Buzzy had been with us all of four hours. Ten years old, small for his age, scrappy and wiry, he was having the time of his life at the pizzeria. It was pretty obvious by this time that in 10 years on this planet, he hadn’t had much fun.
I caught him looking at me searchingly, seeming to decide how to ask the question I knew would be coming.
“Can I call you Dad?”
The name game. It was an obvious choice for Buzzy to make. He’d never had a dad, and he wanted one. For Doug, that choice wasn’t as simple. His dad had died just a few days after his arrival, and to have called me Dad would have compromised his grieving process. For several weeks I was “Robin.”
And that was OK. Chris and Steve called me Dad, but it had been their decision to do so. And eventually, Doug did, too.
I looked at Buzzy, taking in the wide smile, the freckles and the hair that stood straight up, and I thought that Buzzy was a great nickname for this kid.
“Of course you can call me Dad. That’d be a great honor for me,” I said.
“Then that’s what I’ll call you!” He has happy beyond belief.
And that’s when I remembered the somber warning from Marsha, his social worker: “By tonight he will have asked you whether he can call his mom, and this will certainly not be possible. So prepare yourself for a meltdown.”
I hated the thought of going from the high we were on, to the low she predicted, but emotional roller coasters are pretty common in foster care. We’d get through it.
Before long, the boys were out of pizza, and out of quarters for the arcade. It was time to go.
We got home in time for the end of the evening news and the beginning of “Jeopardy.” I told Buzzy he could watch TV with me, or go in and play with the other three kids. It was Friday night; we didn’t have to do the homework dance. I wasn’t surprised, somehow, that he elected to sit with me on the couch. He was still reveling in the father-son role.
At bedtime, Chris came into the living room carrying a pair of Spider-Man pajamas.
“I can’t get into these anymore, Dad. Buzzy can have ‘em.”
Buzzy looked perplexed.
“What’re those?” he asked.
“PJs,” said Chris. “Haven’t you ever worn PJs?”
Obviously not. Another new experience.
Steve and Doug joined us in the living room.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” said Steve. “Are we gonna get Buzzy’s tree?”
Now Buzzy was incredulous.
“Tree? Whaddya mean, tree?”
“When a new kid comes, we go out and buy a tree,” Steve explained. “Then we bring it home and plant it.”
“It’s something we do to celebrate your coming here,” Doug said. “When I came we got a Douglas Fir. Me and my tree have the same name.”
And that’s exactly what it is. We go to the nursery together and pick out a tree. We move it into a large ceramic container and usually leave it there for a few months, then move it into its permanent place. On a small sign at its base is the child’s name and the date of his arrival. The kids take turns watering it and caring for it as a metaphor of their caring and love.
The kids got ready for bed. Steve got to keep his lower bunk, and Buzzy loved climbing up the ladder to his upper. Everyone settled into bed, I sat in Buzzy and Steve’s room for a while, and Buzzy fell asleep quickly. It had been a good day.
And then as I sat there, I realized something.
He never asked to call his mom.
Robin C. Harris, an 18-year resident of Lake County, is the author of “Journeys out of Darkness, Adventures in Foster Care.” A retired educator, he is a substitute teacher for Lake County schools and has recently completed two works of fiction for children and teens. He is available for tutoring in first through eighth grades. Harris can be contacted at harris.tke@att.net.
