Most of my life I've assumed I'm not a snob. I'm interested in people who are different from me and I've enjoyed learning about all kinds of different people. But now I think I'm a snob.

When I go to C's recovery centre I feel out of place and uncomfortable. The woman who was assigned to supervise my visitation with C was a woman on methadone who struggled not to slur and who chain-smoked the entire time she was with us. Just how, I couldn't help asking myself, was this woman supposed to be supervising my behaviour? She could barely keep her head up.

When I was introduced to the "House Mother" who was supposed to ensure Little J's well-being during the visit, making sure nothing bad could happen to her, this woman slumped over to us wordlessly, scowled (with multiple missing teeth) and made a comment so unintelligible that it sounded like a grunt. Again, I couldn't help but feel uneasy that I was being expected to place my trust in this person, trust with the life of an eleven year old little girl.

Even the sweet little blonde ghost who greets me in her wispy voice as a brand new person each and every time I meet her, telling me, "We work so hard to keep the house clean. We really care about keeping it nice," ... as much as my heart aches for her and the suffering that is so clearly written all over her haunted face, I don't trust her. I don't want her in charge of anything that affects my life.

I'm a snob.

And I can't help it.


*