Each year around this time, I am visited by a ghost from a Christmas Past. It’s a long story, but basically this ghost is the memory of a boy—let’s say his name is Paul.
This young fellow had an inexperienced and somewhat newly-minted foster father: me. That was back in the days when I thought what these kids needed was love. I have since come to learn differently.
Paul arrived at the end of summer. Because of his past and certain things that had happened, he needed placement in a home with a single father, which is how he found his way to me.
My Amory, Miss., household consisted of me and my adopted son Landon, a teenager with autism. Paul, 10 years old at the time, came in the evening, his social worker having brought him. The social worker gave me a copy of his papers. Landon and I helped transfer a few bags from the back of the social worker’s car. When she left, Paul sat down on the sofa and burst into tears.
Some of these kids have been through the wringer. Removal from your home, from your parents, your brothers and sisters, your friends, your school, your routine, your life, the foods you like to eat, from everything comforting and familiar is traumatic. The trauma is magnified when you are left at a stranger’s house in a strange town with strange people you don’t know.
Paul sat on the couch and sobbed, hugging his arms to his chest, his gaskets blown, circuits overloaded, scared, frightened, in a complete misery. I sat beside him and told him it was okay to cry. That it was “better out than in.” That he would be okay.
When the worst had passed, I asked, “Do you need a hug?” He did not answer. Instead, he leaned his head against my shoulder. Landon invited him to play on the Xbox. Paul wiped his eyes and hurried off. In five minutes, he was carrying on with my son as though nothing had happened. They became fast friends.
‘More Than I Could Give’
The year that followed was difficult. Paul was from a large family and missed his siblings terribly. But visits with his family were few. Over the Easter holiday, we had arranged for a visit with his mother.
Dutifully, I took him to the restaurant where we had agreed to meet, but she did not come. It was not the first no-show. Many promised phone calls never materialized. It was upsetting, but Paul tried very hard not to show it. For days afterward, however, his behavior would be off the rails.
Some of his siblings had been placed in other foster homes and would soon be adopted. Paul’s social worker and supervisor came by the house one day and asked me if there was any chance I might want to adopt Paul. The months had been spinning by, and he needed permanent placement.
I loved Paul and would have been happy to adopt him, but I was already in my mid-50s and not getting any younger. I had been through one adoption and had not planned on doing another. As a single dad in a single-income household, my resources were limited.
Paul wanted brothers and sisters his own age to play with, I knew that. And he was one of those boys who needed a mother. Mostly, I knew he was not happy. He never once complained, but his unhappiness was plainly evident.
I knew most of Paul’s bad behaviors stemmed from the trauma. I took him to weekly counseling sessions and worked diligently with the therapists and teachers to help him, but the trauma ran deep. The fact of the matter was, he needed more help than I could give. He was at an age where his life could be turned around with the right guidance and environment. I wanted to provide those, but knew I could not.
Christmas came and went. On New Year’s Day, we helped Paul gather his things so he could be transferred to a new home. It was one of the worst days of my life. I wanted to change my mind and spare him (and myself) the pain, but, among other things that year, my Christmas present to him was to let him go.
When I got home, I went to my bedroom and cried.
Starting the Buddy Bag Program
Several years later, I got up after Mass at my local church, St. Helen’s in Amory, and I talked about how foster children show up on your doorstep with their belongings in a trash bag because they don’t have a suitcase; Paul was a case in point.
I told them I was starting the “Buddy Bag Program” to collect suitcases for them. I confessed that I did not like the symbolism of these boys and girls having to put their belongings in a garbage bag—as if their lives were garbage. I told them having their own suitcase would give them a sense of pride and would boost their confidence going into a strange home. I told them we would attach a little teddy bear to the suitcase so that the child would have something friendly to concentrate on.
The members of my church responded with an overwhelming number of suitcases and bags, which the priest and I took to our local Child Protective Services office.
One of the social workers there remembered me from my days as a foster parent. I told her I often thought about Paul and hoped he was doing well. She told me he was doing just fine, was getting good grades in school and was very happy.
I learned his new mother was a mental-health professional who knew all about raising children coming from a background of trauma. She knew how to give him the things I could not.
With the holidays now fast approaching, I am haunted by this ghost from a Christmas past—and all the other ghosts and the other Christmases with their challenges and heartbreaks and sad stories.
I pray all the Pauls of the world have a merry Christmas. And I pray that the men and women who foster these children and do their best to provide as merry a Christmas as possible are blessed abundantly for their kindness and for their good hearts.
These children need love. Not just during Christmas but every day afterward. But love is not enough. They also need respect. When life has treated you so disrespectfully, respect says that you are worthwhile and have always been.
Respect says that although some people in your life have treated you disrespectfully, not all people in your life will. It gives these children hope that life can be different. Will be different.
Isn’t that the message behind the babe in the manger? We are both loved and respected enough that salvation is possible. And we can pay that grace and kindness forward, to the best of our abilities.
Life can be different. Will be different.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone.
This MFP Voices essay does not necessarily represent the views of the Mississippi Free Press, its staff or board members. To submit an opinion for the MFP Voices section, send up to 1,200 words and sources fact-checking the included information to voices@mississippifreepress.org. We welcome a wide variety of viewpoints.
