The Buckeye and Manchild, about to go head to head.
The Buckeye mentors a 12 year old boy who is in foster care, who I've come to adore. He's got spikey hair and the most gorgeous eyes I've ever seen, and someday those eyes will break hearts.
They already break mine.
It's hard to give him a nickname; he's young enough that he doesn't have any defining adjectives other than those associated with his status as a foster child. "Lost Boy" comes to mind, and yet that's not fitting: he (and we) have hope for his future. He loves being outdoors which is why he was matched with the Buckeye, the majority of their time together has been outside. It's too hot in Phoenix right now to indulge in that, hence our afternoon in the arcade. Given the sheer number of adventures he's shared with the Buckeye since they met, I'm going to call him The Adventurer; it fits him to a T.
Back when I first met the Buckeye in January, he made it clear that his devotion to Special Olympics took high priority in his life. He invited me to attend the basketball games he coached, and I delighted in attending them; I even blogged about it. That team went on to win the bronze medal in the statewide Special Olympics basketball tournament; the prior two years they had won gold.
Love, love, love this photo of my man and his team:)
The Buckeye's volunteer coaching for Special Olympics extends beyond basketball to football, track and golf. He and his golf partner have been partners for five years, and I'm very excited that I may get to start volunteering as a golf partner.
My golfing experience:) Apparently the only requirements are patience and showing up?!?
Patience.
And showing up.
The Buckeye doesn't have children of his own; yet I was surprised by the patience he exhibited with the Princess the first time they met. We were (unsurprisingly) at Topgolf, and she was tired of not connecting with the ball. When it was her turn, she began swatting at the balls like a cat batting at a mouse, it was hysterically funny in my book. As she broke down, I worried for a second about how the Buckeye would react; many men I knew who where childless might have thought it to be disrespectful. He did not; his laughter matched mine and he good-naturedly engaged her. The volume of patience he displayed with my tired, done-with-it-teen I marveled at; it would not be the first time this gift emerged. As I came to know him better, I learned he honed this in his twenty years of working with Special Olympics. Many times things are simply done at a slower pace, he explained, and you could either be "frustrated or patient." As I've looked over his many memories captured on film, and see the smiles on so many faces, I marvel at the gift of patience. What joy a simple gift could bring!
Here in Arizona, the foster care system is a mess; frequently horror stories are in the news. When I met the Buckeye he was enjoying life as a dedicated bachelor, and part of that bachelorhood was expanding his time volunteering. Initially he hoped to be a foster parent, but a real-life examination of his schedule made him realize that wasn't in a child's best interest. He was directed to the AASK program, Aid to Adoption for Special Kids.
Before I met him, the Buckeye had mentored a young man who had been in a ghastly, horrible home life before his placement in foster care. The mentorship seemed to be going well; they had got along and had shared several good times when the young man abruptly called it off. While we can only speculate the reasons the young man ended it, it would be awhile before the Buckeye felt comfortable being matched again. When you mentor, your heart cannot help but becoming entangled.
Why are we both grinning like crazy? Because our photographer was The Adventurer, and it's impossible not to love that kid.
They were matched in March, the Buckeye and the Adventurer, and quickly our conversations turned to tales of their daring-do. The Adventurer is 12, and the Buckeye, while 49, loves acting like he's 12. Hiking, jeeping, Final Four Fan Fest, arcades, you name it-they've done it. I knew he was serious about our relationship when he asked my children and I to join him and the Adventurer at Castles N Coasters; that day while I was at the beginning stages of falling for the Buckeye I unreservedly gave my heart to the Adventurer. His mother died three years ago; he was removed from his father's care last year and lives with a step-relative. It's impossible not to feel motherly towards a motherless child, but to love one? That depends on the child, and the Adventurer made it easy. He's a good kid, pretty normal in every way; with me he talked about his mom quite a bit. I encouraged it; given his manners and good nature it was obvious she had been an attentive mother. He told me about meals she made; I'd ask specifically what he remembered about how she made them. When he asked why I wanted to know I suggested we might make them together, so he could learn and then always have something his mom did as something he could share. He liked that, and we became bosom pals. Often I find myself rubbing my hand over his spikey hair; he laughs when I tell him it's just what mom's do. As my children and I joined the Buckeye and the Adventurer on further adventures, he grew more comfortable with all of us. More than once I corrected his behavior, more than once he ignored it. I insisted he obey, and he'd comply. The Buckeye was learning parenting 101, and I assured him the misbehaving was a good thing-that the Adventurer was testing his limits with us. Kids with boundaries feel safe, and we were giving him that.
Manchild and his sister the Princess, actually enjoying time together.
Yesterday our boy was tired; it's summer and his relative has been letting him stay up as late as he wants. Being 12, staying up 'til dawn and sleeping all day is pretty cool; except when your mentor picks you up at 11am. Usually he's super talkative, yesterday he was like a zombie. It was frustrating for the Buckeye and I, being at the arcade was a special treat and he wasn't enjoying it because he'd been up all night...because no one cared if he went to bed. As we took turns following him around (he wasn't even in the mood to compete in racing or shooting games!) rarely could we coax a smile, he was simply exhausted. Again I saw the gift of patience emerge; I admired the Buckeye's ability that it came so naturally. As a parent I don't often afford my own children that gift; it was humbling to see it in a nonparent (although one could argue that he's had the advantage of huge breaks of time inbetween times that call for patience!!) and towards a child that was old enough to have known better.
"Old enough to have known better." Really? His mom died when he was 9. The past three years he's had no stability, and very little love...and yet my expectation was automatically that of a normal almost-13 year old. In a way, that's oddly good--I see in him the same potential and have the same expectations of him as I do my own children. But he's not mine, nor is he the Buckeye's. He's a ward of the State of Arizona, and we are hopeful that soon his older sibling will be successful in their bid to adopt the Adventurer and his younger sister. In the meantime, we're making the most of the time we have with him; days like yesterday make it hard when you only wish to give him the best, to be thwarted by the inattention of others. The gift of patience was not just to the Adventurer, but to himself; the Buckeye was being patient that next time will be better.
The Buckeye and his new found passion: the banjo.
A few weeks ago, the Buckeye had his first banjo lesson. He's attacked the instrument with glee; so excited to be learning how to make music. Yesterday wetried deciphering his first song in his music book, "This Little Light of Mine." We were slightly confounded with its 4/4 time and odd melody; as I read the notes I wondered if they were in alto and sang a few. We giggled at our combined "joyful noise" and stuck with it a bit longer. He jokes he'll give it up when the instructor tells him he's a lost cause, and I laugh as he's practicing an hour a day and his teacher assures him he's two weeks ahead of most students. It all boils down to the hour of practice he puts in nightly; most would hate the practice but he loves it. Why?
He has patience with himself.
Over and over I see in him how great this gift is, this gift of patience. Patience to see through mistakes and practice until he got the results he hoped for. Patience with a tired boy who stayed up too late because no one cared if he got enough sleep. Patience with athletes to give it their best, and still make sure they all had fun regardless of the outcome. Patience, too, with his faithful companion Mack, his now-senior dog who is needing extra care. Patience with his mother, who he calls weekly. Patience with my Princess, who's not too certain what to think of the new man in her mom's life.
One of my favorite scripture has always been James 1:4, which reads "But let endurance and steadfastness and patience have full play and do a thorough work, so that you may be [people] perfectly and fully developed [with no defects], lacking in nothing." I always took this to mean "to be patient," never interpreting it as patience being a gift. Looking at the Buckeye's example, I see for the first time that perhaps this scripture isn't just about tempering ourselves.
Perhaps it's more about giving that as a gift to others.
Dictionaries have the wonderful ability of clarifying meaning...Right now I have a decision I need to make, and I'm being very mindful to not rush into it. My rushing habit was indicative of an extreme lack of patience, in addition to a fear of loss. Now as I weigh options, I look differently at things. Can I, too, give the gift of patience to others in this?
It's certainly in me to make the effort.
Thankfully, I have a great teacher.
No comments:
Post a Comment