Contrasts

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Last weekend a little boy went to his first fair. He ran from ride to ride, from game to game, riding a merry-go-round motorcycle with the seriousness of a professional race car driver. He swung wildly inside a magic dragon and put his arms up the the air while his Mother held him tight on his first roller coaster.

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Last weekend another little boy settled in with with his Father after failing in three foster homes. He kicked and screamed and cried when he was told 'no' or asked to share. He swung wildly too, but his dragon was not a magic one and he had no Mother to hold him tight even though his roller coaster is by now both familiar and treacherous.

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By now I've talked about my work often enough that it is known that these days I am a psychotherapist and half of my clients are children. Three of my clients are siblings: 5 year old Angelina, who I've written about, and her brothers, ages 7 and 4.

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Just before I left for vacation, Alex (I have to make these names up) was returned to the custody of his Father. He will live with his Father and over the next few months his younger brother and Angelina will transition there too. The state agency that protects children will stay involved for another six months at most, and then these three children will be the responsibility of their Dad and his girlfriend.

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Their Father loves them. He cries when he is told what has happened to his children since they were taken from their Mother for neglect.

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Their Father is also very poor. He did not have the money to buy Alex his required school uniform for the first day of school. He was just laid off from his job as a cook.

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I am particularly worried about Angelina. She will stay with her foster Mother until after Christmas, will transition slowly by way of afternoon and then weekend visits. But Angelina's foster Mother loves her and makes sure that she is always well dressed, adorably so. She braids her hair everyday, makes sure her sneakers match her clothes. I don't think that will be possible when she leaves foster care.

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Angelina's foster Mother has terminal cancer. She is still active but it is unknown for how long she will feel and be well. She has asked to remain in Angelina's life once she is returned to her Father. But I worry that Angelina will not be able to look so pretty, so fashionable, once she is relocated.

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I worry about how poverty will affect these children.

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I worry if his Father and Father's girlfriend can handle Alex's needs. He does not know how to calm himself when he gets upset. He does not know how to trust that he will be loved, especially and even if he is 'bad'. Small wonder: he's gone through three foster homes in the last year.

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I look at my little Mr. Ryan, I see the joy on his face at that county fair and I know he will be safe. His wishes and dreams and needs and fears will be supported as much and as often as possible. God willing, he will grow from a child to a man who knows he can trust the world. There is no question about that.

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I can't say that for my three little clients. And you know what? I hate that part. I hate it.

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I can handle this work. Someone I was very close to recently and sadly accused me of bragging about myself and making a hullabaloo about people I 'feel sorry' for. I know that is not who I am or why I do this work. I have the ability to emotionally hang in and I'm creative and resourceful. It is good that I'm involved with this family. I am involved because I care and because I have the skills to help. But I also know this kind of work changes a person. I can handle that too.

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I don't know what I wish more: that the trauma of the past could be taken away or the abundance of the future could be assured.

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I know this isn't easy to read. Thank you for reading this. And you might as well know I have an ulterior motive.

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Come the holidays, I will be asking for contributions for this family. I have loftly goals. Maybe Emily Rabbit will hold another charity auction. Maybe my friends and visitors here will band together and we will raise enough to guarantee gifts for Christmas and new clothes and summer camp.

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Maybe things will turn out better than my fears.

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Did I mention that these are three wonderful kids? Totally wonderful. We-who-know (if you're reading this, I'm including you) can only do what we can do, but I have a feeling whatever we do will end up a giant gift to ourselves.

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P.S. I am not writing this so you will tell me how great I am to do this work, so please don't do that. I'd rather hear your ideas about how to help, your thoughts about class and poverty, your own feelings about how sucky and unfair life can be for little kids.

P.S.S. I've not yet ruled out a happy ending.

Love

kj