office, I headed towards another location where I thought he would most likely be. As I got closer to my destination, I encountered a teacher escorting the same young lady from the cafeteria, into the hall. He wanted to be discreet in his consultation with her because there were other students in the class. Upon seeing me, he immediately asked that I intervene so he could return to class.
I introduced myself to the young lady then pulled her into a room where we could talk in private. From first impression, I placed her age around 18, although she looked older. Had I seen her on the street, I would have guessed her age to be anywhere between 21 and 25. To my surprise, she was only 15 and in the 8th grade. Because of her physical maturity I completely ignored the fact that she had on a middle school uniform. Apparently, a teacher placed her in high school lunch to watch her because of issues stemming from that morning.
The young lady and I had a candid conversation about what happened at lunch. She explained that the argument was an extension from the morning. She then revealed that her mother indoctrinated her into prostitution at the age of 13. This explained why she looked so much older; one of the hazards of the profession. The two utilized their skills to get money whenever they needed a place to stay. The young man whom she argued with earlier, was aware of her profession and teased her about it. His remarks embarrassed her, thereby making her combative.
At this point in our conversation, my social worker hat was on fire. This is when I inquired about her health. I asked if she was on birth control. She replied, “no,” because her mother refused to approve of it. In that state, females 16 and under required parental approval for birth control. According to the student, her mother would not allow her to get birth control because she feared her daughter would gain weight and become more voluptuous. This would make the girl sexually appealing to her boyfriend, of which she already suspected they were having sex.
The obvious question came next. “When was your last period?” She thought for a second then realized that she was late. This was known only because she and her mother’s cycle were in sync, and she didn’t get her period when her mother’s last appeared. “Do you think that you could be pregnant,” I asked. She didn’t know. At this point I was concerned for the welfare of this student. After much discussion I learned she had an 18-year-old brother who lived on his own. According to the young lady, he was in a stable living environment. Even though the brother’s relationship with his mother was rocky, theirs was solid. I counseled her on the possible options available based on my knowledge from my home state. This young lady’s mood was a little lighter when I walked her back to class.
My next move was to the nurse’s office. I inquired of the nurse if she could administer a pregnancy test. She said it wasn’t allowed. I was shocked. I began to pick the nurses brain about all things social services including emancipation. She too was not fully knowledgeable and placed me in touch with her social worker friend. The social worker diagrammed the ins and outs of this delicate situation, pretty much confirming what I explained to the young lady. Basically, the ball was in her court. She had to figure out if she wanted to be benched, pass the ball, or take the shot. Translation, she could either stay with her mother in an unstable situation, ask her brother to stay with him in another possible unstable situation, or become emancipated and get housing on her own.
The signs were evident that a cycle of teenage pregnancy was looming in the air. The mother was 33 years old and had her first child at 15, then another at 18. According to the timeline, this young lady was right on target. She was caught in a generational web of poverty and oppression. Instead of climbing out of the pool to safety, she was being pulled into the deep end. A discussion with her mother would have probably proven futile. Aside from getting social services involved, there wasn’t much I could do. There was also the fact that the young lady may not have wanted me to help her. She could have been crying wolf or better yet, running game. Therefore, I did the one thing I could and turned the case over to the middle school Assistant Principal to handle.
A few months later I found out the young lady was in fact pregnant. She left school and no one heard from her. From time to time, I think about this child and the many others just like her. Was her situation one that was destined for her or will she be able to break the chain. I can only pray that somehow, she alters her assigned career path and doesn’t pass it down to her child. All she needs to see is that sometimes a weed can break through the cracks in concrete and blossom into a beautiful flower.
By: Paige Adams
A Paige from my Book 