As I pulled into the East Dallas YMCA’s lengthy car pool drop-off recently with two of my three sons, there was a myriad of activity: Two classes of swimming lessons were underway, while other parents with bathing-suit clad youngsters waited for the next class, and day-campers (ages seven to 14) loaded onto school buses. My five-year-old son was going bumper bowling, and my three-year-old son was looking forward to making donuts.
I have been taking my children to the East Dallas Y for four years. I greet the staffers by name. Many are high school and college students, and I recognize most of the faces. They are attractive, well-mannered kids. Often, the preschool program director greets the parents.
Today, I am glad to be leaving my two sons in their care.
But this was not the scenario on a Friday three months ago. My family was preparing for a weekend vacation when the 6 p.m. news informed us that an East Dallas YMCA counselor had pleaded guilty to child molestation. Earlier that afternoon, I had collected my sons from the Y.
My initial reaction was numbing shock as I heard the counselor’s name. I knew this person. I had spoken to him often. He had access to my children.
What, I wondered, had happened at the Y? And had it happened to my kids?
My mind wandered back to a conversation I had with the same counselor several months ago. Would he, I asked, be interested in babysitting for my children?
“Sure,” he said. “If you can’t trust a YMCA counselor, then who can you trust?”
In the days and weeks that followed, I rode an emotional rollercoaster equivalent to the Texas Giant. My feelings ran from disbelief to denial, fear to anger, frustration to guilt.
My family has been a Y patron since 1987. I developed a comfortable relationship with the pre-school staff, and the Y became a friendly part of our weekly routine.
I assumed my kids were in a safe environment. Two of the regular staffers bring their own children there.
Yet, something ugly and unthinkable had happened to some kids who had attended the Y. How could an organization I entrusted with my children betray me like this?
Why wasn’t I informed, as a parent of Y attendees, that a counselor had been arrested and was awaiting trial for child molestation?
Our discussion was brief: My husband and I decided our children would no longer attend Y programs.
Then we went through the unnerving experience of taking our sons to the Children’s Advocacy Center to determine whether they had been molested. I already had questioned my oldest son (and he told me “no”), but I wanted him screened by professionals. To our tremendous relief, they were not among the victims.
But that isn’t the end of this story.
Next came the guilt that is familiar to all mothers. Had I been careless, I asked myself, in selecting child care for those I hold most precious in life?
Was I being selfish to drop them off at the Y just so I could have time to exercise, to shop at NorthPark, or just to go home and pay bills?
How do I know my children will ever be safe outside the protective walls of my home or with any baby-sitter?
After a while, those feelings were followed by a sort of mourning, that I had somehow lost a friend. I wanted to believe the Y remained a good place for children.
But I needed to be reassured. I needed answers.
I called the Y, and I was walked through the hiring procedures. Screenings. Drug tests. Interviews. Mandatory training seminars. Criminal background checks. Probationary employment periods.
It appeared the Y had taken the proper steps to ensure their counselors were trustworthy. Yet someone slipped through, someone who meticulously gained the trust of these children, their parents, and his co-workers.
We were all fooled.
Today, the remaining counselors have a more difficult job. Everyone is watching. Awareness is heightened.
My investigation makes me believe the Y probably is among the safest places for my children. The decision did not come easily, and my husband still has reservations. But I can now say I again feel good about the Y.
My anger and disgust about what happened hasn’t abated. Nor has the uneasiness I feel when talking about this with friends and other Y moms.
But my anger is more clearly directed – not at the Y but at the former counselor.
This drama is behind us, and we are getting on with the business of raising our family, taking the steps we believe are necessary to keep our kids safe.
What else can we do?
