I am beginning to feel like a character in "Pilgrim's Progress," trudging along, heavy-laden and in depressed mode. This definitely ain't "Singin in the Rain," and I am sure as heck not Gene Kelly, at least not the last time I looked in the mirror.

I have been back and forth to suicide prevention meetings, to OCFS, both state and regional: school guidance and enough social workshops to star single-handed in "Fantasia." And there is no help. No help for drowning children, no help for those trying to help drowning children. And because I am not kin, not related to these children, I have no say in any meaningful way in their lives.

"Get the parents involved."

"We need signed letters from the parents."

Even a school official saying, and I quote, "Did you ever stop and think CPS may not do its job?"

I'm no dummy. I know that the powers that be are probably (for whatever reason) not doing their jobs. And frankly, no one wants to speak to me anymore. I have become the persona non grata, the word is out, "Stay away from that Atchinson person. She's nothing but trouble."

Trouble I may be, but I am not nothing and neither are my children or any children for that matter.

On Saturday, a 14-year-old boy was stabbed in Mont Pleasant. (Look at that word closely) Mont Pleasant. And what has that pleasant vista become? An extension of violence and crimes and drugs. A 14-year-old boy taken off in an ambulance, stabbed by his mom. Neighbors say police have been to that house many times.

Where is CPS? Where is anyone who can speak for the children? I can't. You can't. Kinship rules and confidentiality. I am an old, bleeding-heart liberal, an erstwhile hippie and I am saying maybe it's time for civil disobedience again. These are not rules that help minors, these are rules that keep minors from getting help.

If parents came forward and signed for their kids to get the help they need maybe the kids wouldn't need help in the first place. I talk to schools who don't know how to get in touch with the child in question, let alone the parents of the child in question. They (the schools) have no current address, no phone number, no nothing. They are asking me the name of the welfare worker on the case. And of course, I don't know. How would I, I am not kin? I should be kin. If caring was the measuring stick instead of blood lines, I would be the parent to hundreds of kids.

All these suicide meetings! I hear from an impeccable source that between all the meetings and gatherings, maybe 20 parents have ever attended. And frankly, they probably were the ones who already were part of their youngster's life. And yet, I hear it over and over, all the so-called "experts" saying, "The first step is to get the parents involved." Would that be the parent who came to their children's' back-to-school night so high on drugs that she had to be physically removed? Or would that be the parent whose children were roaming the streets at 2:30 in the morning with their 2-year-old brother in tow?

How many times do I take a child home and find that they are locked out and we have to make frantic efforts to find shelter for little ones? And of course, I am not kin so I cannot speak for these waits. Who speaks for these children? I see 5-year-olds caring for 2-year-olds. These are the Hansels and Gretels of Schenectady, walking hand in hand on our streets, unable to even leave a breadcrumb trail because, after all, where exactly would it lead them to? A locked door?

It's Tuesday. Someone finally called me back today. Maybe it's because I threatened to a supervisor with identification in this blog. But I got the same old same old. "How would you know about that?" I know because children tell me who or what has been to their home. Then there's the good old, "I cannot confirm or deny that." "Listen," I sputter. The man I spoke to put the speaker phone on in his office so everyone could hear. "Now you are telling me we can't discuss the same information I gave to your regional boss?"

Children in distress are frail and swift. Swift to run, swift to hide and swift to disappear. They're like frightened birds that we galumph after to try and capture.

They will lie to protect themselves from what they see as capture, and they certainly lie to protect their family. Remember "Don't Snitch, Don't Tell"? It all starts at home. Every child wants their very own, their biological parent. And they will lie, cheat and steal to stay with their family. I believe families have to be worked with as a totality. Maybe even bringing in extended families. Nobody is born to be a parent. Most of these folk are victims of their own upbringing.

One smart little boy once told me, "I know there's a cycle of violence, I'm going to escape that. I'm going to be different." And maybe with luck and a real chance in life, he will. But unless we address this and address it now, dysfunctional families will beget dysfunctional families.

I am neither a guru nor a lunatic, but it makes sense to me that working together with a complete family offers the best chance for everyone involved. And meanwhile, bringing in those outside forces of help and understanding will get the children and the adults to a better footing and to a better life.

"Happy families are all the same, only unhappy families are unique."

-- Leo Tolstoy