This weekend, I finished the book No One Ever Asked. The book is about an impoverished school district in Missouri who loses their accreditation and therefore, a nearby affluent community has no choice but to open its doors to bussed students. Overall it weaves three family storylines together and tells a tale about the way we see one another, the lies we tell ourselves, the questions and stories that go unexplored, and the tragedies that result from our blindness.
One of the families presented in the book is Jen and Nick Covington. They adopted a 7-year-old girl, Jubilee, from Liberia. The family experiences significant difficulties related to attachment and trauma. Towards the end of the book there was an exchange between Jen and Jubilee: Most kids didn't like thunderstorms. Jubilee did. Tonight there was no thunder or lightening. Tonight there was just a good, hard rain. "Wanna go run in it?" Jubilee slowly lifted her chin off her arm and turned to look at Jen with big, wide eyes, like she couldn't believe what she just heard. Jen couldn't really believe it either. She wasn't the type to play in the rain. And Jubilee's hair would certainly be fuzzy when they were done, but she widened her eyes right back, her moth tipping into a grin. And just like that, the two of them dashed outside, the rain soaking their clothes. Jubilee held out her arms and scrunched up her shoulders and looked up at Jen with squinty eyes and an ecstatic, wonder-filled smile as the rain turned into a downpour. With matching squeals, mother and daughter ran to the driveway and splashed in the puddles while the cat with the luminous eyes watched them suspiciously from beneath the boxwoods across the street. They splashed like Brandon and Jen splashed in the mud all those years ago, before her dad got angry and told them "never again." That's how Nick found them. He didn't yell that they were going to catch a cold. He got out of the car and joined them, because Nick was nothing like Jen's father. He ran up behind Jubilee, stomped in the large puddle by the curb, and she shrieked so loud the cat across the street darted away. Jen stopped and watched them below the glow of the streetlight overhead as drops of rain sprayed all around. It was a moment worth capturing. The kind people would upload on social media. The kind that would have her Facebook friends clicking Like, because here was a family that made them feel happy. What had the elderly lady at church called them the other day? Inspiring. At the time, Jen wanted to laugh. She hadn't seen them before church, or the way Jen reacted when she realized Jubilee had stolen her makeup and ruined it all on Baby and stuffed the mess int he bottom drawer of her dresser, where it got on all her clothes. People didn't see those moments. To the watching world, the Covington family represented something. And a photograph of them now-in this particular wild and free moment-would encapsulate everything they represented. But it wouldn't say anything about their struggles. The things Jubilee had stolen. The things that had been stolen from Jubilee. Jubilee's big emotions, and Jen's big emotions. The tears and the battles and the fits. All of them very, very real. As wrong as her dad was about so many things, he was right about this one-the hardship. Which was why Jen wouldn't take a picture now. Because this was real too, and she didn't want to give the memory away. She didn't want to share it. This fleeting, perfect moment that was bound to pass, just like the rain. But the memory? That would remain. That would be theirs-just theirs-forever. This brought back so.many.memories from our foster care days with Mr. T. I've said it before and I'll say it again, it was the hardest and most worth it "thing" I've ever done. There was so much day to day struggle and battling for us, especially when school started, but there are moments I will never forget. Like the night before kindergarten we sprinkled confetti under his pillow, his first real birthday party, trying to ride a bike with no training wheels, picking out new school shoes, giving Scooby Doo a haircut, eating donuts bigger than our faces, the 4th of July parade, talking about eyeballs, and harder moments too, endless nighttime battles, tears about "my real daddy," and completely trashed rooms and fits of rage we had no idea how to deal with. Foster love. Adopt. Support foster and adoptive families. I really loved this book. I'm not a foster or adoptive parent at the moment, but I had loads to learn from this brief story in the book. Sometimes (ok, a lot of the time) I think I give too many family memories away by focusing on taking a picture and thinking about what will be shared later. Time is going faster than I can explain, and so many moments are precious and fleeting. Jen Covington, I want to be like you, someone who recognizes moments for what their worth and stills their heart to "be here now."
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Author
Hi! I'm Haley. Archives
May 2019
Categories |