“You’ve been bad again,” his uncle said. Then he wadded up a few T-shirts and a pair of blue jeans and threw them into a black trash bag.
His uncle slammed the door and locked the deadbolt. The boy gripped the icy cold doorknob with both hands, but no matter how hard he kicked, the door wouldn’t budge.
“Auntie? Uncle?” he screamed until his throat burned. “Let me in. I promise — I’ll be good. Please…”
The beat of the drums spilling from the stereo speakers in the living room rose to an even higher volume, rattling the storm windows.
It was no use. He dropped to the porch steps and hugged the plastic bag. A brisk wind rustled the clumps of dry leaves still clinging to the trees. Somewhere nearby, a dog growled. Terror ran through his empty belly. Reaching into the trash bag, he retrieved his only pair of shoes. Maybe, just maybe, they would keep his bare toes warm.
Suddenly, the streetlight buzzed overhead, bathing his frail shoulders in a golden hue. He nibbled his bottom lip as he extended one of the tattered sneakers toward the light. When he spied the remnants of blue ink, he stopped nibbling and held his breath. He had scratched his Court Appointed Special Advocate (CASA) worker’s phone number into the side of this tennis shoe. Has her number faded?
“You can always count on me,” she had assured him. “I will be your voice inside the courtroom. I’ll tell the judge anything you want him to know.”
Her words, “You can always trust me,” echoed through his mind.
In 1977, a judge from Seattle, Washington, longed for more in-depth information regarding children who were taken into state custody. He already had testimonies from the caseworkers representing the Department of Children’s Services (DCS), and he could interview parents or caregivers. Still, he wanted to know the child’s point of view. Who did they want to live with? What was their home life really like? This was vital information. To ensure that his ruling is in the best interests of the child, children must have a voice in his courtroom.
CASA was formed in 1976 to ensure children in state custody have a liaison who makes sure they are seen, heard, and advocated for. By 1984, CASA had expanded into Nashville. Today, 31 CASA programs serve 60 counties. Most CASA advocates are volunteers who feel called to be the “voice of the voiceless.” They go where no child should ever have to go — inside a courtroom to face the very people who hurt or abused them.
Wanda Strayhorn, a Bell Buckle native, said, “Working with CASA Works is my passion. God put me here — I believe that without a shadow of a doubt. Sometimes, He even wakes me up in the middle of the night and tells me how to handle tough situations.”
Strayhorn comes from a long line of strong, independent women. The morals, integrity, and fortitude she lives by were modeled by her mother, Eloise, and her grandmother, Viola Buckingham. Both had a servant’s heart, so jumping in and helping is a natural response for Strayhorn. She became a supervisor with CASA Works in 2009, serving Coffee County, and in 2014, was promoted to executive director over three counties — Bedford, Coffee, and Franklin. After hearing about the integrity of this program, Warren County asked to join three years ago.
“CASA provides a voice for abused and neglected children. It’s not our job to ask about the abuse. We are there to let the children know they have someone they can depend on, no matter what. I have hired four supervisors, and we are a team,” Strayhorn said. “Dana Farris serves 103 children in Franklin County, and Jenna Johnson serves 43 in Bedford County. Tammy Holt serves 35 children in Coffee County, and Debbie Helton sees over 90 in Warren County. They are dedicated, passionate, and tough when they need to be.”
When everything in a child’s life has been turned topsy-turvy, CASA workers and their volunteers provide a steady, reliable connection. A common question they ask is, “What do you want me to tell the judge?”
Although Strayhorn serves four counties, Bedford is lagging. Strayhorn said, “Jenna Johnson is determined to build her volunteer base. We have done all that we know to do to recruit volunteers. We are in a position where we can’t take on any more children because of this. That means, there are children without a voice in the courtroom inside Bedford County.”
CASA volunteers receive 35 hours of online training plus a full day of in-person training. They also complete annual continuing education hours and receive background checks. But volunteers aren’t caseworkers — they don’t work for the state, the parents, or the judge. Their only clients are the children they serve and advocate for.
“We work with DCS, and they appreciate our work,” Strayhorn said. “But our focus is on the child. We have some interaction with their parents, but we don’t ask them questions. We aren’t investigators. Their parents cooperate with our CASA volunteers even though they have abused or hurt their child because they still love that child.”
CASA Works held a fundraiser luncheon, “A Heart to Help,” at First Baptist Church on August 18, sponsored by Dennis Young Insurance.
Strayhorn said, “It is the love of what we do and the thought that we can help a child. If we can reunify a family, get a child into a permanent placement, have a child adopted, or settle a child with a family member, then we have won — God has won.”
The little boy who once scribbled his CASA volunteer’s phone number on his tennis shoe is now a well-adjusted, loved, and cared-for adult. CASA volunteers advocated for him to be placed with a different family member, and he thrived in that environment. GN
For more information about CASA, go to www.casaworks.org
