That time a 14-year old kid bit me.

A bite-sized story.

TL;DR

Never judge people by their worst day.

The day after I graduated college, I started my career as a social worker. My plan was to do this for two years. Maybe four max. I ended up spending eight years in the field.

Most of that happened after a fourteen-year-old foster kid bit my arm.

I was working second shift on the teenage boys’ hallway for a residential treatment center that has since been closed down. (Good riddance.) I didn’t normally work on that unit, but they were short-staffed that day.

One of the boys there—we’ll call him D—had been in our facility for a few months. He hadn’t had many behavioral problems. Until the previous couple of weeks after getting some bad news about his family. Specifically that he’d be spending more time in foster care.

We heard fighting coming from the room he shared with another boy. I rushed in to intervene. Though I stand at a towering 5’6”, D was taller—probably at least 5’10” and still growing.

Since he was actively assaulting another boy, I had to restrain him. But being taller than me, the angle for the restraint was awkward—and placed my left forearm at just the right spot for him to clamp down. Chomp.

Somehow, I managed to finish the restraint and take him down to the floor as other staff rushed to help me. Despite the pain burning through my arm.

Because it was a break in the skin, the onsite nurse treated it with antiseptic, but procedures meant I had to go to the ER to get it looked at. I sat there in the waiting room, a terrible movie playing as considered the visible bite marks on my arm. (This was just at the beginning of the smart phone era, so I still had a dumb flip phone.)

I ended up being fine, no infection. But because of the incident, D was being transferred to another facility.

Almost two years later, I was at a different facility and in a different role. I heard we were getting a new teen boy, which was normal there. And then while doing my rounds, I saw him… Our new boy was D.

Our eyes met and he dropped his head a little.

“Hey, Mr. Jonathan…” he said sheepishly. Repentantly. “Do you remember me?”

“Of course I do,” I smiled, keeping it light. “How are you doing?”

His eyes raised up to meet mine. “Much better. I promise.”

And I believed him.

D wasn’t with us for long, but that was because his time in foster care was almost over. But he really did seem to be better. And I hope he still is doing better.

All that to say:

Never judge people by their worst day.

We’ve all had days when we probably wanted to bite someone. Just as a way to feel some control in an out-of-control world.

Can I suggest a better coping strategy?

Write. Write. Write. Write. Write.

Because everything is storytelling.

Until next time…keep changing the world, one story at a time.

P.S. Sorry for the hiatus in posting. There’s been a lot happening in my brain lately.

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