The soft tapping sound of a brand new Wilson football hitting my fingers was the soundtrack for a life change that came as suddenly as it did quietly. As I looked across the front yard eyeing my next throw at the brand new receiver before me, my mind was swinging back and forth between two competing dialogues:
1)24 hours ago, I didn’t even know this kid now living in my upstairs guest room. How did this even happen?
2)How do I connect with him? And do I have what it takes to help him navigate all the challenges and obstacles before him?
For that one moment on a cloudy late afternoon a few days before Christmas, this game of catch on our sleepy cul-de-sac was like medicine for both of our souls. While my world had certainly just undergone a seismic shift, his change was easily more dramatic. And traumatic. At least I had the chance to mentally prepare, knowing this day was eventually coming. But it was a different story for the boy already weathered by life storms no kid his age should have to endure. The ramifications of drug abuse and neglect by a parent. Then being passed around from one relative to the next, all doing their best to try and fill the void before they finally surrendered him to foster care on the weekend of his 13th birthday. A slow decline that ultimately led to the complete collapse of his entire world.
Pow. “Good throw. Back it up a little.” My mind flashed back to what that milestone day looked like for me three decades earlier. I remember a dinner out with my family, an Ohio State Starter jacket, and a look of pride from my parents. I tried to remember everything about that day, how it looked and sounded, the loving reassurance from those who meant the most to me at a stage that is as hard as any to navigate for any boy on the beginning of his way to manhood. It seemed incomprehensible to me that such a landmark moment could be marred and stained in that way. I looked across at my new house guest but didn’t have any words of wisdom. Just a silent prayer for God to help me and him with the subtle whirr of a pigskin cutting through the air.
“Try going over the top and step into it. You may get a little more zing on it.” Leilani and I had been waiting for this day for many years now. It seemed impossible to get to this point with one delay after another trying to stop us from our ultimate goal of becoming parents, a story still in progress that will have to be told for another time. We had exactly two hours’ notice they were coming, news that came on the heels of back-to-back disappointments where we had patiently waited for other kids to come through the door, only to learn they were being redirected elsewhere at nearly the last possible moment. Then just as suddenly this 13-year-old boy and his 8-year-old sister were right there in our living room next to the Christmas tree. Words don’t do justice for the sheer joy my wife and I felt at that moment, yet there was a dilemma inside both of us knowing that for these two kids there was no holiday magic, just confusion and another heartbreak for all that was happening. Welcome to foster care.
“Run by the mailbox then hook left. I’ll hit you.” Christmas of course was unforgettable. For one day at least, these kids were able to put aside all that had happened and fully immerse themselves in the joy of all that day brought. We probably went overboard on the presents wanting to make up for lost time, but no regrets. It was a December 25th like no other. I took our boy to his first ever football game a few days later, watched him switch sides to the eventual winner in the middle of the game, and laughed at his choice of a mega-sized ice cream dessert I promised for doing his homework on both teams leading up to the game. I love taking our girl up the stairs for her nightly “train ride” on my shoulders, love hearing her laugh as she beats Leilani and I at another game of UNO. A few nights ago we asked them what their favorite memory was since they’ve gotten here. I fully expected to hear something about one of the presents, or maybe one of the experiences we took them on. “The time we spend together as a family.” It caught me off guard, and I bit my lip to maintain my composure.
A few days later we found ourselves in the courtroom for a hearing. My wife had diligently put together a document that outlined their progress, all the things we’ve done together, the different focus and improvement areas for each child, and a variety of photographs that captured our time together over the last month. The judge and the kids’ attorney nodded and winked. I looked at each of those pictures, the kids smiling, my wife beaming, and couldn’t believe just how much my life had changed over the course of four weeks.
A few more folks had shuffled in behind us and then out of the corner of my eye I caught the kids returning from a restroom break and running from the side entrance, not to us, but to a group sitting a few rows behind us. I turned and watched as they embraced one parent who has abandoned them time and again, an untold number of opportunities to turn it around and untold number of promises that are never followed through on. They were firmly camped by her side, laughing, smiling, telling jokes as if all was right in the world and the last few years had never happened. This time I bit my lip for a different reason. Though we certainly understood the connection, it was still incredibly awkward. The sting was real.
This same scene repeated itself a few minutes later when their biological father, who has been absent and out of the picture for several years now, showed up unexpectedly as we later learned he would like another shot at being their dad, a process that we are told is a long shot and would likely take years assuming no setbacks or relapses, but could leave the kids’ fate hanging in the balance for the foreseeable future. Our girl had acknowledged that she doesn’t have a lot of memories with him, doesn’t really know much about him at all. And there he was, twirling her in the air and playing magic tricks while imparting some type of life advice to our boy who hadn’t seen him since who knows when.
We sat and watched from afar, looking at how happy these kids looked with people who had long abandoned them to the world at such critical ages. We read the file and knew the stories, had been advised of the level of pain and trauma that was in play. “Is this type of reaction normal?” I asked someone who had a lengthy track record in family court. “Yes. They’re clinging to a dream and will hold on as long as they can. Just keep loving them every day.” They were quiet on the ride home and cranky the rest of the day. Welcome to foster parenting.
This new way of life brings many new challenges, but we’re not turning back. It’s messy and hard, and you’re always in over your head. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I only wish more people knew just how urgent the need is for people to step in and rescue foster kids. In some counties, there are ten foster kids for every one parent. But stepping up doesn’t necessarily even mean becoming a foster parent. The need for healthy ecosystems and networks that support and stand behind foster families is just as vital. If God leads you to help in any capacity, I know you’ll be blessed.
“It’s getting dark out here. Let’s head on in after a few more throws.” My mind is back to day two and the new pigskin has been now properly christened. There’s not been a lot of conversation, but the quietness has been welcome to both of us. A light rain begins to fall and I see some of the Christmas lights up the street beginning to pop on. This scene will stay with me forever, but not because anything remarkable happened. Something in me has been touched in a deep way, yet I can’t put words to it. Just their words echoing in my mind, “it’s the time we spend together.”
No comments:
Post a Comment