Filling a Gap in Child Care, a Few Families at a Time
Ohanian Comment: I
read that a good program like this is in danger
of being cut, and I see red. This woman works
very hard for $30,000--and her work allows
mothers to obtain skills and get off welfare.
Compare her $30,000 annual pay with the
salaries of the CEOS whose bankrupt companies
our tax dollars are bailing out.
By Michael Winerip
SHIRLEY, N.Y.
JENNIFER MABANTA, 36, a divorced mother of two,
rises at 4:45 each morning, gets herself ready
for nursing school, then wakes her children,
Anthony, 10, and Veronica, a year old. She
breastfeeds the baby; tries, usually without
luck, to get some breakfast into Anthony;
checks to make sure he has his backpack; and
then bundles both of them up against the cold.
By 6:20, they’re out the door, heading for Miss
Patty’s.
Their schedule is tight. At 6:30, the little
family is standing in the 29-degree predawn
darkness, their steamy breath visible, ringing
the front doorbell at the home of Patricia
Christofferson, Miss Patty. It is an ordinary
four-bedroom house on a quiet middle-class
street here, but for Ms. Mabanta it is the
Super Glue in her life.
“Come in,” Mrs. Christofferson says, pulling
them into the warmth.
“How’s my good girl?” she says, taking Veronica
from her mother. “How’s my angel baby?”
“Actually,” Ms. Mabanta says, “she threw up
last night. I didn’t get to study for my cardio
test. If she starts to look not good today,
give me a call.”
“We’ll be fine,” Miss Patty says. “Won’t we,
angel baby?”
“Give me a kiss, I love you,” the mother says.
“Have a great day. Bye, guys. I love you, bye.”
And in under a minute, she is back in her car,
heading to Northport.
The bell rings twice more this morning. At
7:20, Charice Triche, another single mom,
arrives with Destiny, 7, and Ka-deah, 5, says
hello to Miss Patty, goodbye to her daughters
(“Give me a kiss. ... I love you, but I got to
get down the road”) and is off to her customer
service job in Hauppauge. At 9:05, Jennifer
Oster, a third single mother, drops off
Christian, 2, and heads for her job at Stop &
Shop in Riverhead.
Each of the three mothers has been on welfare
and is either off now or soon will be (early
next year, Ms. Mabanta graduates from an
intensive, 13-month, seven-hour-a-day nursing
course).
They could not have done it, they say, without
the free, government-subsidized, state-licensed
and highly dependable day care provided at Mrs.
Christofferson’s house and thousands of homes
like it around the state.
“Important? Oh my God, it’s so important,” Ms.
Mabanta says. “I would never be able to get my
nursing degree without this. I could get a job,
but I’d just be working to pay off day care.
I’d be stuck on public assistance.”
In these very hard times, the question is: Will
such programs aimed at helping poor parents
pull themselves out of poverty survive? Or will
they be cut as state governments retrench?
Already there are problem signs. Over the last
three years, the federal government has reduced
its day care contribution to the state from
$314 million to $300 million, according to
William T. Gettman Jr., deputy commissioner of
the State Office of Children and Family
Services. In its most recent budget the state
cut its share 2 percent to $137 million. In
response, Suffolk County imposed a child care
freeze in June, meaning no new children would
be accepted just as the need was growing. In
the four months before that freeze, the number
of children receiving day care assistance grew
10 percent, according to Roland Hampson, a
Suffolk welfare office spokesman.
With Gov. David A. Paterson predicting billions
more in budget cuts soon, providers are
worried. “To save money on day care, we may be
about to spend a lot more on welfare,” says
Robert Cianchetti, the day care director for
Little Flower Children and Family Services of
New York, a nonprofit agency that oversees
providers like Mrs. Christofferson.
In the mid-1990s, President Bill Clinton and
the Republican-controlled Congress passed
workfare legislation intended to get people off
welfare and into jobs by providing training and
day care.
Over the next decade, thanks to the growth of
these programs and a strong economy, the number
of welfare recipients decreased dramatically,
to 4.4 million from 12.2 million. New York hit
a high point of 259,000 children up to age 12
receiving subsidized day care in 2004, and last
year had 213,000. In Suffolk, the average cost
to subsidize a child is $180 a week, not all of
which goes to the caregiver. For Mrs.
Christofferson, 47, who has been doing this
eight years and is considered one of Little
Flower’s best, that translates into an income
of about $30,000 a year, for 10- to 12-hour
days.
She had worked as a mail carrier, but switched
to day care to be home with her own three
children, who are now all teenagers. Her
husband, Stephen, is an elevator repairman for
Local 3 of the electricians’ union.
Although she runs the program out of a playroom
in the back of the house, there is lots of
government paperwork: daily menus; daily health
reports; time sheets for each child. Cabinets
must have locks. Pools, even wading pools, are
prohibited; Slip’n Slides are O.K. Every two
years there are courses in CPR, nutrition, the
warning signs of child abuse. Every month there
are inspections.
“Where’s my toast?” Destiny yells.
“Coming, it’s coming,” Miss Patty says.
She gets the baby bundled up again, checks that
everyone has gone potty and is out the door at
7:45 for the school bus. After the big kids are
gone, she takes Veronica’s hand and they walk
to the end of her driveway to pick up Newsday.
“Paper,” says Veronica.
“What a smart girl,” Miss Patty says.
At nap time, Christian will not sleep unless
she rocks him.
After school, she has a half dozen children at
once, including Angelise, 6, who has autism. It
was Mrs. Christofferson who suspected autism.
“She’d rock back and forth, wouldn’t talk, just
screamed all the time,” Mrs. Christofferson
said. “It got so bad, my kids wanted to get rid
of her.”
Mrs. Christofferson went online, figured it out
and urged Angelise’s grandmothers, who have
custody, to get the girl tested. The special
education Angelise has received has made a
major difference — she’s now verbal, beginning
to spell and is well behaved.
At one point, in the afternoon, chaos breaks
out. “Christian, I need you to stop throwing
things,” Miss Patty says. “Ka-deah, put the
cushion back on the couch.”
“I want an apple,” shouts Ka-deah.
“I just gave you an apple,” Miss Patty says.
“I don’t want it cut up,” says Ka-deah.
But Miss Patty does not blow, and as fast as
things flare up, they turn quiet. Soon
everyone’s eating saltines and doing homework.
Ms. Mabanta comes at 3:30 for Anthony and
Veronica. She says she had a good day, arrived
at school early enough to study for her quiz
and got a 98.
Ms. Oster is back from Stop & Shop for
Christian. At 4:05, one of Angelise’s
grandmothers, Linda Rittereiser, a school bus
driver, arrives.
“I’m drinking hot chocolate,” Angelise tells
her.
“I can see,” Ms. Rittereiser says.
The Triche sisters are last, getting picked up
at 4:30. Mrs. Christofferson has their coats,
scarves and gloves on when they remember they
have to go potty. Five minutes pass, 10, 15 and
there’s no mother. The sun has set, the man on
the radio says the wind chill makes it feel
like 13 degrees. Mrs. Christofferson is
supposed to pick up one of her own daughters
from the high school.
She digs out the emergency contact card and
calls three numbers, but gets voice mail
messages. An hour late, the mother arrives,
apologizing. She says something about problems
at home. She thanks Miss Patty, says she’s
appreciative, and though she doesn’t say why,
it’s understood: Her daughters are safe, warm
and cared for.
— Michael Winerip
New York Times
2008-11-30
INDEX OF OUTRAGES
