What AFSCME Has Meant To Our Family

Devin Partrich, a student from Allen Park High School, is one of the thirteen winners of the 2009 AFSCME Family Scholarship. She is the daughter of Robin Partrich, member and President of Local 142. As part of her application, Devin submitted the following essay:

My childhood memories are not what one would normally expect. The years seem to blend into one another, but I do remember them. Living in a household with an abusive father generally leaves one with sour memories. Vivid thoughts still exist in my mind of my biological father, who worked the afternoon shift, coming home in a rage and waking my brother and me from a sound sleep with his nonstop ranting and raving. My mother, basically an uneducated woman, did her best to provide stability. I remember my mom begging him for money to buy food, while he sat and laughed. When my mom tried to work to put food on the table, he forced my brother and me to stay in our rooms and he would not feed us. Soon, my mom started paying a neighbor to babysit us while she tried to work. I was perhaps three years old. The woman who watched us was gentle and kind.
Thr church we attended also had a school on the grounds. It was summer, and the bus driver who used to drive the afternoon run for the school had just informed the principal that he was not returning in the fall. My mom got word of this and she asked if she could drive the bus for the school. The principal said that my mom would have to receive the proper training, testing, and credentials to have the job, but if she could find someone to train her, he would pay for her testing and the job was hers. My mom found one of the church members who drove a bus for a neighboring school district. She agreed to train my mom. I remember going with her during the sweltering days of summer and riding around that bus until she felt confident enough to take the road test necessary to get her license. My mom was extremely proud of herself the day she walked out of the Secretary of State with her bus license. We celebrated by getting an ice cream cone, a very rare treat for us.

The following spring, on a particular Saturday, the sperm donor went on a horrific rampage. I remember the crashing sounds. I also remember my mom telling my brother to “get his sister and get to the neighbor’s house.” Soon after we got to the neighbor’s house, my mom came running in, and the neighbor locked the doors and called the police. My brother and I were screaming and crying, as usual. When the police came, they talked to my mother in the living room. She sent us to a room in the back of the house, but we did listen to the conversation through the crack of the open door. My mother showed the police officer her bruises, and he asked if this had happened before. When my mother stated that it had, the officer responded with, “Well, it’s not like he hit you with a closed fist.”

Then I heard a change in my mother’s voice. She told the officer that she and her children have no safety here, and asked if he would stay while she got some clothes out of the house. The officer said he would stay, but that she could only take, “what clothes are yours and the children’s.” The neighbor and my mom took black plastic garbage bags and shoved as much as they could carry of our clothers into the bags. My mom remembered our “blankies,” the security blankets my brother and I clung to for comfort.
We left. And never went back. We had nothing but our clothes. Not even a fork or a pillow. But mom assured us that everything would be fine. My grandparents took my brother and I in, but not my mother. My mom lived in her truck for a few weeks before my grandparents would let her stay, too.

Little did my brother or I know that mom had applied to a neighboring school district for a bus-driving job. A few weeks after we left, my mom came home with good news. The school district hired her. She did not realize it was a union shop until they gave her information regarding her employment, wages, and union information. She was so overjoyed! It was more money that she had ever seen before. While it certainly was not going to make he a million a year, it was enough to keep a household going on her own. Thus, her involvement with AFSCME Council 25, Local 142 was born.

When mt grandparents needed to move into a retirement community, my mom decided to buy my grandparents’ house. To make a long story short, in a few short months my mom was able to save enough money to buy the necessary things we needed to keep a household and had enough income to secure a mortgage. Thanks to the union wages AFSCME afforded my mom, we had a home of our own, safe and secure. Her AFSCME wages were sufficient to pay the bills, put food on the table (even if it was only some off-brand macaroni and cheese most days), and to keep clothes on our backs.

Eventually, my mom met another man whom she married. He adopted my brother and me after the sperm donor gave up his paternal rights, and I am honored to call him my daddy.

Without the wages and benefits AFSCME affords their membership, we never would have made it. My mom has successfully fought grievances and contract negotiations, regardless of her position on the union board, fighting for justice for everyone in her unit. She does spend a lot of time on the phone, computer, and in meetings, but it is just a reminder of how we got to where we are. She is currently the Union President of AFSCME Council 25, Local 142, and, I am proud to say, my mom is Robin Partrich.