Andrew Bridge is on a mission: To fix the foster care system that he barely survived.
安德鲁•布雷治身负一项使命: 建立健全寄养儿童保护机制。

First-Hand Experience
亲身经历
"My name is Andrew Bridge. I'm a lawyer - your lawyer," I said to the pale, thin boy in front of me, who looked about 13 years old.
“我叫安德鲁•布里吉，是你的律师。” 我对面前这个面色苍白,体格瘦弱，看起来大概13岁左右的小男孩说。

He lived at the Eufaula Adolescent Center in Eufaula, Alabama, which I was visiting in the mid-1990s as part of the discovery process in a class action lawsuit against the facility. His parents had committed him to the care of the state, but for several days, the boy had been down in the basement, in isolation. I'd been startled to find him sleeping on a bare mattress, cold and alone. In a review of therapy and progress notes, our clinical expert concluded that nearly 30 percent of the children were disciplined in this way, banished to the basement at some point during their stay.
他住在位于阿拉巴马州的幼发拉青少年中心(20世纪90年代中期我曾到此，作为抗议收容所的集体诉讼的一员搜集证据)。他是由父母送至此处的。然而有很多天, 他都被隔离在地下室里。当我看见他独自睡在一张光秃秃的垫子上冻得瑟瑟发抖时，心里倏地一惊。根据专家对这些孩子的照管进程记录分析总结，他们当中30%的人受管教的方式就是被关地下室。

It had become my life's work to improve this child's circumstances-and that of many other kids like him. I, too, had lived under the care of the state. I remembered the loneliness, the fear, the deprivation. I thought of how I'd meet a lawyer or social worker for the first time. So, tell me about yourself… I hear you're good at school… Your foster parents and I are proud of you… I'll call you. I wanted these children to be treated more thoughtfully. I wanted their physical and emotional well-being to be of paramount importance to the adults charged with their care.
改善这个孩子以及其他很多像他这样孩子的处境，早已成为我毕生的事业。因为我自己也曾在收容所生活过，那些孤独、恐惧、屈辱我不会忘记。我想起了第一次与一位律师或者社会工作者见面的场景：来，跟我说说你自己吧……我听说你在学校品学兼优，你的养父母很为你骄傲……我会打电话给你。我希望人们以正确的方式对待这些孩子，希望负责照管他们的成年人能越来越多地关注他们的身心健康。

"Why did the staff put you down here?" I asked the boy.
“他们为什么把你放在这里呢？”我问男孩。

"I wouldn't get out of bed before school," he replied.
“我不肯起床去学校。” 他答道。

Had his parents visited him? They hadn't, though his father had called. "And your mom? What about her?"
他的父母来探望过他吗？没有——虽然他的父亲打过电话。“那你妈妈呢？她的想法呢？”

"She won't tell me, but I know she wants me back."
“她不说，但我知道她想让我回去。”

Serious family troubles had landed him here, but his living conditions seemed cruel and unusual-hence the lawsuit and my work on his behalf. Veering off the usual lawyerly script, I asked, "Is there anything you want? Is there anything you need me to do?"
一系列严重的家庭问题使他只能来这,但其生活境况很悲惨，也就有了诉讼,由我负责维护他的权益。看完这份普通的文件，我问他:“你有什么想要的”，“你想要我为你做些什么？”

"Would you tell my mom I'm sorry? That she can come see me now?"
“你能告诉我妈妈说我很抱歉吗？她现在能来看我吗？”

I had no idea who his mother was. But my presence that day helped him get moved back into the boys' dorm, and he was later taken to another facility (Eufaula was closed in 1996).
我不清楚他母亲是谁，但我那天的出现让他搬回了男生宿舍。之后他又被转移至其它机构（因为幼发拉青少年中心于1996年关闭了）。

Whatever had happened between this boy and his mother, I knew he would never forget her-as I had not forgotten mine.
不管男孩与他的母亲之间有什么隔阂，我知道他不会忘记她——正如我不会忘记我的母亲！

"Please Don't Hurt My Mom"
“请不要伤害我的妈妈”
With dark hair, and eyes to match, my mother, Hope, was attractive and fun-loving. She was smart and said that I was too. But the demons of mental illness began cutting her down in the prime of her life. Sometimes voices spoke to her. She couldn't hold a job. We'd been forced to scrounge for food in dumpsters.
我的母亲霍普有着深色头发和一双与其相称的眸子，她个性极具吸引力，富有情趣。并且说我和她一样智慧。然而,在她的金色华年，病魔来袭，摧残着她的精神健康。她无力工作，我们有一度甚至在垃圾箱里找吃的。

One Saturday morning in 1970, when I was seven, I walked down the wide, empty sidewalks of the Los Angeles neighborhood where she and I had lived for two years. The local deli owner used to smile whenever I came in by myself. I'd hand him cash or a promissory note from my mother, and he'd give me a pack of cigarettes for her. This time, he was distant.
1970年的一个周六早晨，7岁的我走在我们曾生活了两年的洛杉矶住宅区外面宽阔而空旷的人行道上。以前,当我一个人走进这里的商店，老板总会冲我微笑。我递给他母亲给我的现金或货票，他会递上母亲要的烟。而这次，他拒绝了。

Perhaps a stranger had stopped in and asked about me. Maybe the owner was afraid that selling cigarettes to a child had gotten him in trouble. Whatever the reason, he refused to sell me the pack.
也许是因为一个过路人曾拦住我盘问的缘故，也许是商店老板害怕向一个小孩出售香烟会给自己带来麻烦。不管是为什么,他不再卖给我烟了。

I began walking back to the motel where my mother and I were staying when a county sheriff's car swung around the corner, keeping pace behind me. I crossed the street. The car followed me for more than a block before finally pulling up. The deputy rolled down the window.
我开始往我和母亲住的汽车旅馆走。有一辆在街角巡逻的警车开了过来，跟在我身后。我穿过街道，警车尾随我穿越了一个街区多的距离，终于停了下来，车窗摇下了。

"Are you Andy?" he asked.
“你是安迪吗?” 车里的警察问我。

I stood motionless and answered, "Yes."
我站着没动，答道:“是的。”

"Get in," he said. I opened the back door and obediently did as he said. As the car approached the motel, I saw my mother out on the sidewalk, barefoot. She was arguing with a well-dressed woman-a social worker, I learned later.
“上车,”他说。我打开车后门听话地上了车。快到旅馆时，我看见母亲光脚站在人行道上，与一名衣着光鲜的妇女争辩着什么（后来得知那名妇女是一位社会工作者）。

The deputy parked. Forgetting me in the backseat, he ran out to protect the woman from my mother, who was now screaming, inches from her face.
警长把车停了下来。他好像忘记了后座上我的存在，冲出车去保护那个女人，而我的母亲在冲着她的脸尖叫。

My mind raced. Please don't hurt her. Leave her alone.
我不知所措了。请不要伤害她，离她远些。

"Where Are You Taking Me?"
“你要带我去哪？”
The deputy grabbed my mother's shoulder and shoved her away, but she returned with greater rage. When he grabbed for her again, I raced to protect her. She reached out and wrapped her arms around me.
那警察抓住母亲的肩膀推开了她，但这使她更加愤怒地再次冲上去。当他第二次抓住她，我快速跑上前去保护母亲。她伸出胳膊搂住了我。

For a few seconds, we stayed like that. Then the social worker yanked me into her car, and the deputy descended on my mother, pinning her facedown on the sidewalk.
我们保持这个姿势站了几秒。那个社工突然将我猛扯进她的车内。而警察在打我的母亲，拉着她的头朝下压在人行道上。

My head rang. Please don't hurt her. Leave her alone.
我惊慌失措。请不要伤害她。离她远些。

As the social worker drove away and tried to comfort me, I wondered who had betrayed my mother and me. Was it our former landlord, looking for unpaid rent? Was it my school, when I failed to arrive for second grade? Each time I asked a question, the social worker replied with an ill-fitting answer.
社工将车开远，试图安慰我。而我想知道到底是谁出卖了我的母亲和我。是想要追讨房租的前房东吗？是我的学校，因我未升入二年级？我每问一个问题，社工的回答都让我极其不满。

"Did the police take my mom?" I wondered.
“警察带走我妈妈了？” 我问道。

"Priscilla will be fine," she said.
“普里西拉会没事的。” 她说。

"Can she sleep at the motel tonight?"
“她今晚会在旅馆住吗?”

"Priscilla will come to see you soon."
“普里西拉很快会来看你的。”

"Did the policeman let her get her clothes?"
“警察允许她带衣服了吗？”

"Priscilla can take care of herself."
“普里西拉能照顾自己。”

My mother hated her first name. She insisted on using her middle name, Hope, and no one who knew her and cared for her used any other. A small point for an adult, maybe. But I was seven years old, beginning a long trip, and only the words Mom and Hope mattered to me.
我母亲一直都讨厌自己的名字。她坚持用中名，霍普。认识和关心她的人也都这样叫她。对于大人，这只是个小事情。但对刚刚开始人生旅途的7岁的我而言，对我有意义的只有“妈妈”和“霍普”这两个词。

Los Angeles County had no place to put me other than an enormous holding facility for children called MacLaren Hall. As the social worker drove me to the forbidding cinder block compound, she outlined a well-rehearsed set of tasks. First I would go to MacLaren. Then I would go to a temporary foster home. After that, I'd go to a long-term foster home. Finally, I would return to Priscilla.
在洛杉矶县，除了一个名叫麦可莱伦的青少年收容所，我无处可去。社工将我带到一个禁止闲杂人入内满是煤灰的街道社区，她列出了一套缜密的任务计划：首先我得去麦可莱伦，然后去临时收养之家。此后，我会被某个家庭长期收养。最终将回到普里西拉身边。

I only had to wait and count each step: one, two, three, home. Things didn't happen quite that way.
我只有等着，数着步骤：一、二、三、回家。但却事与愿违。

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