Way back when–I think it was my first job after graduating from college, which would make it around 1970-71–I had a job as a houseparent at a group home for girls in Walnut Creek, CA. It was actually a very good job for me; I learned a lot. Maybe another day I could write about what I remember from that job (and if you’re interested in having me do that, leaving a comment to that effect would up the likelihood of my getting it done), but today I want to write about an episode at Lake Berryessa.
We houseparents worked three days of 24 hour shifts per week. My three days were Thursday-Saturday; Sunday was handoff day, when I caught the next houseparent up on the events of the previous three days and how each girl was doing before heading home. Having the Saturday shift meant I had to find something for us all to do on the weekend pretty much every week. A frequent request from the girls in the summer was to drive out to Lake Berryessa for a swim and picnic.
One of my memories–in fact, the most vivid and lasting memory from these day trips–happened as we were starting back after a day of swimming and picnicking. There was a bridge across some part of the reservoir, and we stopped to visit the portapotty there by the bridge. There was a group of 3-4 kids who were jumping (and I think even diving, though I can’t swear to that after all this time) from the bridge when we arrived. In my memory, the distance from the bridge to the water was 100 feet or so; it was rather impressive so we walked out and watched and chatted with them for a while. It was clear those kids knew what they were doing; they knew how to enter the water safely, and even explained some of their technique. Several of the girls wanted to also jump, but I rather forcefully forbade them from doing so. I never had a LOT of confidence that the girls would do as I told them (I was less than ten years older than they were), but several firm iterations seemed to do the trick. It probably helped that the other kids discouraged them, telling them how long it had taken them to learn to do it safely.
Eventually the other kids had all jumped and left, so we walked back to the car, near the portapotties. I was hanging out chatting with the girls, waiting for everyone to be ready, when two of the girls came up to me and told me that Vicky (her actual name, but I’m pretty sure no one will be able to identify her 53-4 years later) was getting ready to jump off the bridge.
When I walked back out toward Vicky, frankly I was terrified. If she dove, or even jumped, she risked being seriously injured or even killed. When I got near her–I didn’t want to get close enough to grab her, because I was pretty sure she’d jump if I tried–she was already on the outside of the guardrail, insisting she could do it, because the other kids had. I think she was beginning to be a bit scared of what she had bitten off, but still seemed quite determined. It took me quite awhile to talk her down (heh). I don’t exactly recall what I said, but I do remember emphasizing how far down the water was, how if she didn’t enter the water just right, she risked broken bones or worse, and just reiterating “do not do it”. Eventually I persuaded her to come back to the road side of the guardrail, but even then it took another 10-15 minutes to convince her she didn’t really want to do it and to come back to the car so we could go home.
So that’s the memory. Over the years, I drove out to Lake Berryessa a few times and tried to locate that bridge, but never found it. I even began to wonder if it still existed.
But it does.
That picture was taken from near my site at Putah Canyon CG. I was very pleased to finally locate that bridge! As you can see, my memory had exaggerated the height of the bridge above the water; it looks closer to 50 feet than 100. No doubt this was a result of how much Vicky had scared me and how relieved I was when she finally relented.
That sounds like a fascinating job; were the girls in trouble and that’s why they lived in a home? We had a housemother in my college sorority but these girls sound much younger. I’m terrified of heights so you wouldn’t have to worry about me jumping off that bridge!
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Yes, I’d like to read more about houseparenting. I wonder whether that sort of job exists today. I suppose I could go check.
Interesting memory of talking someone down!
My first job after college was that of a substitute teacher for Fairfax County Public Schools, Virginia. It was hell, and by rights, it really should have put me off teaching. But I was stubborn and stupid (still true).
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I would love to read more about your experiences with the girls!
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Sorry. Katrina here. I can’t remember my password!
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