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"They're home!" With
a smile, Mickey Hogan slid the bowl of strawberries
she'd just
sliced for
their treat across the kitchen counter and turned to
greet her boys.
All 10 of them.
"Hi, Mickey," Nathan
Hayden said as he led the parade of backpacks and
boys into the expansive, airy dining room lined with
plants and individually-labeled white plastic bins
packed with each boy's supplies.
"Hello, Nathan," she said, smiling as she
headed for her spot at one end of the massive table
for 10 anchoring the room. "Look!" one young
man said, eagerly pushing the papers in front of her
as his "brothers" dropped their backpacks,
grabbed library books, homework, or those crucial "buck
sheets" that would ultimately decide if they could
go out and play. Quietly, orderly, some found their
spots around the large wooden table. Several gathered
around Mickey, eagerly sharing their day.
Soon a steady stream of questions and chatter filled
the room.
"Can you get two small spoons?" Hogan asked. "David,
can you go get some bowls out, please?"
"What are we having today?" he
asked.
"Yogurt and strawberries," she
replied, simultaneously looking at two different
offerings as the young men scrambled for her attention.
"Sounds good," he
said with a grin en route to getting the bowls.
Welcome to life in the Ontario
house on the campus of Mooseheart Child City & School, where Michaeleen "Mickey" Hogan
is known officially as a Family Teacher. Unofficially,
even though no one calls her it and she's certainly
not their biological mother, she's the "mom" for
10 young men whose own moms are unable to give them
what they need right now.
"She's a mother figure for them," said Scott
Hart, Mooseheart's executive director. "When
they skin their knee, who do they want a hug from?
It's Mickey. When they have a bad day, who do they
want? Mickey. To her ... they are her boys ..."
They sure are.
Some, like Zachary Rice-Scotti, have always lived
at Mooseheart, which is home to about 230 children
living in about 30 homes, each with family teachers
like Hogan living on site. They serve as mentors, guides
and counselors, helping children whose own guardians
are no longer able to care for them.
Zachary, an 11-year-old avid
Pokemon fan, had just checked in with Hogan after
getting home from school. She, by the way, "is a really good football player," he
said.
Yes she is, agreed Tarry Johnson,
10, who said Hogan helps him with his homework. And "she's
helped me learn stuff, like staying on task."
He said he couldn't do that when he first arrived
a year or so ago. He was mad at first, he acknowledges
with a shrug and swift smile. But now it's OK, he says.
That's largely because of Hogan,
a single woman who turned her life over to Mooseheart
and her boys several years ago. "It's just really rewarding," she
said as half of her Mooseheart family tossed a football
outside and the other half worked on homework with
her fellow family teachers Bridgett Soto and Grace
Gregory.
"You have to dedicate yourself to it," she
added. "It's not a job. It's a lifestyle."
It's one that wrapped around her heart.
"You can see it when she's interacting with the
kids," Soto said of Hogan. "She's very good
at seeing what each needs and giving it to them. She's
a wonderful, warm role model."
"They know why they're here," Hogan said
of the boys. "And every kid is here for a different
reason."
Styles Redmond will soon be 9. David Serrano is 12.
He just celebrated his birthday. Jacob Stone is 9 and
has been there six years. Jon Williams is the oldest
at 12. He's been there one year.
Nathan Hayden, Joey Leitner, Skyler Hodges, Tarry
Johnson and Zachary Rice-Scotti are Group 1. David
Serrano, Jacob Stone, Joe Williams, Jonathan Serrano
and Styles Redmond are Group 2. They alternate who
studies and who plays after school. Each has chores.
Each is learning to become himself in a safe environment
where they learn structure, responsibility, and a respect
that was not part of their lives before.
Easing their confusion and sense
of abandonment is vital, Hogan said. She's glad when
they can see their natural-born parents or guardians
and she is glad for them when they are able to return
home. But if there's any question of safety or security,
they've got Hogan for backup. "We're here to protect the child," she
said.
Sometimes, that means she can't protect her own heart.
It had been a bad day at school
for one young man. As she talked to him about accepting
responsibility and changing his behavior, the little
boy began to cry. "Deep breaths," she said gently, outwardly
calm and soothing. "Just try and do better."
After his timeout and quick
regroup, he was back smiling, quietly accepting the
loss of a "buck" marking
the reward points that would grant him outside play
or TV time.
Inside, Hogan was near tears
as well. "I was
about to cry," she said as she watched him play
a bit later with other young boys who have also seen
difficult days. "His crying is a pretty big deal.
He couldn't do that before. It was either anger or
acting out. I was really proud of him."
Just like a mom would be |
