The Journeys of Bumbly Bear

by Jacqueline Kinnie

  Chapter 10

  Planning a Future

  Nearly three months had passed, and it was time to begin seriously figuring out what would be the best placement for Nutmeg. She remained a difficult child but had shown amazing growth and promise since her arrival. We had seen no more hurting of animals and no major physical confrontations with other children, though she still occasionally pushed someone in anger, or lashed out screaming verbal abuses at times. She had worked hard to change her behavior, and for a seven-year old, shown quite mature understanding of both her behavioral problems with others and how her behaviors would affect her future. She had earned her lovebird that she called “Peaches,” and had been more than willing to share the bird with her new friends at the Evaluation Home.

  So staff discussion began. We all felt she was rather young for our own treatment homes. She’d have been the youngest in any of the four treatment group homes we provided. A few staff thought she might be ready for a fost-adopt placement, but our own fost-adopt homes were full. What to do?

  Her own Social worker had informed us that her department wanted this child “off the roles.” She was to be adopted: they were quite adamant.

  I had planned to contact the Alexious again, and I called them after our Staff meeting. Becca answered the phone, and when I asked the question about whether they had thought about a placement again, she replied: “Yes, we thought long and hard, Helen, but we just can’t go through that again. What evidence do you have that the Judge or the Department will finally accept this placement? How could we ever be sure it would be final?”

  I understood her qualms – they were all too real. “No one can guarantee that a final adoption will happen, Becca. I wish I could assure you that would be true, but I cannot. I can say that the probabilities are pretty high, and we’d go to Court to support your permanent placement. However, I can’t guarantee ever what family courts, judges or social workers will finally do, or even whether her current worker will remain her worker once she leaves us.”

  Our director was adamant about a placement in our treatment program. “She’s just too young to be with all those pubescent kids,” stated Debra. “How about extending her stay in the Evaluation Program for another three/four months while we hunt for a suitable fost-adopt placement? We can take another couple on.” That was fine with all of us – in fact, seemed a great solution, IF Social Services would buy it. It was a big IF. However, I’d plead long and hard that such a continuation would be cheaper than a failed adoption, cheaper than our Treatment Program, and could lead to a good fost-adopt in the long haul.

  Social Services bought our arguments and agreed to a maximum of four more months in Evaluation.

  It would be difficult for our Evaluation house parents to steer a course between a solid attachment and the ability to keep in both their minds and in Nutmeg’s mind and imagination that this placement would end in another four months. That was long enough for a child who wanted to attach to do so -- and thus, a real danger for the child. We’d have to be very clear with her, and likely also repetitive about what was coming.

  So I visited the Evaluation Program after school that afternoon. I decided to take Nutmeg out for a ride, an early dinner and an ice cream treat. I had checked with school and home and she’d been a model child all week, so she deserved a treat. We’d bring back ice cream pops for the rest of the house after supper, which would please all the kids.

  The house parents had told Nutmeg about her special treat this evening, and she was all dressed up in her blue party dress and little Mary Janes when I arrived at the house. Excitedly, she told me to “come say goodbyes to Peaches”, which I did. She took my hand, looking up at me with those deep dark eyes, and said “I am sooo happy, Miss Helen.”

  We drove along the shore to Mill Valley. Nutmeg loved the ocean, and though she was dressed up, we stopped, took off our shoes and walked along the incoming waves as we went south. As we arrived at Buckeye Roadhouse, Nutmeg’s eyes got very large. “Wow,” she exclaimed. “Is this where we’re going?” Buckeye Roadhouse is a beautiful, cozy, Aspen lodge-like dining room, complete with fireplace, located off Route 1, and a favorite place of mine. I had made reservations for the two of us and asked for a quiet corner where I’d tell Nutmeg about her future for the next four months.

  As we settled in, Nutmeg began to look over the menu. She was a rapid reader these days and I was curious what she would select. She turned the pages of the menu over and over and began to look worried. “Miss Helen, there’s no kids menu,” she said sadly.

  “You’re right, Nutmeg. You get to choose right off the big people’s menu.”I said.

  She looked crestfallen. “Oh,” she said quietly, and looked at her lap. “Whatcha gonna get, Miss Helen?”

  “Well, I haven’t decided yet,” I replied. “Does anything look good to you?”

  “Doesn’t matter none,” Nutmeg said softly, looking at her lap.

  I realized she was waiting for me to decide. “Nutmeg, you can choose whatever you want for yourself,” I said.

  “Really? I mean –uh-really? I don’t have to wait for you and eat off yours?” she asked quickly.

  I laughed. “No Nutmeg. You get to choose your own.. Now why would you think you’d have to eat from my plate?” I asked.

  “’Cause that’s what they always did when I was in foster homes,” she said, “’cept for Mama Becca’s.”

  “Ah.” I understood now. She was waiting for me to choose and was afraid I’d select something she didn’t like. We spent the next several minutes perusing an exhaustive menu as Nutmeg excitedly asked “What’s this? What’s that?” as she read words she did not yet know the meaning of.

  She finally settled on a “Shirley Temple” and roast chicken with mashed potatoes, a big green salad and a chocolate sundae for dessert. As we ate, she kept looking at me quizzically. Finally she asked: “Why’d you bring me here?”

  “Well, Nutmeg, we have something really important to discuss,” I said. “And I thought it would be nicer if we could be in a nice place alone without all the other children around as we talk.”

  “Important?” she asked in a very small voice.

  “Yes, Nutmeg, very important.” She looked terrified.

  “You see, you have been doing so well here at Children’s Garden that we have to begin talking about your future - what you want for your future.”

  “You’re gonna send me away again back to detention,” she said pitifully and began to cry. While she had improved greatly, she was still easily caught up in negative emotions.

  “No, no, that’s not at all true, Nutmeg. “We’re not going to send you anywhere you don’t want to go. Remember how we always talk about how you have choices? Well, you have a big choice to make and we need to talk about how that’s going to happen," I said quietly as I stroked her hair. She quieted a bit, looked up at me soulfully with those deep dark eyes, and asked, “I get to choose?”

  “Yes -- so you have to tell me exactly what you want -- exactly, “I said.

  “She answered me promptly and surely: “I wanna go back to Mama Becca’s,” she said pulling herself up straight and prim and trying to look strong.

  “Oh I wish you could, I really do. But it’s not possible, honey. I’m truly sorry, but we have to start again and find the exact right place for you.” I had been afraid this would be her choice if she could have it, and while I sympathized with the couple who did not want to take the chance of being disappointed again, I felt deeply for this little girl’s pain.

  I watched as she cut off the tears that wanted to fall and began to pull herself together. She rubbed her eyes, wrung her little hands, and then quietly put them in her lap. She looked at me solemnly.

  “Miss Helen, if I tell you exactly what I want, then I get it this time?” she asked.

  “Well, we all at Children’s Garden will do the very best we can to find exactly what you want, Nutm
eg. You know, we don’t make promises we can’t keep, so I can’t promise, but I can say we’ll do the very, very best we can to find exactly the right place for you forever.”

  “OK then, let me think.” She said. Recently she had adopted this answer to many of our questions. She had been taught that to “think first, and then act” was important. So I gave her lots of time to think, and she took all of about five minutes, a long time for a seven year old, and then asked me to “Listen carefully, Miss Helen.”

  “OK,” I agreed.

  “First, I want a mom who has light yellow hair and big blue eyes and smiles a lot,” she said. I remembered that Becca was blonde and blue-eyed and had a lovely smile. “And then, I want a Dad with dark skin like mine and black curly hair, who is kind and smart, and fun to chase around and all.” Becca’s husband had been Greek, dark and with black curly hair.

  “And they have to have birds, or love birds and let me have ‘em, ‘cause I going to be an or-ni-thol- o-gist.” She pronounced very carefully, slowly and seriously.

  “Such a big word for such a little girl!” I exclaimed.

  “But I is gonna be one, Miss Helen, and they have to let me have Peaches when I go to them,” she said earnestly. “Now you tell me back what I said.” she demanded. This was another listening and talking technique she had learned in the last few months. Before you answer, if you’re not sure someone heard you correctly, ask them to repeat what you said.

  “OK,” I smiled. “Let’s see, you want a blonde, blue-eyed mom who smiles a lot, a dark Daddy with black curly hair and a place for birds because you want to be an ornithologist.”

  “She jumped up with joy written all over her face. “You got it, you got it!” she cried aloud. “And they should have a Cadillac Seville, too!” Now where had that come from, I wondered?

  “Hmm, well I’ll see what we can do.” I replied.

  “You’ll find me the perfect family, I know you will.” She exclaimed excitedly.

  Our chocolate fudge sundaes came complete with a small mountain of wonderful whipped cream and a cherry on top, causing us both to exclaim and dive into the soft gooey goodness. We sat quietly as we made appreciative noises over our desserts.

  As I drove Nutmeg back to the Evaluation Home, we stopped and watched the sunset together over the blue Pacific. I felt strangely sad and couldn’t identify where the feeling was coming from. Nutmeg had accepted our proposal fairly easily and seemed happy to stay with us awhile longer until we had found the “perfect” family for her. She held my hand as we walked along the beach barefoot, enjoying the golden sun and the riotous reds, purples and pinks in the sky as the sun slowly descended below the horizon. As we walked, I knew where that feeling was coming from. I had fallen in love with this little girl, and I wanted to take her home with me!

  Nutmeg slept for the last part of our journey home. Waking just a little as I carried her into the house, she said sleepily: “I love you, Miss Helen.” Those words about broke my heart. A child had come to us hateful, unloving and unlovable ... and here she was only three months later saying she loved me! Children’s Garden was indeed, as our director always said a place where children grow.