Why I’m (Still) a CASA
I first became involved with Piedmont CASA twenty years ago.
Now, before you roll your eyes and think, “Oh, this is the story of one of those do-gooders patting herself on the back,” and move on, you need to know something:
My motivations weren’t completely altruistic.
At the time, I was working in the UVA Law School Foundation. A non-lawyer, my job was marketing communications. And I was bewildered by the new world I inhabited. It felt closed, insular, clubby, mysterious. When a colleague, a UVa-trained lawyer, posted a flyer seeking volunteers to become trained as CASA Advocates, I was intrigued. “It’s important work,” she told me. “These kids are in foster care and they need a voice in court. The judge seeks input from CASA, which advocates provide in reports they write for every hearing. And the judge listens to what they say and frequently acts upon their recommendations. In these cases, CASAs can contribute as much as the attorney assigned to represent the child. You could make a real difference in a child’s life.”
After talking with her, I did more research. CASA began to sound more and more appealing. After all, who doesn’t want to help kids? But it was more than that. I liked the idea of contributing in a way that lawyers might not — and to have a judge listen to me and possibly even take my advice. So after I left the Law School Foundation, I signed up for training.
The training didn’t disappoint. It was intense. Emotional. Draining. When I was assigned my first case, I was very nervous. My initial task was to meet a mother whose children had been removed from her care (and who reportedly struggled with mental health issues). My CASA supervisor offered to accompany me on the visit. It turned out fine. You see, this mother (like all of the mothers I have known over my years as a CASA) clearly loved her kids and wanted to talk about them.
What’s more, I discovered that my work really did make a difference. The judge read my reports before each hearing, and frequently both thanked me for my contributions and addressed my concerns and recommendations. Sometimes he asked overwhelmed, overworked social workers to look into issues I had raised. I usually came out of hearings feeling very validated.
One of my early cases was particularly memorable. I advocated for a beautiful little child. Each of the parents alleged that the other was guilty of abuse in a bid to win full custody. During a hearing in which the parents battled over a school choice for their child, the judge became frustrated. Red-faced and indignant, he turned to me and charged me with locating an appropriate school for the child. My CASA supervisor’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. Then she nodded. So over the next few weeks, I researched and visited local private schools. I made my choice, which the court accepted. That particular case was so vexing that I remember telling my supervisor that I no longer knew what the truth was, as I could not say which parent, if either, had abused the child I visited each month. “Does either one of them think you’re in their corner?” she asked me. “No,” I responded. “They’re both mad at me.” “Well,” she stated, definitively, “If you’re ticking both of them off equally, you must be doing something right.”
A few years after this case closed, I happened to run into the child, now a coltish pre-teen, in the grocery store with their father. He called out to me and, as I approached, motioned to his child, who turned to look at me. The teen clearly remembered me, and gave me a small, sweet smile.
Gradually, as I accepted cases, one after the other, my concerns about how I was perceived in court were overshadowed by what I witnessed in the incredible boys and girls I supported. Despite the abuse they had endured (which was sometimes horrific), or how severely they had been neglected by parents caught up in their own struggles, these kids demonstrated warmth. Humor. Creativity. And, always, hope and resiliency.
Eleven years later, when I was ready for a career change, Piedmont CASA was ready for me. Honoring the wonderful supervisors I had had as a CASA, I joined the staff. Over the next four years, until my retirement, I supervised 49 volunteers as they advocated for 87 children. I was in court almost daily, which fed my need to be part of the legal realm. But I was mainly hired to support my advocates, offering guidance, accompanying them to hearings, helping them with their court reports, sharing their joys and sadness. What a great job! It was at this point that I actually began to wonder whether I should have gone into social work or another helping profession.
These days, I have come full circle: I am a CASA Advocate once again. My supervisor is a former colleague with whom I shared an office when I was on the staff. She’s been incredibly supportive: answering questions, listening to my rants, making suggestions. But my training and experience haven’t made my role any easier to navigate. In my most recent case, I advocated for a quiet, reserved teenager.
The facts of the case were troubling, as they always are. But what was most upsetting was what intrigued me most about CASA work at the beginning: the legal system. Though I did the work and submitted thoughtful reports for each hearing, my recommendations were not being accepted. On one of my monthly visits to the foster home, my CASA child asked me, sadly, about the possible outcome in their case. My response? “The court would never send you back to an unsafe home,” I said, hoping, not only that the child would believe me, but more importantly, that what I said was true.
Recently, I got my answer: the court awarded custody of my CASA child to the foster parents, an outcome in line with the child’s wishes. Since the child had achieved “permanency,” the case was closed, and my job was over.
I was eager to see the child on my final visit to the foster home following the hearing. After chatting about the usual topics — school, friends, pets, upcoming travel plans — I asked what they had done after learning about the court’s decision. “We went out to dinner to celebrate,” the teen said quietly, with their customary reserve.
Shortly before I left, the child thanked me for my work and, most importantly, for believing them. As I started my car, I saw the child, standing in the doorway, waving through the glass. And I drove home, happy and relieved.
Soon, I’ll be assigned a new CASA case. I’m anticipating the usual: a heartbreaking story, a lot of hard work, and many ups and downs. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. You can call it altruism, but it’s more than that to me. It’s simply the right thing to do, and it’s something I plan to do as long as I’m able.
