new obsession

oh, i really should be getting ready to go hang out with friends. i need that--some time away from my new obsession.

i have found when i worry about something, i seek to understand it. so i look up articles, i seek out books, i call and/or email people who might be able to help. such is the case right now, as i seek to understand how to help my family with these post-adoption struggles.

oh, pedro. you kill us, kid. so angry, and we just want to help. my poor mother, who sounds like pedro has pretty much rejected her; my stressed father, trying to be the strong one; my darling sister, the buffer zone; our precious cely, no doubt hurting in her own way; and me, the distant one, wanting to help, wondering if i have to move back to texas, hoping all the pain will quickly recede into a memory everyone is glad to have made it through.

but who really knows? pedro may be going back to foster care a few months if his attitude doesn't change. yesterday i was ok with that. today, i want to think that maybe his anger can be worked through. but i'm still afraid to call home, afraid to hear what i'll hear about the pain since yesterday, afraid to talk to my mom and dad to hear their sides of the story--knowing that that will make my fear for them grow astronomically. i guess that makes me a coward.

i'm not ignoring them, though. i've thought about little else in the last 36 hours. i bought two books today, spent hours on amazon looking up book titles, and emailed a counselor from catholic social services in cincy. i need reinforcements. and my parents need support. i don't know how they make it from day to day.

Glimmers of Hope

It's a new year. I'll be honest--with the tension enveloping me due to Pedro's mood swings, I've been somewhat eager to head on back to OH. Then, of course, today was awesome. Like Christmas day--there was so much joy and laughter and happiness flowing from everyone that it hurts like hell to know I'm leaving these people I love more than anything or anyone. Yes, I include Pedro in that love.

Last evening we had a somewhat quiet start to a New Year's Eve party at a friend of KC's house. Pedro hadn't spoken to KC in almost three days (since the last time I wrote here), and everyone seemed rather subdued. But then Cely and Kaidence, daughter of KC's best friend, pulled out Twister. Amazingly, after about 20 minutes, Pedro joined the three of us playing Twister in the kitchen. And then I went and sat down, and KC took my place. And then Pedro was talking to KC again. I don't know if a lot of preteen boys are that moody and hard to understand, or if Pedro is extra special in this area, but what the hell? He was an ass for three days, and now he's fine. Granted, I felt a million times better after that; I can't seem to relax when people don't get along.

The evening improved greatly after that, no doubt somewhat aided by my consumption of alcohol and an amusing game of Uno. And today, even though we all had to drag ourselves up to go to Mass this morning, no one was too grouchy (even me, I don't think). My parents invited over their friend Suzette and the three boys she's caring for right now. It was so fun. We laughed so much as we played Apple to Apples Junior and ate queso and then played "Hot Potato" at Pedro's request. He thought that game was hilarious and giggled his high pitched squeal. I quickly grew bored with the game, but it was fun to watch my parents and Suzette, KC, myself, and all those kids play.

Later Pedro, KC, and I watched "Grease" and hung out a bit while I packed my things. Cely went to a friend's house to play for a few hours; she went to bed right when she got back. I gave her a huge hug and asked if she were getting up before I left tomorrow; she said she wasn't sure. I think I saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes, so I squeezed her tight and told her I loved her because I do. I don't want her to be sad because I'm leaving for a while. I'll be back, but that's hard to convince a 9 year old whose real family abandoned her.

Two things recently that made me just love these kids. One, last night on the way to the NYE party, we played a game called "Would you rather?" Cely had to answer whether she would prefer to have 10 kids or no kids. At first she was like "none." Then she reconsidered and said "10 because I want to foster kids." Isn't that beautiful?

And then today when some of us were still playing Apples to Apples, and Pedro got restless, he asked if he could take the three younger boys out to play basketball for a bit. Although they weren't out there long, I was really proud to see him step up and be kind to them. They were once foster kids, too, and were adopted by their grandmother b/c their parents abandoned them. He does so much better with younger boys than he does with boys his own age, and I can't help but wonder if that's because he always talks about wanting to be a thug basically and shoot people and run from the cops. It's hard to reconcile my two images of Pedro: the thug and the kind person. Maybe he's at war with himself. But it gives me a little hope to see him be kind and happy. Maybe someday, that will be who he is all the time.

the silence is a painful one

there is a stillness at night, after the kids go to bed. we've given a squeeze to cely, a little kiss to her dimpled cheeks, and played some sort of half hug, half hand shake wrestle with pedro before sending them off to sleep. it really ended up being a much better day, till, of course, the end.

well, actually, i started off fearing the day. i stayed in bed as long as possible and then persuaded my parents (without too much effort) to not get pedro up right away b/c i just wasn't ready to be around him. i won't recount each individual struggle of the morning, but suffice it to say, i wasn't sure i could take him to bowl today, much less make it the next 4 days here. but a phone conversation with a lady who has worked with adoptions helped me some. and the bowling went pretty well. really, i think pedro needs to be resocialized. he has these instantaneous "macho" reactions to certain situations. he is threatened and negative when he doesn't feel good in a specific situation, and he is rude and aggressive when he does. but not always. there is something good there. i could see it. but dear Lord, it is going to take years and years of consistant, forgiving love to root out the poison his previous years have fed him.

tonight we ended the evening by watching the "grid iron gang," a movie about some delinquent teenagers whose social worker/guard/personal guide forms a football team with them to give them some discipline and teamwork skills. sounds like a good plot, but pedro is especially vocal during all the parts when there is fighting and gangbanging and gunshot. "Yeah, that's what I'd do," he shouts as one kid shoots his stepfather for beating up the mother.

"Man, I'd quit, too, if my coach pushed me around like that," he says.

There were a host of other comments, all of which made me cringe--and gaze up in shock that my parents didn't stop the movie or say anything to correct him.

Oh, another doozy of a comment: "Forgive? That's not a word I use very often." He states this as the coach/social worker guy reaches out to a kid whose struggling with some death due to gang violence.

What does one say? How do you resocialize this boy, now my brother, if he decides to be, to completely change his world view of what it means to be a man? Of what it means to be strong?

And then the movie ends with Hollywood-like perfection, and Pedro tells Joeps and I goodnight, teases us until finally surrendering a hug to us, goes down the hall, and suddenly I hear my sister KC saying, "Open the door please. I didn't mean it like that. You know I didn't mean it. I was teasing you, like you tease me. You know I love you."

The hideously painful conversation my dad and I overheard went on for 5 or 10 minutes, ending with my sister bawling her eyes out at Pedro's door, repeating over and over again, "Come out. Give me respect. You know I wasn't trying to insult you. I love you so much, and I said I was sorry . . .Open the door and say you understand to my face . . .No one thinks you're a chicken." And finally, he opens the door.

I can't even say how much it tears my hearts to shreds to hear someone make my sister cry like that. And this person is my brother. He is. I have to find enough strength in myself to love him, to show him what love should be, that even when he is completely, utter ridiculous, hurtful, and cruel, that we will love him anyway.

It's the hardest thing I've done since teaching in Cleveland. But somehow, I don't feel quite as hopeless and furious as yesterday.

strong enough

I seriously might lose it here. Pedro's comments make my stomach twist in knots and my smiles fade. It's not always like this; there are moments when I feel hopeful. But mostly I just don't want to be around him. And honestly, I don't know how KC can be so patient and nice. She got a new phone today, an iPhone where you can record messages to yourself and have them play back on audio. Pedro's message was, "This is Pedro Campos . . ."and then something else in Spanish. I didn't understand all of it. I want to smack him. How dare he insult my family by not even acknowledging his new last name. Legally, he is a Sullivan now. I don't know if it's his age, his previous background, or just a general indifference to the feelings of others (read "asshole-ness") that makes him say and do things that hurt. I see how exhausted my parents are, my mom shy in her own home, my father snapping out comments unlike any I've ever heard. KC seems pretty steady for the most part, having faith that there is some hope. I had hope, till I came home for Thanksgiving, and he was such a dick to my parents and to basically everyone in the hospital. I dreaded coming home, but then he came to the airport to get me with KC, and we had a decent time. Christmas Eve prompted some drama b/c of an argument with my parents about a coat. Last night we got into some sort of long discussion about religion, how he doesn't believe in the Catholic faith, is going to make up things to say in reconciliation, etc. He doesn't get why we don't have food and "entertainment" during our masses like they do at his old Baptist church. His other church told him that Catholics worship Mary and the saints and that they make up stuff that's not found in the Bible. Most Catholic teachings can be found in the Bible, but Pedro has said he has no interest in looking up that. After that talk, he took a shower and went to bed at 8 p.m. Wouldn't talk to anyone. I played a game with him on the Wii in front of KC and Cely tonight. He was such a jerk about it, won't leave Cely alone, insulting me and playing for my Mii character. Granted, I took a turn with his, but I can see why kids don't want to come play with him. He's an ass. He has this cocky, machismo attitude like he's better than everyone, but he isn't. He isn't better than anyone. In fact, he pretty much sucks at everything except being an ass much of the time.

He does have some decent qualities. I've seen him be compassionate to the frail, and he likes to laugh. And I know he feels like a fool when it comes to school work. But he acts like he's going to go back to his biological family when he gets older; he wants KC to come meet them, too. And he uses his biological last name; it's a slap in the face--like it doesn't mean shit to him that my parents turned their whole fucking lives upside down for him, and he doesn't give a fuck.

I don't know if I'm strong enough to do this, to be here and try to care when I feel like a tightly strung cord on an instrument, ready to snap. My gut hurts. I don't feel rested. I want my parents to be happy and relaxed again, and I want to not feel so uncertain that this situation is never going to get better.

oh, my head is pounding

I hope that doesn't signal an upcoming illness. I'm feeling pretty flimsy right now. Shaky even, but that could be more based on the fact that I could use some lunch.

I'm in Amarillo now, sitting at Barnes and Noble with my dad, who came here to get help on our internet issues. It's so strange to be here in a way, and yet almost comfortably familiar. I don't hate being here like I used to. I don't feel so unlike myself. In fact, I was telling KC--I might consider moving home. I'm shocked that I can even think or say that, but there it is--weighing on my heart and mind like it's a good idea. And maybe it is. Do I really want to only be a part of my new brother and sister's lives on the holidays? Do I really want to continue living 1200 miles from the people I love most in the world? Not really.

Of course, there are tons of other things I think about, too--reasons to stay where I'm at in OH. For one, I have some good friends there, friends I don't have in Amarillo now. KC will eventually not live here anymore. I don't know where I'd teach here; I'd prefer to stay in a private school, but there aren't too many options here. Catholics are such a minority here; we're the "spawn of Satan" pretty much, and I don't know how I feel about coming back to an area with that attitude. I despised it growing up.

Oh, the things to consider! Where are the days when I knew the next step in my life?

Moments of Pride

Ok, I just have share my ENORMOUS excitement in my new little creations: poems for my students for Christmas!

So I realize that most people wouldn't find this excitement-worthy, but I've been pondering how I might somewhat cleverly and easily write my students the little Christmas note I always make for them. Tonight I designed a note via Microsoft Publisher and found a simple way to adapt the message to specifically address each child. I'm so excited to give them these small momentos . . .granted they might not be as excited as I am, but I'm finding that I love giving people poems as gifts. Maybe a few of them will be touched to receive a specialized poem written just for them.

Ah, the benefits of having only 47 students . . .

Where'd the Fun Times Go?

I've had one of those weekends where I should have gotten a lot more done than I did. And of course that makes me wonder why because it wasn't like I didn't do something fun this weekend.

So--I was wondering, as I did the dishes (not listed under my fun weekend activities), why I didn't get much done. Well, I think I'm having trouble letting work go. I can think of about 30 things I need to do for school and about 15 that I'd like to get done for school, and it just seems easier to shaft the fun things to the side. Well, that's at least part of it.

I had this sudden memory of myself in the back of a car, slightly drunk, and singing along with the other car occupants our own version of "Soon and Very Soon." And then I remembered how hard I laughed that night, how I got all dressed up and was surrounded by single, fun friends. We went dancing and yes, drinking, with abandon down in Mt. Adams at the Pavilion with the slightly frightening women (supposedly sexy) painted on the walls. It was so fabulous, and I thought it was the harbinger of great times to come.

Alas, how fleeting such times are. And now I'm watching The Holiday--bringing back more memories of good times . . ."Well, hello, big dollop."

Where'd the roommates and the single people and the good times go?

Sigh. Now I realize why some people don't want to ever grow up.