Another boy's file ended up on my desk today. My coffee lost it's warmth and I find I no longer care any more. His name was Andrew and he was seven. He was new into the Foster Care system, only came in 9 months ago, both his parents upper middle class. In that regard I'm surprised he made it into the system at all. Andrew is now moving papers in the Placer County social worker bracket. He would be easy on the eyes,literally a poster child for the good ol' christian Smith or Jones family. He had ocean blue eyes and the purest of blonde hair. I get their calls all the time. The pretentious and desperate home makers who want to keep their facebook status' pristine with all the good and self serving deeds they do while their successful husbands have their young secretary's bent over a desk. I wonder if I can even blame those men. The phone calls are all the same."Oh but we want a baby!!" the housewives demand. My most recent call was Mrs. Miller, I actually commend her for taking the time to actually be forthright in her response. "Ma'am, we are a 'foster to adopt' agency. The children we get have a need, their parents likely will not be back for them and they have little to no family... while babies are a possibility, the majority of our little ones in need range from about age three to twelve." I say, my eyes closing as I hear the horror in their breathing. I've just punctured her bubble, I've massacred the facebook post of her holding her new blonde haired, green eyed dove, that she single handedly swooped in and rescued, all in the name of Jesus! Even though, the reality of this job and lack of baby inventory is only because they are generally overlooked. When the child enters public school, that's when the first of abuse would ever even be a suspicion. A teacher with enough discernment. A neighbor with just enough curiosity."Well, okay.... so what you're saying is these kids, like, they've been through some pretty horrific things? Oh... see, yeah, we already have a little girl, she's 5 and well I wouldn't want my little Ainsley to be negatively impacted by a child who maybe has some trauma... Thanks anyways though, and God Bless!!" and she hangs up. It was the first time a prospective parent actually had enough balls to say what they all are thinking.Instead of a pompous and passive aggressive, "Let me talk to my husband" or "Let me pray and see where the Lord takes us". Mrs. Miller said exactly what she meant and I don't think she even realized it. I simply don't want to burden myself or my family with the realities of those less fortunate. I feel my stomach turn and I drop the phone back to it's receiver.The part of this job I hate the most, are these incident reports. I open Andrews file and begin to read the manner in which the world has wronged him in every, single, unimaginable way. By the time I reach the end, I choke down sobs. I bite my lip to refrain from letting screams and anger take the better of me. This innocent boy,who never once asked to be here, had fallen victim to a gang initiation in the boys Group Home facility. He currently remains in the hospital, in recovery from surgery to repair the damage.I press my eyes shut and try to swallow down the blood from my lips, bitten in my restraint attempts. I wish I had Mrs. Millers foresight. I wish I never had this need to be in this field. I wish I had the guts to have pursued a life that didn't have me so weak and powerless. I would have triumphed in a role, made beautiful with just the right decisions, that society lays out beautifully for those who conform. Conformity, could that possibly be the secret, in being able to turn a blind eye? I secretly envy Mrs. Miller's little Ainsley. I live in a world where I see all the demons that walk among us. She will walk in the same world, but one in which demons have been kept from.