Saturday, October 12, 2013

The search is over

I've been hired as GED-Prep teacher at the youth development center where I've been subbing for the last two years. Eventually, I 'll be working with juveniles and young adults. Praise the Lord!


My professor wanted me to write a poem about being an adoptive father.Here is the first of two.


Our eager expectation lost,
We mourned with the mournful.
Trying, waiting, nothing gained.
Others’ quivers filled plentiful,
We tried rejoicing with the joyful.
Bitter envy knocked, tears streamed,
Was having children just a dream?

“Foster-to-adopt takes courage.
Children placed and moved,
Bonds forged and broken.”
Was it how we should proceed?
Doors opened, we went, with no regret.

DHHS trained us for the worst,
Yet we hoped for the best.
Invasive home studies, cautioning tales.
Water tests, deck rails, window changed.
Not yet approved, we still waited.

Pregnant pauses notwithstanding,
One phone call changed everything:
“We have a boy, three weeks old.
Would you like him?”
We were bold. “Yes, what time?”
“We will bring him in early evening.”

Unlike others, no nine-month warning,
We needed a crib, bedding, food, clothing!
Bosses accommodated, friends assisted.
In the evening, we were holding
a little boy who’d be our own.

Visits, hearings, all the process,
Attempt to reunify—
An unwanted recess.
Three weeks later he came home,
Truly never more to roam.

Adoption hearing with the judge:
”C is yours until you’re dead.
Be good to him, now Mom and Dad,
Provide for, love and cherish him,
Forever family. Rejoice. Be glad.”

We overflow with gratitude
That we have this treasured son.
To gain another two years later,
Adopting two who were so young.
This is our little, joyful brood.


Thursday, October 3, 2013

The Interview

The Interview

 Take a deep breath, relax, and think happy thoughts—Picture yourself on a beach somewhere.
Advice is plentiful. The giver is a paramedic, perhaps I should obey.
Okay. Let’s do this. You can do this. Get a grip.
You’re here for the interview, right? Well, I don’t know what time you were told—
What time I was told? 10:30. It’s only 10:20 now. Did I miss it?
But what I have listed for you doesn’t match that.
I figure it’ll be at least 15 to 20 minutes. If you want to go back to your class, I’ll do an all-call for you.
No, thanks, I never hear them. I’ll just wait here.
My heart is thumping in my chest, climbing into my throat.
Since you’re already an employee here, I don’t think you’ll need to give us your fingerprints.
Well, that’s a relief. Part time for two years has some perks, then. Do I get out of training, too?
Way to pick the interview time just before lunch, man.
Hunger AND nerves; what a combo. At least there’s nothing to smell here but plants and plastic chairs.
Sit. Wait. Listen to office gossip.
Not enough small talk to bridge the gap. Waiting. Waiting.
Mr. MacDonald? I apologize for the wait. Would you come this way, please?
The greeting feels odd, forced, disingenuous somehow. It’s all for show.
Why did she just call this a formality?
These same people interviewed me two years ago; I’ve been working with them.
Thirty minutes later, I’m out the door.
How did it go? When will they tell you?
Really well, I guess. They said I’d know in a few weeks.
What’s for lunch?