We were asked to go meet this little boy a few weeks ago. He couldn’t stay where he was, and if we agreed to take him we would be his sixth, and hopefully his last, foster home. If we didn’t agree to take him it was likely that he would be moved out of state to a children’s treatment facility.
When he came into the room to meet us we were immediately taken by what a sad little boy he was. He sat down on the couch next to us and we were introduced. The first thing he said by way of introduction was, “My mom is dead, and my dad is drunk.”
Midway through our conversation I asked him why he has moved around so much. Without hesitation he answered, “Because I’m bad.”
He moved in the next afternoon.
And it hasn’t been an easy transition.
No one really knows what his life’s story has been. So far he hasn’t disclosed much. He’s from up north, about 1200 miles away from here. There is nothing similar between here and there except that both communities lie within the state of Alaska. The customs, the size of the community, the schools, the climate, the people, the terrain are all very different.
This morning while he was playing Legos with our 11-y-o son there was a disagreement. Our son told him not to cheat, and tossed a game piece back in the bucket.
And our day changed.
The boy started to scream. He wailed and screamed loudly. Without end. After 15 minutes of his screaming I started trying to clear the other kids out of the house. After 30 minutes we put a white noise machine on full volume just outside his door to help deaden the disruptive wailing for everyone else in the house.
An hour into it we put in a movie for the other kids, and even handed out cookies. Loudly. Hoping he would hear that he was missing out and decide to pull it together. He didn’t.
Two hours into it, after he had stopped screaming but was still in his room and not ready to re-engage, Geoff went in to talk to him. Geoff asked him if he was ready to talk and he turned and kicked the wall, leaving a hole in the sheetrock.
Three hours into it I opened his door and asked if he was ready to visit. He was sitting on a chair in his room with his knees pulled up to his chin and his head down inside his shirt. I said his name and asked if he was ready to visit. He pulled his head out of his shirt and turned and looked at me, blank faced. Almost as though he was trying to see me through the fog. I repeated my question, asking if he was ready to visit. He started to whimper and pulled his head back into his shirt. I said okay, and quietly closed the door.
Geoff and I were sitting in the living room discussing what our next approach would be when we heard his door open. He walked slowly into the living room, looking small. His facial expression was still flat, and he looked exhausted.
We stopped talking and looked over at him. Waiting.
“Ruth?” he said in a very small voice, without looking up, “what was the question again?”
I repeated what I’d said at his door earlier. “Are you ready to visit about what’s going on?”
He didn’t move. He just stood there in front of us, head down, shoulders slumped, worn out, fighting the tears. Broken.
Geoff patted the couch next to him, and the boy came and plopped down next to Geoff. He put his hands up to his face and pressed on his eyes, trying to keep the tears away.
Geoff and I each said a few things. We asked him to tell us what had happened. Asked him to walk through how he might have handled it in a way that would have gone better for him. Explained that when he can’t resolve things himself that’s when it’s time to get a parent involved. We laid out our rules again, and set the boundary on how we handle things when we’re upset. We reassured. We problem solved. Geoff put his arm around him, and I rubbed his back.
A few minutes later we offered him two cookies, and a couple of the kids invited him to come help with a puzzle. About two minutes after that he was smiling and laughing, talking about Christmas and his birthday. Asking what was for dinner. And were we going to watch a movie tonight before bedtime.
We don’t know what all he has experienced. But we know it’s been a lot. We know that he’s a little boy who is 1200 miles away from home, away from his family and all of his relatives. And today he screamed, cried, wailed, punched and kicked several holes in our walls, and created havoc in our home for four hours.
And in the future when I think back over this day. This grueling and exhausting day. I think what I will remember most is how he looked when he timidly walked into the living room and in a very little voice asked for help.
“Ruth? What was the question again?”
That was the moment everything changed. That was when grace happened. When all that whispers to him was silenced. That was the moment he reached out for the life ring.
penniesonmypath 