trophy case chapter 8

Trophy Case

VIII

Our two Sons

      The light of midday emanated through a plate glass window on the south side of our living room. My bride sat reading a romance novel she picked up at the store that morning. Her chair was strategically positioned to catch the warmth. My first thought as I entered the room is how the rays of sunshine danced off her beautiful blond hair. With no more than their imagination the two boys played a game of cops and robbers in the front yard. Holding two cups in my hands I asked my bride “Would you like to join me out side for a cup of coffee?”

      Slightly raising one eyebrow she commented, “It is uncanny how you can read my mind.”

      With a theatrical poise I replied, “So what you are saying is we are finally one?”
 
      “You are so funny, we may be one, but the Mommy will always be number one around here.”

      “Okay then, my better half,” I said with a bit of humor. “I will meet you on the porch.”

      With my elbow I pushed the screen door open; trying to keep the cups balanced a small amount of coffee dropped hitting the concrete just outside the door. Regaining my balance and grip on the cups, I quickly moved to set them down on the glass patio table. With an index finger separating the pages of the romance novel so as not to lose per place, Joyce claimed the lawn chair on the sunny side of the porch.  Klayten walked somewhat bowlegged, moving from side to side across the porch. Totally in caricature as he reached the edge he called out to his new brother, “Halt, there’s a new shir-iff in town………I’m gun-na e-rest you and put hand-cups on you.”

      “You got-ta catch me first, “Taran said with confidence.

      Lowering his voice Klayten repeated, “I’m the shirr-riff.”

      At times like this I wished we owned a video camera, although it’s funny how vivid ones memories are when something so special is forever imprinted in your thoughts.  A true act of unselfish empathy is not taught, it’s something that has to be lived.  Taran has had eight and one half years as an only child, now sharing everything is something he will soon struggle with.

      If asked today what movie I would use to describe our life, it would not be a fairy tale, quite the contrary. I believe I would pick is What Dreams May Come. In my mind I paint a picture of a perfect little house, perched on a hillside with a million dollar view, and filled with love and happiness. In that home I would have everything my family would ever want or need. As I have mentioned I would never change the past, although at times I wish one could see a glimpse of the future.
 
      Not everything we did was for the best. Thinking back when Taran was just a little over one year old we were given advice that we did not heed.  At a truck show just north of Springfield Missouri we met Mickey Jones, better by his screen name, Pete Bilker of K&B Construction, from the popular sitcom that aired in the late 80’s and early 90’s, Home improvement. Taran already had a connection to the show; his was named after youngest member of the Taylor family, Taran Noah Smith.

      Mickey Jones took time that day to meet and talk to as many people as he could. This was time for a photo op. Taran had on an embroidered blue T- shirt his grandfather Holt made; in cursive script it read Taran. Joyce and I were sporting similar Ts, Joyce’s read, Taran’s Mom and the script on mine was, Taran’s Dad.  After a short introduction Mickey took Taran in his arms as I snapped a couple pictures. Handing our son back to us he offered up some advice. “You truly have a handsome young man there; I can tell you love him with all your heart. If I can give you one thing it would be this one piece of advice. Don’t be afraid to be a parent. You can be his best friend but first you must be his parent.”
 
      Thinking back to that day Mickey hit it spot on. We would give Taran almost everything he ever wanted. At times our friends would point out that we treated our boys differently. This was not intentional. Taran was the answer to our prayers and we were blinded by that gift. Klayten on the other hand was also a gift but we would be parents to him before being his friend.
 
      Adopting a child from the system would prove to be a challenge. In our foster classes we were taught about the psychological struggle a child might go through. Taking on the responsibility of a life that has already been through the pain of a troubled life was something that was about to hit us like a ton of bricks. At first the two boys got along playing, laughing, and spending every waking minute like best friends. After a couple of months Klayten started to show signs of that struggle.

      Saturday afternoon after a long day of yard work, Joyce had retired to her favorite spot in the living room as I rested on the couch. The boys continued playing in the front yard so not to disturb us. A scream from the front yard jerked me from my nap, followed closely by an argument. Still half asleep I asked my bride, “What is going on with the boys?”

      Looking as confused as I was, she replied, “I don’t know”

      I made my way across the living room to the front door, pausing briefly as I peered out the front window. There in the front yard I could see Klayten all alone on the ground, he was rolling back and forth crying out, “Stop it Taran … leave me alone.”

      Looking back on that day it occurs to me he was just crying out for attention. The first year with Klayten was full of these kinds of moments. It was difficult at times, although as a family would get through it one at a time. It’s not that Klayten was a bad kid. I believe he just didn’t know how to trust and how to love or be loved.