Jan’s actions tickle me. Bursting with personality and joi de vivre, his gusto and originality seem to be internally motivated by his delight with life.
When he first joined us, I braced myself for trouble. Only 13, he had left home and was living in empty shacks or sleeping for a few hours at Jude Momo’s all-night internet café. During the week, he would go to school and hang out without attending class or, if he went to a class, would sleep through most of it.
He enjoyed fist-fighting with the other kids and his attitude reflected a self-image of toughness and independence. But I suspected an aching loneliness and desire to fit in. Why else would he hang out around the school, on the fringe of his peer group, refusing to participate but showing an obvious desire to be part of the that group?
The situation grew worse. He was suspected of breaking into two different homes and stealing money and food. I felt a sinking feeling about his future, with a strong possibility of drug and alcohol involvement, aimless shifting, and the future prospect of jail time, all in a downward spiral with not much hope for good outcomes, and a chronic loneliness and confusion about life and how to live it.
I thought about all of this for a couple of weeks or so, toying with the idea of taking him to live with us. But I wasn’t sure if I had the patience or energy to deal with what I saw as his personality and problems.
Then, his brother Clyde, older by two years, joined Jan in his lifestyle of “catch-as-catch-can”, sleeping wherever; eating what they could get their hands on.
One night, shortly after, on the way home from our internet shop, I stopped the tricycle in front of Jude’s place, on a hunch that the two boys would be there. I went in and saw Clyde and Jan watching another boy playing a computer game. I told Clyde, in a firm, authoritative tone, to come outside so we could talk. (I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to give him a chance to refuse.)
The street was dark. I couldn’t see Clyde’s face. I wondered what he was thinking. There was no clue in the blackness there at the side of the road. I made my speech short and to-the-point, telling him that he was coming home with us. I told him to go back in and get his brother. When Jan Mark came out, I told him that he and Clyde were coming home with us.
It brings tears to my eyes as I write this. Two boys at a deceptively simple fork in the road. There was no fanfare; no sign of the importance of their decision to walk quietly to our vehicle and get in.
We laid down some rules that first night, but the overall message was one of hope: You boys have a home here. We’ll take care of you. You are safe with us.
They were now part of our growing family: Emelie and I, the boys’ older sister, Stefhanie, and Stefhanie’s baby, Shane, a fifteen month-old girl.
I love them all – probably Shane the most. After all, babies are set up that way: to engender love from the family that surrounds them.
As for Jan Mark, I’ve changed my opinion about him. Drastically so. Whatever toughness and attitude I think I saw, is not there at all now. Only an openness from a loving boy whose orneriness can be a pain in the ass at times. But his caring nature is always apparent.
When I was a kid, my father induced fear as a way of controlling the behavior of his children and wife. I knew how that affected me, the night that Jan and Clyde came to live with us. And I knew how their father used the same tactics. Something inside of me made itself known. I couldn’t ignore the overwhelming desire to provide a different atmosphere for the boys. I made a conscious choice to provide a loving and safe environment for them and the other two. It was a transformational decision for me.
I found that making a commitment to providing a loving environment for the kids, brought some surprising changes as well. Like magic, the kids responded in like kind: with love and respect. And the most amazing, and ironic change is this: a healing of old wounds started to take place inside of me. I feel it. I feel its positive nature. Promise springs from this, and a steady-state of feeling safe and secure – the other end of the spectrum from living in fear for my safety – like being cradled in the womb, for all time.
I didn’t say much about Emelie in this version of this episode of our life. But she plays a central role in everything that took place and continues to take place. Emelie is the pillar of loving strength in our home. The kids have all known this for their entire lives. Almost all of them have asked to live with her at some time or another. She has taken in both Frederick, the second-to-the-youngest of the family, and Stepfanie. Frederick lived with Emelie for a time while I was still in the U.S. and Stefhanie lived with her years ago.
My wife’s sometimes-stern, but always solid and unwavering love, is the foundation of our lives together. Her heart guides her every decision concerning our family. I sometimes feel at a loss as to how she comes to a conclusion about what to do. But I have learned to trust whatever quiet process takes place inside of her and leads her to make decisions that are magical and effective in bringing out the best in us.
