The Apple Doesn't Fall Far from the Tree

As a government social worker, I have the unenviable task of going into people's homes and report on how good of a job they are doing. I went into one particular apartment of a fifty year old mildly retarded female. For privacy sake, let us call her Sister A. She is one of four sisters. She lives with Sister B, who functions in the borderline range of mental retardation herself. Sister A is my client although Sister B could be too. Sister C lives in a group home and also receives services from my agency, the Division of Developmental Disabilities. Sister B's toddler crawled around the apartment and by observing his developmental delays, I suspected disability. An adult nephew, who had a speech impediment and questionable disability himself, chased after the toddler in a game of the apple doesn't fall from the tree.

In the middle of the meeting, Sister D telephones to inform me that unforeseen circumstances would prevent her from joining the meeting already in progress. While on the line, Sister D asks about how to register individuals with the Division of Developmental Disabilities.

"Which member of your family do you want services for? Given the family dynamics, it seemed an obvious question. It even had me looking around the apartment for other inhabitants in need of social services.

"I have a cousin who has a disability."

"Oh, I see. Take this phone number down." It sounded like she wrestled a pen from a gorilla but after much commotion she returned to the phone. I gave her the phone number of our intake unit which determines eligibility.

I hang up the phone only to realize I am surrounded by disability with this family. My heart hangs heavy indeed at the challenges they face. Full of purpose, I am now prepared to discuss the option of genetics testing and Planned Parenthood to Sister B. My good intentions are interrupted by a startling conversation Sister B is having with Sister A and a third party attending the meeting.

"Congratulations." beams the third party "I didn't know. How far along are you?

Sister B proudly says, "Five and a half months."

"You're pregnant?" I asked with surprise.

"What did ya think I'm just fat?" she replied. "Yes, I'm pregnant again. I'm due the beginning of April and that worries me plenty. I don't want no April Fool's baby."

She spoke my sentiments exactly.