Dealing with Attachment Disorder

When I first became a foster/adoptive parent I had no idea of what Reactive Attachment or Attachment Disorder was.  Not much was said in training classes, as I do believe some sixteen or so years ago, there was not much known or recognized even though the disorder was well documented.  We were taught about how bonds should not be broken, and bonding with the child in your home was recommended and healthy for the child to thrive.

I remember the "game" we played with rope where it became really obvious that any existing bonds with birth family should not be broken but nurtured.  It was one of the classes that made me realize the brokenness of some of the children that came from drugs, alcohol and abuse.  It was the first training that made me cry, along with my husband, because the reality, of children who came into foster care, hit home.

But, it wasn't very long into my foster parent journey that the first reactive attachment child just "happened" along.  She was so neglected and thin, that she almost looked like she had some sort of syndrome, so much in fact, that several doctors really tried to find one.  She wasn't quite two when she arrived one Friday afternoon, tiny, strawberry blonde hair, big blue eyes in a too thin face, and a sass that rivaled any child I had ever seen.  What I thought was charming, like, her  calling every female in the room Mom, was really a BIG RED FLAG.  We had friends in from Australia, and she entertained everyone, that is until I tried to bath, feed and put her to bed.  That's when the fun really began.  Controlling anything she had left in her life included, food, bowel movements, destroying toys, hurting small animals that came for a "petting", restraint in any form, such as a crib to sleep in, sitting in the shopping cart, a high chair in a restaurant, a car seat or a stroller just brought about the most terrifying, vocal tantrums you could imagine.  I, Mom, became the enemy, which is typical of AD, or RAD.

It was almost two months before, after much research and finding the right psychologist, that a diagnosis of RAD was made.  Although we really tried, did everything we could to heal this disorder, it was to no avail.  We had other children in the house along with small animals, and, had to make the painful decision to find a "suitable" adoptive family.  We did and are still in touch today, because those bonds, as fragile as they were, could not be broken.  I was bruised, in body and in soul, but made a conscious decision that I would not put myself, or our family through that again.  It became the "one" thing we could not handle.

Well, there was one or two more small children who we had diagnosed and passed onto specialized homes to deal with this disorder, but little did I know that was only training for much later in our foster/adoptive journey. He came to our home through a broken adoption and a trail of "mother figures" letting him down in his life.  There was no other place for him to go, so, I learned this journey of Reactive Attachment Disorder, and, the struggle to find peace, within the family it affected.  Unfortunately, there was another diagnosis, PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  What a double whammy!  But, even though everything I had read told me to give up, I didn't.  My gut told me differently, and my gut was right!

Update.................long summer

Summer was certainly long and wet, and is still ongoing at least for a few more weeks.  I seemed to grow kids, not veggies, this summer.  Too much rain for the garden which failed miserably after so much preparation and thought to what we manage to grow and what we manage to kill!  You think I am joking, but I am not.  Some things thrive even if I cannot tend to them diligently every day, and other plants are just too temperamental, need to much feeding and weeding.

Anyway, the kids survived in throngs around here, swimming even though it was raining, and eating me out of house and home.  It seemed there was at least a dozen every day, but in reality, it was probably only nine or ten!  The towel population was constant and wet, washing machines going constantly as much water was splashed in merriment.  Luckily, we heated the pool last summer because some days the temperatures were a lot less than they should have been.

But, through all the chaos, which is organized to some extent, there were many unexpected joys, and reunions.  Our two youngest sets of twins share the same birth mother, and I found her back in custody at the end of last year, started communicating again, and eventually meeting her with the children when she was released from custody in May, just after we began summer holidays.  Unfortunately, she slid back into her addict lifestyle within days of the meeting, but the children reconnected with their siblings and cousins along with their "Nana", who spent many years loving them from a distance.

They discovered another younger sister, and another set of twins.  All of this was a lot to take in, but, it being summer, we were able to take off with the children, their cousin and their eldest sister, to travel to North Carolina to meet their 18month old sister and brother.  What a wonderful time for all of them.  And God is good to enable the amazing set of circumstances that led up to us finding them, and meeting them within a couple of short weeks of knowing they existed.  So, now we have even more extended wonderful family surrounding all of the children.

On top of that, Isaiah has just done so remarkably well at Job Corps.  He went there last September, and of course comes home for a week-end here and there, well, at least when he's not going to six flags, or a Braves game, Dollywood, or whatever fun they have planned every week-end.  He was only somewhere between fourth and fifth grade, with some third grade thrown in when he arrived there.  He has now passed three out of five of his GED exams, is 65% through his trade, and has been offered Advanced Education.  He his planning out where he is going for that and would love to experience the West Coast or Florida.  I am so proud of him and his achievements.

On top of that my book "Finding Friday" was finally published and is available here.  You can get the hard copy or the E book at this link.  I am accepting speaking engagements with regards to the book and the journey that Isaiah has been on.  I quite frankly have given up on any justice for the circumstances that lead him here, but you DO reap what you sow.  Isaiah is proof of that.  He is reaping what he so disbelievingly sowed.  Those seeds have grown up in his life, and are real.  Positive proof of hope through worst situation you could find yourself in.

All is well, thank God!!

Life

Life has been really crazy busy lately.  So many things have been going on all at the one time.  Most of my kids are involved in either ballet company (which includes tap and jazz) or musical theatre.  So come end of school year there are performances and recitals, plus CRCT exams, and finals, plus a couple of birthdays, and a birth family reunion.  Then there is Roger's work stuff, which includes a trip to Prague in a little over a week, and his ongoing capturing this or that on the internet, my songwriting stuff, which includes writing appointments, the studio, and Nashville trips to fit in.

Somewhere under that noise level, there is my waiting for the "call".  The one that says I made it through the final round of XFactor and am on the show.

Then, there is the book, "Finding Friday", which is at the printers and about to hit the stands.  My TV adds for the cd, "Broken Hearts and Broken Wings" is also about to hit.  Whew!

But what stood out from the crazy business, was the birth family reunion.  My youngest two sets of twins have the same birth mother.  She is, on the inside, a beautiful person, who I believe loves Jesus, and, wants to find another life.  But, that is really HARD for an addict.  She has been addicted to drugs and alcohol since about sixteen, she is turning forty two or so.  We have been in contact for the last few months and she was released from re-hab and jail just a few short days ago.  We all met, along with the children's grandparents, aunt and uncle and cousin, last Saturday night.

The wonderful, amazing, thankful thing here is, that the children didn't just meet their birth mother, they met their family.  A Nana who has missed her grand babies for thirteen years, and an aunt and cousin who desperately wanted to connect with the "missing" in their family.  I understand, I was missing a niece for some thirty years, but, thankfully was reunited some years back and our family retrieved the "lost" one.

Unfortunately, birth mom is now MIA again.  Perhaps the meeting was too much, but I suspect the drugs just dissolved the tender, tiny threads that were hanging onto Jesus.  But, God in His infinite wisdom, knew all of this and allowed this family, this Nana, Aunts, cousins, and other siblings time enough to re-connect for the rest of their lives.  No matter what pain, there is joy.  IF you choose to find it, hang on to it, and never let it go.  Even through the hard times.

Last 6 hours

Hi, this is not my normal blog, which I have much to say, but am on a deadline tonight.  The article written by Kathryn Joyce was published online this week in the publication Mother Jones.  You can read an excerpt from her book on line at Mother Jones as well as if you google.

Both Kathryn and myself have issues with the abuse that has been dished out to children in some adoptive situations, which include, Isaiah, and his older sister CeCe.  While CeCe has moved on to a family of her own, she still struggles with the fact that she was never educated either, just the same as Isaiah.  These children did not have a voice, they do now.

I have clearly shouted in my book "Finding Friday" and I hope you will help me reach my current goal, which is $261 short.  I have six hours left.  I thank each and everyone who has shared this, and contributed, but if you have not, I ask that if you are so inclined, please give in the next six hours.  Thanks and blessings to all.  Here is the link.

Running out of time, sneak into Chapter ! "Finding Friday"

Hi, everyone.  Life is pretty busy right now and I am down to the last few days of my crowd fund raiser for Finding Friday.  Here is the "sneak" into part of the first chapter.

CHAPTER 1: MONROVIA, LIBERIA.

FRIDAY

            The boy looked around, taking in the bustling picture.  He was alone, although there were lots of people walking, standing, even bumping him as they passed by.  He narrowed his eyes against the intense glare of the sun and tried to get the lay of the land.   It was dusty, and hot, with lots of noise of a typical West African city. Lots of different dialects were being spoken as people did their business. They had places to go, things to do, they knew their destination. They had some sort of home or shelter where they could go even if they had nothing to eat, even if it was just to sleep in the searing heat at mid-day. He had nowhere, no-one, other than the man that brought him, who had lied bringing him through the authorities, saying he was visiting his family.  He didn't even know where his family was.  He was thirteen years old, he was scared out of his brain, and he had no-one to turn to here in Monrovia, his birth place.   He had lived in America, the "Great America" for four years and he didn't belong here anymore.  He had forgotten all of the ways of Africa as well as his native language.  He didn't like the man Herman Schmidt, but liked being on his own less.  Mr. Schmidt had left him for a while, said he would be back soon, had some sort of errand to run, so the boy stayed close to himself trying to melt into the crowd, all the while hanging on tightly to his possessions for fear they would be stolen.  

            He had a back pack with a couple of items of clothing and shoes on his feet.  For that he should be grateful.  He wasn't sure what his next move was. Mr. Schmidt had taken his passport, his birth certificate, his green card, and his social security card.  At least he hadn't take his forty dollars earned doing work for his American father.  He was puzzled about why the man would take his papers, because his American family had said they would bring him back when he was older, eighteen, they had said.  Wouldn't he need his papers to come back to America?  And, he now had no identity to prove who he was.  Here he was Friday, although most people had called him Noah, but now he had become nameless.  

Was that what they had intended?  Friday was confused, and felt guilty most of the time.  He absolutely believed he should be here as his punishment.  The kiss he had stolen had not just crushed love, it had crushed his whole life.  He had lost everything in that moment, and fully believed he deserved to be here, in Monrovia, in this hell hole, that he had come from just four short years before.  His birth family, or what was left, could be here or could be farther south, in the interior.  Either way, how long would it be before someone found him?   He had been through some scary stuff in the last couple of months since he had been kicked out of his adoptive home in America. He had a taste of fending for himself even before he landed here.  He remembered the bus ride north from Alabama to where he had met the man, Mr. Schmidt.  That had made him frightened.  There had been older people who were rough, tough looking, said bad words, and pushed each other around.  And then there had been a few days where he was on his own to fend for himself with some street kids, before the man could take him on the plane, and land him here.  

At thirteen no matter how tough you pretended to be, it was terrifying.  He had been very protected in America, never going off the family property much unless he went to work with his Dad.  Nobody in the family went anywhere much, unless it was to church, or the occasional visit to the little town to get some groceries. Friday looked around him and could see those people on the bus were pussycats compared to some of the kids within his peripheral.  Survival.  That's what happened here.  Each to his own to get food, and struggle to live another day.  There weren't many old people here, they died early, and somewhere in the back of his childish mind, he knew that was his fate, too.  Die young, with nothing.

Mr. Schmidt, the one that had brought him on this journey, said his "grandmother" knew he was coming.  He had told him that the Carson's, his family, had called her on the phone.  They had sent money to her and she knew he was coming.  Schmidt said that it was all arranged, a done deal, he would be fine. She would find him, that's what he had said.  Friday hoped so, because he wondered how they, his American family, could have sent money to the Interior.  There were no Western Union's there, that much he did know.  There were so many questions arising in his mind that didn't make sense, but then he didn't feel he had the right to make sense of it.  

He was the guilty one, the one who had done wrong, and maybe coming here, or being sent here, could make all the guilt go away.  He tried to remember his "grandmother" and father, but he had been only nine when he left and those memories were like a fog in his brain.  His father had sent him to the orphanage when he was about five, and although his grandmother came to visit him sometimes when she travelled to Monrovia for medicine, he didn't have a clue what she looked like now.  He wondered if he would recognize her or if she would know who he was.  He had changed.  He had grown up in the last four years.  He wasn't a small underdeveloped nine year-old.  He had physically developed from doing construction and painting with his Dad, which he had done on most days for the last four years, so his frame had become muscular even though he still wasn't very tall.  

What if she didn't come?  He knew that she lived further south, in the Interior, Rivercess, but he didn't think he had been there, no memories of that, but he was pretty sure there were no phones there, so how did his Mom and Dad get in contact?  It wasn't like people went there very easily.  It was a long way.  You had to get a car, and they were not very reliable here, and then it was further after that.  At least that's what he thought his grandmother had told him once when he had asked where she lived and why she only came now and then.  If she didn't even have a phone, then how would she know?  Would anyone tell her?  Maybe his African father had.  His mind whirled around with chaotic crazy thoughts of being left here with no-one.  When you are thirteen there is no other choice than to hope Mr. Schmidt was right, that his family really did know he had come back.

It was sort of exciting at first, having everyone's eyes on him. He liked attention, but not the sort that got him in trouble.  He had messed up, been stupid, but there wasn't anything else to do.   He had either gone to work, or when that dried up, he had run around the family property with the other kids.  There had been no school, or at least not much.  And he had certainly got up to some mischief, but not as bad as some of the other kids.  Confusing, that's what it was.  Why were some things OK for some people and not for others?   He had belonged to a mixed family, some biological kids who were all white, and his sister, and a couple of others who had been adopted from the orphanage here in Liberia.  He never expected to be treated the same as the white kids, he didn't know why he thought that, but it had been so.  

Somehow, the black kids got into more trouble, even though they all did the same things.  It was like he had to prove to them that he would be a good son.  The words that had been said to him still echoed in his head and would for years.  "You're a bad boy, you deserve to be put out of the family.  You have committed crimes against our family!  We don't want you anymore!"  

He had tried his best to be what they had wanted him to be, but he had failed.   He couldn't please his mother, who had asked uncomfortable things of him, and he couldn't please his father, who wanted him to disobey his mother.   Then his mother betrayed him and he had been put out of his adoptive parents home, sent to live with a couple of young men for a while.  His parents had convinced him he didn't deserve to live in America anymore, that he should go back to Africa, in shame.  He knew this was his fate, his death sentence in fact.  People didn't live long in Liberia.  You could get over the starvation, or at least sleep a lot so you didn't notice, but it was the lack of hope that got everyone in the end.  And if that didn't get you, then the rebels or bad men might.

A tear slid down his face as his sentence handed down by his new family sunk in. He knew he was on the verge of embarrassing himself and just sobbing, he felt so helpless, and rejected.   He thought he was free of all the hunger, the abject poverty, and the incessant fear that was life here in Liberia, but he had taken a full circle back.  The man had returned, and walked him towards the orphanage where he had so gladly left behind over four years ago.  It was empty now.  They had shut it down.  Too many kids had gone to the "Great America" and caused trouble.  

He remembered as he looked at the vacated buildings.  They looked worse, if that was possible, than they did before. Friday's mind went back to when he first came to this place.  His mother had died, something to do with childbirth, he thought, but he really didn't know, couldn't remember.  Not long after that his sisters had gone away to the orphanage, this one right here, and he had stayed with his African father.  Then his father married again and more children came, so he couldn't stay there anymore, not enough food for him, so he ended up here as well.  It had been strange, because he knew his sisters, but didn't really know them.  They weren't close, like in hugging or any of that stuff.  He was beginning to realize that he didn't remember much of anything.  It was like his mind was filled with lots of blank pages in a story that you couldn't understand because it was missing too many pieces, pieces he chose to lock away deep somewhere in a forgotten place, never to be unearthed again.

The sounds of the orphanage echoed in his head.  The grounds were dry and dusty, but he smiled as he remembered playing soccer with whatever sort of ball they could find.  Of course, they didn't know the rules but that didn't matter.  They were tough and played that way.  They were fast on their feet.  Their world consisted of being awakened very early and leaping out of bed immediately.  If you didn't, you got a beating.  He had his share of those and was smart enough to avoid them whenever possible. Beatings made you learn to survive here. Survival was now his greatest skill.  

He learned about hunger here, too.  One cup of rice a day and whatever else you could scavenge. There wasn't much of that either.  If you were quick and fast you could avoid all the poop on the beach and try to catch a fish, but he had been too young to master that skill.  Funny to remember the poop, at least he had an indoor toilet in America, and didn't have to go find a place to squat. The beach was the most popular place for that here.   He never did master the art of catching fish too well, so he was glad he was one of the younger ones, because sometimes there wasn't enough food for the older kids.  They had to wait and hope tomorrow brought more food than yesterday.  He knew his sister, Patience, often went hungry, in fact, sometimes she even gave her portion to him and his younger sister.  

He kicked the dirt angrily.  Anger was never far from the surface these days.  He lived between fear and anger, but fear would kill you here or get you something you didn't bargain for.  Anger heightened your awareness, and he needed that to make sure he made it and didn't end up dead in the bush somewhere.  He looked back at the orphanage.  Herman was on the phone, distracted, as the sharp image of a twelve year old kid holding a gun to his head popped into his head. A street kid who had joined the Rebels. The kid had looked at him deep into his eyes deciding whether he would live or die. Friday had survived, although a chill ran through him like a cold wind as he remembered.  

He had seen bloodshed.  When the fighting had come, he had seen throats cut, deep with flesh falling out like little tentacles, with blood everywhere.  He felt the warmth of his own blood rush to his face as he remembered shame here, too.  He would never forget the older boy coming to his makeshift bed in the night.  He was vulnerable then.  His innocence was spent that night and would be no more.  He would walk in shame that such a thing had happened to him here.  But he would also put on a new skin that nothing or no-one would penetrate, ever.   He was only six years old when these atrocities had happened to him, but he had become someone much older that night in the darkness.  He had changed forever.  

There wasn't anybody to tell, and it would be many years before he ever had the guts to do so.   This went on he realized the longer he stayed there, and nobody cared.  Everyone turned a blind eye in the dark.   You had to stay awake, be on guard, not be available, hide, whatever you had to do not to be raped and dominated and, to have your very own spirit crushed till it was no more. Friday had only told one other person, trying to save himself from the fate he now had.  He had bared his soul, told of his shame to his new Dad, Aaron, but it didn't matter.  His Dad just thought he was a monster to be rid of, which still confused him.  He couldn't think any more about it.  It was too debilitating.  It was not something he would ever tell of again.

There were not many adults for the amount of kids in the orphanage, and the pastor that ran it only came now and then.  When he would come he would bring extra food and clothing and stuff, but it was never enough.  They never had enough of anything, but that was life here in Liberia. There wasn't even one of those big organizations, like the ones that brought food and water and stuff.  He vaguely remembered fleeing from the orphanage in the middle of the night once.  There had been a lot of yelling and guns, loud noises and men running here and there, and the girls and women who worked in the orphanage screaming as they fled into the bush.  His older sister had kept him and Francis, his baby sister, safe.  Patience, had kept them protected, covered them from the bullets and the men who shouted and killed anyone who was in their way.  He remembered being out in the bush hiding for days until the bad men had left.  They were hungry and left out to hide and fend for themselves.  

It had become one of those pages in his mind he chose not to recall.  But, when he had been out there, hungry, dirty, scared, he had wondered if there really was a God.  If there was, He wasn't here in Africa.  God only came on Sundays when the missionary preached.  He had learned early that God was not protecting him.  No need to listen.  He had hidden his heart within a covering made up of rejection, shame, and abandonment, impenetrable, sort of like the Grinch, at the ripe old age of six.

If you are led to donate to my campaign at Indigogo here is the link.

Finally, the article about the abuse, neglect and Isaiah

 This is an article written by a journalist, Kathryn Joyce, about adoptions from Liberia, which concern especially Isaiah. I do not agree with all the comments on this page, I think most of you who know me, know that. But the important thing to come out of this is that 1. Isaiah WAS dumped back in Liberia by his adoptive parents which is illegal, 2. these children, including Isaiah and CeCe were not educated, but then neither were their own biological children, 3. These parents had no training in what to expect from a severely abused, neglected and war torn child, which led to abuse in another form. 4. We need to stop this abuse. Please read this article which will give you an insight into "radical" or extreme thinking. After you do that, please consider my campaign to publish my book, a totally different point of view. My book, Finding Friday, is not about assigning blame, it is about the fact that no-one cared that this thirteen year old child had been dumped back in Africa, with the intention of his green card running out, and him never returning to tell "stories, or truths" about just what happened to him in the Great America. I am all about forgiveness, but not about abuse, neglect, or the uncaring, unfeeling, attitude that I got from Government officials, whose response was "Well, he is out of the country, we can't do anything." Please read, and please consider helping Isaiah tell his story. 
http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/finding-friday/x/2407860
http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2013/04/christian-evangelical-adoption-liberia

I have posted this because I want everyone, or at least as many as I can reach to understand it "takes a village" to correct anything.  One single person on their own can do very little, but if everyone takes a stance, then this sort of abuse, neglect, ignorance and just "sheer" don't care attitude can change.  I will keep on going until it makes a difference.  Will YOU!!!!

A Sneak Peak into "Finding Friday" the book............

This is not my traditional blog, but a "look" into my book "Finding Friday" which is very soon to be available.  If you like what you read, and want to read more, please consider contributing to my crowd fund raiser "Finding Friday" on Idiegogo.  Here is the link.  Thank you to everyone who has contributed and made this book a reality.





PREFACE


All of my life I had searched, and still do to some extent, for
something that is out of reach and challenging. Something that
would make me go the extra mile. I always thought much more
selfishly than the outcome that I now live every day—a mother
to fourteen children, ten grandchildren, five dogs, nine goats,
and a small farm. My dreams led me to fame, perhaps fortune,
although somehow in the midst of that, I always just wanted to
reach the very souls of people. I have always wanted to convey a
message; it was just what the message was that was unclear until
now.

Passion, of course, is the driving factor. It is in the needy
children and also in the ambitious. Passion is not just of the heart,
it is put in motion by the mind. It is a doing word, something
that takes root in your heart and propels that desire to become
an action. If we don’t take action, passion dies. It withers away
and becomes bitterness. This happens with children who at a
very early age are abandoned, both physically and emotionally,
and who find the only person who has enough passion to fight
for their life is themselves.

I believe that results in what I call “survival disorder” and
the text books call “attachment or reactive attachment disorder”,
commonly known as RAD or AD. Mostly we associate non-
attachment with reaction which results in the child or adult
being angry, violent, or impatient with younger children and
animals, while being charming to all that are not involved in the


14 | FINDING FRIDAY

role of authority, caretaker or parent, particularly the mother
figure.

I was a very inexperienced foster parent when I first was
exposed to “survival” disorder. I really prefer to call it that
because in every instance I have known, the child was trying to
survive because of the lack of parental care, or interest. In other
words, Mum and Dad, were not doing their job. Now, I do
know and acknowledge that there are documented cases where
attachment disorder or “survival” can kick in when a child is left
in a hospital for a very valid reason when they are very young.
Perhaps the parents are not able to be at their capacity that is
normal for a young child, or one or the other parent is ill and
cannot attend to the infant as they would like to be able to. There
are also many other factors that can influence this disorder that
bring the personality and intellect of the child into question.
There are instances of this disorder when fault cannot be found
and it happens anyway. That is why children in the foster or
adoptive care system should not be moved any more than they
have to. Attachment is important to the point of survival.

Most RAD or AD these days is attributed to the mother,
in particular, being addicted either to drugs, alcohol, or both.
This leaves the child defenseless in the midst of the chaos of
the parent’s lifestyle. Often left without food, or comforting,
they wait until Mom is awake and sober, or not high, so
that their needs can be attended to. The mother figure ends
up being their enemy by default. Even when placed within
the foster home, albeit a loving and caring one, the fight for
survival begins. There is no established trust with any mother,
and the child will push every boundary. Even with the most
patient parent, life becomes almost intolerable. They use every
method of control they can—food, silence, tantrums, bodily
functions, destruction of anything they can get their hands on,
lighting fires, destruction of property, unexplained anger, and
revenge, particularly on smaller children and animals. There
are few counselors or psychologists who specialize in this. The
growing numbers of these children are alarming. They are found
everywhere, all around the world, as well as here in the USA.

In my foster parent years, I experienced several of these


KATE THoMPSoN | 15

children, mostly under the age of four, and found that love
was not enough, and having small animals and babies was not
a good combination. After the first child, who I desperately
wanted to keep, but knew in my heart she needed a different
home, one where she could be the center of attention. I learned
that once recognized, a child with this “survival” instinct needed
a very special home, with few other distractions involved, so
behavior could at least be modified over time. Until Friday, or
Noah as he is commonly known, came, I had never experienced
a teenager with such strong “survival” instincts that he fell into
this category. It took me several months to realize he did indeed
have “survival” disorder. I knew instantly this would be the
greatest challenge in my life, if I survived it.

My knowledge of Noah had been limited to visits with his
adoptive family a couple of times a year. I had never noticed
anything out of the ordinary, but when I was advised he was
being sent back to Africa, an action that was illegal on every
score, I knew our family would get involved. After an initial
family meeting, we all felt that we were maxed out with eight
special needs kids, and Noah’s older sister, who we had established
very quickly had no education. As sweet as she was, as well as
being helpful, I knew Noah was also not educated. That fact in
itself was probably the deciding moment to intervene by calling
Children’s Services, over trying to get his parents to send him to
us. Later, I realized there was no way they would have ever sent
him to us, even if we were willing.

It was the beginning of a journey that I didn’t choose, but
knew that if our family did not step up to, Noah was doomed
to a life in the interior of Liberia, Rivercess. If he was lucky,
he might survive until he was thirty-five, the average life span
in a people with no hope, no education, no infrastructure left,
not enough for even World Vision or another such organization
could go in and help. Only small missionaries with a vision or a
calling to help these needy, desperate people were there. I found
out, not long into the journey, that the church I attend supports
missionaries there, but these churches are few and far between.

I found not only did he have full blown “survival” disorder,
but he was damaged emotionally, maybe beyond repair, severely


16 | FINDING FRIDAY

delayed in education although he was very smart, and tested
intellectually very well. He had no immunizations for school,
a very small vocabulary, no understanding of most things that
we spoke about every day, and absolutely no experience in what
a “mother” or a “father” was. He was definitely angry, silent,
greedy for food to the extent that he would often eat three and
four servings regardless of whether someone had not eaten,
aggressive physically, with both humans and more so animals,
and defiant and unresponsive to correction. My husband and I
knew by now that he had been physically, mentally, and sexually
abused on different levels, but hoped because his older sister
was in the family, that he would at the very least respond to her.

To understand better, you have to realize that both these
children had not been exposed to an American accent, like
kids who go to school every day, even though they had been
in America for four plus years. Their heavy African accents
were hard to understand, throwing a whole other complicated
dimension into the picture. Often I would be trying to explain or
correct a behavior and why it was not acceptable, and find they
didn’t understand more than two or three of the words I had to
say in a sentence. This was confusing, baffling to me, because I
could not understand why someone would adopt children from
overseas, bring them into a new way of life, and not educate
them at least to their surroundings they were now living in.
Then on top of the vocabulary barrier, there was the abuse and
the defensive wall that surrounded him, almost impenetrable, to
try to prove that he was safe here, and we would not abandon,
beat, or abuse him.

Those who have never been involved or even been on the
edge of fostering or adoption of older children do not know that
these kids do not walk through your door and say, “Wow, this
is great. I really love it here, I’m so glad you brought me into
your home.” That is so far from the truth, it is almost the direct
opposite. Noah was no exception. I knew he liked the idea of
being in our home and part of our family, but the actuality
was distressing and uncomfortable for him. He liked the food,
but hated the supervision, the accountability, having to share,
and also the closeness. He hated the inability to hide, keep to


KATE THoMPSoN | 17

himself without another kid or adult, or even his sister asking
questions about his experiences, trying to find how any of us
could help. All of this should have told me he was a “survivor,”
and yet, my experience of this was with very young children,
never with a teenager.

I might add that these children do not appear very lovable,
and yet what they crave the most in their damaged, hidden
hearts, is unconditional love, without any response from them
at all. A hard task for anyone, even when you know what to
expect, because somewhere inside all of us we require praise,
love, acceptance, encouragement, and freedom to be who we
are. All of these things have never been experienced by these
children, these “survivors”, so they are not capable of giving
anything back at all, at least until you prove yourself worthy of
something from them. That may be the tiniest tidbit every six
months if you are lucky. The path is narrow, and strewn with cut
glass, which makes everyone bleed and wonder if they can walk
another step of this journey.

At the time of the writing of this book, because I feel this
story must be told, Noah has begun, and I do mean begun, to
give just a little of himself back, and to respond in a healthier
emotional manner. How long before he is free, free from all
baggage that has been heaped upon his back, beginning with the
death of his mother, then the rejection from his stepmother, to
abandonment from his African father, when he was left in the
orphanage around the age of five? There he experienced the first
sexual and physical abuse, moved happily to adoption, and was
subjected to more of the same abuses, just in different forms,
then rejection and abandonment again. That finally resulted
in him being left alone in Liberia, unable to speak his native
language, in circumstances where he was once again starved
not only from food, but intimacy within a family, who loves
unconditionally to the point where a little boy can feel safe.

We have only begun this journey with Friday, a name that,
“Noah” hates, but one day will see as truly the name he was not
only born with, but owns, along with all the experiences, bad and
good, that came with it. More than once I have almost given up
hope to the point of thinking he had to be removed to another


18 | FINDING FRIDAY

family, or group home. My child psychiatrist has told me on
more than one occasion that if the physical fighting continued,
he would remove him. Yet, somewhere in my soul, mind, or
heart, I know that all of the training I have gone through, along
with all the foster children and their problems that have passed
through our home, and the enormous difficulties our adopted
children had faced and overcome, was the path that led to Noah,
“Friday,” and his wholeness.

I am still to experience his full recovery, but at this moment
in time, have very strong feelings, which is a first I have to
admit, that Friday will become a trusting, vulnerable person
again. One able to love and integrate into our large, impossible,
loving family, that was not chosen by us, but by God. It did
not happen by birth physically, but spiritually, in obedience
to a plan that God asked of us. I can testify without a doubt,
that if I had my “druthers,” I would not have chosen this large,
sometimes overwhelming family, but, I am grateful for each and
every one of them, because I could not imagine living without
one of God’s chosen.

Time Out!

I live with many children, most of whom think they are too old for "time out", but I still have a couple that JUST get into the limit of age that will accept that.  In our years of fostering, we learned you are never too old for "time out".  Adult time out is very important to our parenting skills as well as our sanity.  There is a saying "Insanity is inherited from your kids".   That is very true, unless you take "time out".

There have been SO many times over the last sixteen years, where, we were exhausted, unable to think straight, or parent unless we had a "break" or, using the modern idiom, "time out".  We have dealt with a lot of syndromes, I call it the Alphabet syndrome because they all are called by letters.  Weird, but, that's our world sometimes.  We are dealing right this moment with a multi syndrome child who fast metabolizes her medication, and hates the part that keeps her in check, and us sane, but we learn to exist.

Is existing enough?  No.  A flat NO!  Just because you deal with a difficult child, or maybe it's three or four little children in a row that you thought were all going to be just "by the book", or it's the first baby that didn't go "according" to the book.  A child, or children can rock your life, your career, your personal relationships, and the most important of all, your intimate life with the very person who makes up your family, your spouse, or partner.  Please listen.  If you are aiming at a two partner family life, then two people need to be taking part, and discussing, sharing all aspects of that, including being close as a couple, not just as parents on the same page.

Luckily, both Rog and I are on the same page about our "time out" time.  We regularly have a date, even if it isn't far, doesn't cost much, but, a scheduled date.  We sometimes go to our hot tub, no children allowed, for a date.  Doesn't cost anything, but we get to talk, look up at the stars, see the amazing trees, the river birches that some silly landscaper once told me I should cut down because they made a lot of mess, and talk.  Remember, why we have these kids in our home, and why we love each other, and why we do what we do, as hard as it is, every day.

Don't forget where you started, with that brand new love in your heart, and end up an ember, burned out from not enough "time out".

Just saying about my crowd fund raiser.  I am running out of days.  Would appreciate if you share.  Here is the link.

Better to fail.........than never try at all.

Isaiah was home for Easter, and, even though he is doing really well at Job Corps, he is a bit like the tortoise and the hare.  He so wants to run ahead, even if it means that he trips and loses something on the way.  No matter how much re-assurance he is given, he still seems to see that the cup is half empty, not half full.  Perhaps I can explain it better when I tell you that six months ago his education was at about grade three level.  Now it is a solid sixth grade.  In his eyes, he should be further ahead, because he keeps comparing himself with others who have had more opportunity for education than he has.

But, his view is gradually changing, with the help of his past and present teachers, and of course his family.  When he went there, the prize was the "Trade".  It was a job he could get, move out on his own, be independent and, it would suffice.  The "GED" in his eyes, was not the prize at all, just a good tag along if he could get it, and in his mind that was a huge ask.  Learning is hard when your brain has not been trained to do that.  Mostly it is his comprehension of the English language, and understanding even what his test paper questions really said, has been extremely hard.  When explained, he knows the answer, but comprehending a story, or a question worded slightly different is for Isaiah, a huge mountain to climb.  And, sometimes, he does not want to climb it, it is just too hard.

Then, about a week or so ago, one of his math teachers began to explain the cost of living to his class.  It was like a big boulder fell on his head, and shook his brain awake.  He was shocked, he told me on the way home, to find that his "Trade" might pay him about $30,000.00 a year, but his cost of living might be more than his bring home pay.  A "GED" was starting to look more appealing.  Without it, he cannot go on to higher education, and would be stuck in a lower income bracket maybe forever.  Then on the same trip home, his brother Devin, played a motivational tape about "learning when you are young", perhaps to the point of sacrificing the revered "cell phone", or even worse, the TV, or the X-Box.  The light was finally beginning to come on, and by the time he had thought about all the events, he was motivated.

Why do we see small successes as not enough?  Why do we have to win the race before we run it?  Why do we not stop to enjoy our journey, take the highs with the lows, and reach our full potential.  I know that somewhere in all of this it dawned on me that I do similar things.  Recently, I got an amazing email from the X-Factor.  For those of you who don't know, that is a singing competition run in the fall on TV.  I have this thing that I am never going to give up, so I audition, on line mostly, each year.  A couple of years ago I actually was scammed by a letter of acceptance and was extremely disappointed.  I vowed I would never tell anyone again of even a small success, for fear of, yes, "failure".

Well because of all that I have told Isaiah over the last couple of days, I am going to swallow my own medicine.  Yes, I made it through the first round of on-line auditions, and yes, I may not make it onto the show, but I am proud of my small success, and I am not going to be afraid of failure ever again, or of being embarrassed to say "I didn't make it".  I am going to eat my own words and be proud that I tried.  My advice to me.
For those who follow my blog, but have not seen my crowd fund raiser, here is the link.  I have twenty one days left to reach my goal.  My book, "Finding Friday" is due to be released in the next couple of weeks.  If you feel led to support, thanks, otherwise please share with your friends.

Time........Where Does It Go

Gosh where did the week go!  Earlier this week, Isaiah called saying his friend was coming home for the week end and could he catch a ride.  I could hear a little yearning for home in his voice, so even though he is coming home for Easter I willingly agreed.  He arrived somewhat down in the mouth which I had sort of picked up on the phone.  His friend was with him, and there were lots of hugs all round as the kids were eager to see both of them, but he still wasn't himself.

Unfortunately the boys were at youth group and not due back for an hour or so, and that seemed to make him more doleful.  After chatting for a little bit, a few things came out that were obviously bothering him.  It seems that his friend, who has graduated from high school, has really been able to fast track his course at Job Corps and will be finished in just a few short months, where as Isaiah, who is doing amazing for his short few years being educated, is going to take probably another eighteen months to finish both his GED and his trade.  Luckily we had neighbors over, and his friends mom, and we all reiterated to Isaiah his successes, not his failure to keep up with his friend.

It then occurred to me that we should always keep our eyes straight ahead, focused on the path that we are on, and not look over at someone else's journey.  It can cause us many emotions if we let it.  God has a path uniquely designed for each of us, and even though sometimes that path becomes foggy, or we stray away from it, it is ours.  Isaiah's life has taken so many twists and turns in just a short time, but God knew every one of them, even if it wasn't the path set out in the beginning.

Well, the boys came home, there was much catching up to do, and they spent the rest of the night doing just that.  Then an exciting turn of events and our neighbors took all three boys up to the North Georgia Mountains for the night.  I must admit, Isaiah tried to feel torn about staying and visiting with us or going for an adventure, but they all ran out of here with big grins on their faces.  Life is good, if you just let it.

My book Finding Friday is coming out in the next month or so and I am doing what they call a "crowd Fund Raiser" with Indiegogo.  Here is the link to that.  If you feel led to give something small, that would be great and help me get Isaiah's story out there.  If not, please share this link with your friends, I would be most thankful.

Good Things Happening

It's easy to dwell, or get wrapped up in, the chaos of everyday life, and the things that bring us down.  It's easier to get up in the morning and end up in chaos just getting everyone out of the house, either to school, or to your job, or that early meeting downtown where you have to fight the six lane traffic in rush hour, with the usual crash, or break down, or just the sun hanging low and bright in the sky because it is now daylight saving.  But, if you can just say that small prayer and hold your breath, often, count to ten, and smile, let some of the stuff roll off your back, then life is better.  Laughs come more often, frowns, which by the way are unbecoming and lead to wrinkles, are less.

It is harder to laugh at yourself when you know you are being silly, or petty, or lacking in patience, than to let it roll off and begin your day well.  I know those things are true for me.  I am a morning person, but I do like to see everything in it's place when I get up.  That, in my house with eight children, is a romantic notion, no matter how much I cleaned up the night before.  There's always just one more cup of tea, one more snack, one more munch on the huge family size packet of chips.  And, of course, the load of laundry someone needed for tomorrow, put in the dryer with the wrinkle cycle on, just to wake me up in the wee hours of the morning.

But, all of those things tells me there is life in my home, and it is flourishing.  There is the beginnings of independence, the consequences of having to get out the door in the morning after you clean up your mess from the night before.  The trays with just the left over crumbs from my tweens learning how to make brownies in the microwave, and tonight, gluten free, chocolate chip cookies from my flour mix in the pantry.  Quite proud of them, even if it is a bit of a mess, because at least I can get to eat one!

Sometimes, you have to get messy to learn, to grow and become responsible.  As I look forward to Isaiah coming home for the week end, that is how it has been for him also in the last few years.  He has had to pull down the walls, and look at the mess that had built up behind them, and learn to clean it up in the very best way he could, with our help of course.  His language and math skills, just at grade one level some three and a half years ago, are now around sixth grade.  That has taken huge steps forward, intermingled with huge steps backwards to progress, but he doesn't frown much anymore, he has a big smile on his face because his future is looking brighter and brighter every day.

I imagine that it will take another twelve to eighteen months at Job Corps for him to complete his GED, and his trade, which has been slowed down to match his pace in general education, but I can't wait to see him earn his right to have put most of his messes behind him.

I am about to release, publish my book, Finding Friday and to do so and meet the speaking engagements, house concerts and marketing expenses, I am doing a campaign at Indiegogo.  Please share the link below with your friends in social media, and your family.  This story must be heard, if only to save another child from the suffering and huge hurdles that Isaiah has had to go through.  As my pastor says to our church, only give if you are lead, but please share so this important story can reach as many as I am able to take it to.  Here is the link:

When Good Things Happen To Those Who Wait

I have found that you can live in the past, live in the future, or, live for today.  So many times in my life I have lived for the future.  I don't often look back, what's the point?  Some one close to me today reminded me that regret for things that didn't happen doesn't change it, or decisions we made that were poor ones, are the best ones we could make at the time.  I realized a long time ago that living in the future invalidated the life I was living.  I needed to enjoy the journey I was on, and if my circumstances meant I couldn't pursue my goal today, then get the most out what was being handed to me now.

When I was led upon the path of adoption, it was not my first choice, if my choice at all.  I am not some saint, or "good" person, frankly my dreams had come crashing down at a time in my life when I was feeling like I was "too old" for my profession and had blown my only chance at it in this country.  I was seeing others achieve what I wanted so desperately for myself, but was being denied, or at least that is what I felt.  That was about the last time I looked backwards, because God gave me so much to do that was worthwhile, exhausting, and took up all my days and most nights as well, that I didn't have time to dwell upon little 'ol me.  Despite myself, I was defending and caring for what I call "The Lost Children" who came through my door at alarming rates.

I look around me today, at my nearly eighteen year old twin boys who came some sixteen years ago next month, and don't, and wouldn't regret one moment that I gave, instead of following my "passion" selfishly.  Every moment has been a treasure with all nine children who I have been blessed to call mine.  But, as I said, I am not some "saint".  I have always hoped and believed in the promise that was given to me nearly thirty years ago that a time would come.  Unfortunately, it did mention something about me being like "Sarah" and I did not want to hear that, and as the years as unfolded, became a "Sarah" and didn't believe it anymore, rather thinking that somehow I had disappointed, or missed it, or maybe, it was all in my head.

And, maybe I have.  But tonight I step out in faith because God has opened an opportunity that I believe comes from Him, and wait, yes, "wait upon the Lord" and see if this is the time after all these wonderful, memory packed years full of children's laughter, achievements, monumental moments when a child threw away a brace she had to walk, another child's heart was healed from a three prong defect right in front of me where the Doctor could not explain it, where speech happened after three years when none was ever supposed to, where cerebral palsy disappeared, the facial, emotional and neurological effects of alcohol and drugs were no more, and learning disabilities, dyslexia, bi-polar, ADHD, OCD, and Tourette's syndrome became just letters of the alphabet and names of disorders.

Whether or not I waited in vain is irrelevant, if I hadn't I would have missed so much more.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=INJS0YDnXZg

Life with 14 kids: Epilepsy, a diagnosis or a life change.

Life with 14 kids: Epilepsy, a diagnosis or a life change.: The last couple of months have been somewhat overwhelming and at the same time a challenge. I am a busy person, I like it that way, but when...

Epilepsy, a diagnosis or a life change.

The last couple of months have been somewhat overwhelming and at the same time a challenge. I am a busy person, I like it that way, but when three productions went down in one week, actually six days, and I was directing two of them, it was a little too exciting even for me.  On top of that, one of my precious tweens had two grand mal seizures in the space of a week, resulting in Neurologist appointments, EEG and MRI, and finally a diagnosis of multi focal epilepsy which is not pleasant to read about when you google it.

We were at Disney with the kids school having a blast when I got the diagnosis which was hard to understand on phone voice mail where the messenger had an accent.  I spent hours trying to reach a person to understand the message and when I finally could work out the words, and google, it seemed we had hit a new low.  I have faced so many challenges with my new family, or New Thompson's as we call them, and seemingly we have overcome even faced with alarming odds.

My mind began to race mainly because Jada's younger sister has had three seizures and now I was concerned about her.  Jada was already on medicine which was working beautifully, with no side effects, so far, but it was time to find out if we had any other challenges ahead.  We were due to go back to the Neurologist so I made an appointment for Megg at the same time and we went, head on to either get a good report, or another "challenge".  Lucky, there was a free appointment for an EEG at the same time, and even though I was told not to expect anything abnormal to show up, that was not the report.  Megg not only had epilepsy waves in her right temporal lobe, but had birth damage there as well.

While I took in the news that there was a reason she had been diagnosed with cerebral palsy as a baby, I had to chuckle because she no longer exhibits any of those signs, even if there is evidence to say it should still exist.  If fact, she is in ballet, not just classes, but company 2 ballet.  Medicine is not appropriate, except in emergency, at this time because her seizures are too far apart, but, it proved to me that you take news as devastating or as a challenge, a new way to think, and a way to find good quality of life.

We have implemented safety plans now for both the girls, such as, no swimming EVER alone, no hot tubs alone either, partner to the bathroom at school, and emergency treatment if we are not present.  While I really felt I had been thrown yet another condition I was ignorant of, and was overwhelmed, almost feeling panicked, I realize that knowledge is better than ignorance, and with that, and God, prayers and persistence, you can change your mind about diagnosis, and change the direction of life in an instant for the better armed with information and a positive attitude and outlook.

Finding Your Way

Well I must say that December was insane, with all the literal "drama" as well as the "staged" drama I was exhausted when it was over, only to rally to DisneyWorld with eight kids on a school program.  Now, that, was, great.  The kids had an amazing time, we had some "free" time, and memories were made by all.  The two to three weeks of vacation over Christmas were hectic, with Isaiah coming home mid way through, and plays and dance recitals etc happening, leaving not much time for shopping, planning Christmas dinner, let alone relaxing or enjoying the "season".

In a family as large as ours, try as you might, you invariably miss something.  Isaiah was great the first week home, started to present problems by the beginning of the second week, and definitely needed to return to immense structure by the end of it.  He went back to school the same day as we drove to Disney with the others for their school visit.  Timing is everything.  I was worried he was going to be upset that the others were doing a school educational trip to Disney, but, that was not his major concern.  He had been there done that, and, in his own way, for his own reasons, was happy to return to school where he had earned respect and credibility.

The struggle through this process has not only been Isaiah's, but the whole family's.  At the end of it all the other kids needed a reward as much as he did, and, they got it, at Disney.  Free to roam around, be themselves, and not be concerned about a young man that needed special attention, was the perfect solution.  I will treasure riding the teacups at The Magic Kingdom with all of them at the close of the park.  As foolish, and immature as that seems, it sets you free again, to be a child, laugh, love, not think what is being said or is coming against you, just to be free, living, loving and expressing that freedom in hugs, laughter, and memories.

Time to move on, to learn, expand, love more, laugh more, learn more, experience life for what it is.  What we make it!  In the end, life is held in our own hands, and, we can live it, grow from it, learn how to love and forgive from it, or we can become hard, unforgiving and bitter, only seeing the troubles not the successes.  What do you see?  I hope you continue to seek the path that is meant for only you, and if you struggle with that, then, don't worry, there is a peace beyond all understanding if only we will walk, talk, and follow the path we find ourself on.

The Sad and The Glad

The holiday season has been really busy, in fact I'd own up to chaotic.  I am a little "OCD" as well as a little hyperactive, but the last couple of months were almost beyond me.  I have a couple of "triggers" in my family, you know the ones that start stuff, initiate it, continue it, spit it out till you have to deal with it.  I always believe that prevention is better than cure, but there are a couple in my brood that do not adhere to that theory.  You can't prevent it, and worse, you can't cure it.

Isaiah had mostly, a pretty good time home.  But, even though I am not in his sister's life right now, I know that he should be, and try as I might, he was not calling, or buying that he should.  All I could get out of him was that, "I love my sister, but not the drama".  Period, end of conversation.  Then I found out about the texts etc to the "girlfriend" he's never met, but is sending 750 texts a week to.  Oh, the hazard of teenage boys.  This would all be normal, and actually is, except that he hasn't had the normal amount of schooling and is so far behind it is NOT funny.  So, as a parent, where do you draw the boundaries without sounding like you are as bizarre as his previous family.  I sort of felt responsible because we gave him a phone with unlimited texting as part of his Christmas present.  I am such a sucker when it comes to trying to reward or please my kids, not so much when it comes to their education and their future.

The unfortunate thing for Isaiah is the network he is now on doesn't work as well at Job Corps as the pay phone he had.  Mmmmm.......  You think there may have been a plan here that I wasn't aware of?  Sometimes things all work for good.

So after Isaiah went back, we all headed for the YES program at Disney which sounds fun, and is, but is also a lot of too-ing and fro-ing for us parents.  At the end of the third day of being "parked out" I received a voice mail from Jada's neurologist to say that she had an abnormal EEG consistent with epilepsy.  I am glad that I know and can prevent this all with medicine, but am sad that this is for life, no going back to pretending that this will not happen again, but accepting this is reality.  It is sort of funny for me to be sad about this because I have accepted without a blink, autism, bi-polar, tourette's, cerebral palsy, brain bleeds, OCD, ADHD, language disorders, allergies, you name it, but somehow this was the straw that broke the camel.

Mostly, adoptive children are made up of nature and nurture, and mostly nurture wins out, but in this case her birth mom is a diagnosed epileptic, and now my little "tween" Jada is also.  While I take this all in I know that Meggie, her younger sister has also had three seizures, not as close as Jada has had these last couple, but nevertheless, she has had them.  So testing for her is definitely in the future, with hopes that she does not live with this, but, if she does, then what do they say in the south about football, which I really don't understand, "Roll Tide".  We will deal.

Struggles

I don't think I can describe what a muddled, chaotic season of "fun" I have had. There has not been a precedence for the events that have evolved over the last few weeks, let alone an event I could even relate back to.  I have an amazing family of older, what we call "Classic" Thompsons' and the newer or what is called the "New" Thompsons' and I love them all, but, yes but.  Isaiah came home from school for nearly three weeks, and upon arriving was so positive, and on track, I couldn't be more proud.  But. Yes, that word is something that is going to be a big part of this blog.

But, after getting part of his Christmas present which was a phone on our plan with unlimited texts etc, he suddenly was absorbed, no consumed with texting a girl he hasn't even met.  Now us older derelicts, who God forbid met someone face to face before declaring our undying love, understand that the whole text, phone photo, undying promises are really not "real".  Goodness, I have one child who has been "hoodwinked" by two much older "WOMEN" posing as young girls on a popular social media site, and all this psycho getting to know someone via the internet, is just that.  PSYCHO!!!!!!!

I fear I did about as well as advising him of the consequences, was about as popular as I was with his older sister, but I do hope he has had enough parenting to know that I was not being an old, outdated, parent, but one who cares about his future.  As the three weeks of holiday came to a close, I realized he had not called his sister, no blame on me there, both Rog and I had suggested that several times, and he had become more and more obsessed with a girl he did not know over his opportunity that he had worked so hard for.   All I can say is "Youth is Wasted On The Young".  And if you think that is a song title, it is, I wrote it.