A Thorough Exam

Recently, I've been in the process of applying to be a Big Brother in the Big Brother/Big Sister Program. In my line of work, I've seen so much evidence of dysfunctional families, abuse, crime, the whole gamut. I enjoy kids, feel that if I can do my little bit to defuse some of the dysfunction, then that would be a good thing. Besides, I know everything.

I had heard that it required a very thorough application process (as well it should be) but I think you'll all be surprised when you read just how extensive it was. I certainly was . . . .

I completed an application, an essay, signed a release so they could do a background check on me, and provided five references. Then there was the interview which was to take place in my home. I was a bit curious as to why it had to take place in my home, after all, I didn't plan on bringing the kid to my apartment nor do I think that should be allowed. Perhaps it was just to see how I lived, to see if I was a raging slob or whatever.

I cleaned really well, of course. I keep a neat apartment, but not freaky neat like one friend of mine who has never even used his oven or his own shower (He showers at the gym in his building so that his marble shower remains unsullied. That's freaky). I'm quite happy to sully my shower.

Then I got carried away . . . . I ordered new living room furniture. Really.

Okay, okay, it was stuff I'd been thinking about getting for a long time, anyway.

So, the social worker shows up for the interview. The furniture delivery had been held up so she didn't get to see the new stuff. Dang. We chit-chat. It turns out that she's from a very small town in Texas near the Mexican border (McAllen, Texas) which was relatively close to where I grew up. "McAllen, Texas?? Oh, gosh, my mom lives in Victoria!" Small world.

She goes through the usual questions: What do I have offer? What kind of child would be a challenge? What activities do you enjoy? What's your religion? Do you smoke?

What's you sexual orientation?

"Umm. . . . Left."

More questions, more questions. I did not tell her about the time when I was 13, tied my little brother to the side of the house , climbed on the roof and repeatedly spit on him. (Well, he was bugging me.)

Then she asked to look in my drawers. "Gosh, on the first date? I'm not that kinda guy." It was to see where I kept knives, prescription medication, cleaning products.
Oh, okay.

Then she asked to look at the browser on my PC to see the website history. Wow! (I'm sure it's to see if there's any suspicious sites on there). No problem. "Knock yourself out. I suppose I'll be meeting your parents next."

She mentioned that the organization often sends out letters that suggest things for me and my "Little" to do. She said, "You'd be surprised at how many people can't think of things to do."

I replied, "Good god, this is Chicago! It's not as if this was McAllen, Texas!"

Ha Ha.

An hour and a half later, she was on her way.

I felt like I needed a Silkwood scrub-down.