Years ago, I worked with a large Pilipino population, in Hawaii, who provided foster homes for geriatric folks in need. The care provider was required to be a certified nursing aid as was a designated backup and the expected abundance of state rules and regs were in play. The care providers were generally women, English as a second language, and in addition to providing foster care, managed to care for parents and/or in-laws and children and / or grandchildren.
I
can’t imagine, at my age, trying to move my kids to another country, learn the
language, go to school and get a certificate, spend the money to buy a home
with ample space for four foster grandparents and hope everything turns out.
The majority
of these ladies were also fantastic cooks (I could move to the cooking district in
Paris and live on a cot in one of the kitchens and still not be able to cook.) Per
tradition, leaving a home without having a serving of something was, well it
was just NOT going to happen. You could
plead not hungry, too fat, don’t go to the trouble, etc. Nothing doing.
The
few exceptions were younger girls breaking with tradition (and good for them.)
One caregiver who couldn’t cook and usually offered a store bought snack that
was typically Asian, like mini freeze dried shrimp. Fortunately, having food in a package negated
eating it in the home, but I always felt some solidarity with her.
One
caregiver would make enormous meals involving elaborate dishes and sides and
that was a house to plan some time for. Because, like I said, you are not
leaving until you eat. Even then, we would end up taking tin foil covered
plates of delicious food. My favorite and the girls’ favorite were Pilipino
pork ribs and more often than not, that was part of what I brought home.
The
caregivers were also very kind to me. I told them I was going to be quitting
and over the next visit I had a stack of little gifts for my kids and lots of
well wishes. They also coordinated a good bye lunch for me. I am sure this was
a logistical nightmare and not at all an expectation. (My boss and co-employees
were entirely separate from the field so this was much more of a genuine
expression of kindness than obligation.) I still am touched that they went to all the trouble.
A few months before I left,
one of the caregivers, who was friends with several of the others but a bit of
a trouble maker, quit unexpectedly and there was a little buzz of scandal for
several weeks. She focused her wrath on
one of the caregiver in particular. This
caregiver (the focus of wrath) was actually one of my favorites. In her early 30’s, she was able to buy two
additional houses to use as foster homes and pay to staff them. She also watched my youngest daughter while I
worked and, frankly, she was fun to be around.
One day I came to pick up the kid and the caregiver was crying. The
former caregiver of wrath had sent her a nasty letter outlining why everything
was her fault. She ended by saying “and
you are a big slot!” “Well,” I told her,
“at least we know you aren’t a slot.” “That is wrong isn’t it?” So slot and
slut were clarified and, not being either, things didn’t look so bad.
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