True Stories of Adoption
Lilly
As long as I can remember, which unfortunately isn’t long, my parents have been filling out countless amounts of paperwork. I can’t begin to count how many sleepless nights my parents have had. Paper work, packets, and information always in organized piles or paperwork slots. For three years my parents were constantly stressed, tired and busy with more paperwork and packets. Adoption apparently costs a lot of money too. The paper work alone was expensive but my parents wanted and needed that child so badly they pushed through. They pushed through sweat, tears, frustration and screaming matches. We thought these three years were rough but they were not nearly as bad as the next eight.
I can remember the day my parents returned home from the country of South Sudan where my brother, Max, came from. It was 3:15 and the school bell had just rung for everyone to go home. My house truly used to be a home, a place where I could feel safe. I couldn’t wait to return to our cozy abode where my brother Luke and I spent countless hours playing with dinosaurs. My parents had been gone three weeks and celebrated Christmas in South Sudan without us. Max was attached to the front of my dad’s chest, my dad holding him tightly. My mom, dad and Max all sported heavy winter coats as it was very early January and it had been snowing all day. Max looked just like he did in the picture we received a couple years ago, just older. His face was a bit slimmer than his picture but he still had a head of short, thick curls and the same crooked front teeth, both teeth pointed in towards each other. I could tell my parents were exhausted by the large, dark bags under their eyes and the way they slowly moved but their tired eyes also held excitement and hope. They had hope that they could give this child a better life and opportunities.
The problems were present in Max since the day he came home but we didn’t know the extent of the issues. His disabilities are something he will have for the rest of his life. Max had disabilities that included ADHD, ADD, and autism. He had trouble listening to all authority figures unless they bribed him.
A few summers after my parents brought Max home, my two brothers, Luke and Max, and I were playing in the 15 foot by 10 foot above ground swimming pool in our backyard. Our backyard was decent sized, filled with grass. A small shed filled with old bikes and toys set in the back right-hand corner. The pool was set up a few feet away from the back door. Luke and I teasing Max and pushing him splashing him with large amounts of burning chlorine water. Max asked us to stop but we continued bullying him until he finally got so angry he was crying and angry. He jumped out of the pool and ran inside, chlorine water and angry tears running down his face. Max stopped at the top of the steps that led to the backyard and screamed for my mother.
“Mommy! Lilly and Luke are being mean to me!”
She was angry and spiteful towards Max due to an incident an hour before. My mom had asked Max to pick up his shoes and put them in the designated shoe basket but he decided he didn’t want to. She was not sympathetic to his cries, and he did something that still haunts me. I swear I saw something spill into his eyes. It was as if the devil had been put into his tiny 8 year old body. The ten-year-old from South Sudan curled his fists as tight as possible and began swinging at my mother’s already hurting body. My mother suffered from chronic back pain and this offense just added to her pain. As a child my mother suffered abuse, so bad memories arose and brought up her defensive mode. As he was beating her, she collapsed to the floor and curled into the fetal position. My mother curled her arms around her head to protect herself. He landed hits on her back, sides and anywhere that was in reach, hitting with the intent to destroy. I remember watching this all unfold in a matter of moments. This child she worked so hard to save was beating her. I don’t know who was more terrified, me or my mother. I was so scared I was going to lose my mother yet my body was frozen. I couldn’t move. I physically couldn’t move my body. I just watched Max. My mother slowly rose to her feet and took control. She snatched his wrists and shoved him to the ground. She let her weight pin him to the ground. He vigorously tried to escape her grip.
She had a look on her face made of pure horror, pain and panic. She wailed, “Lilly! Call the cops! Call the cops!”
I had never called the cops before but I knew the number. I grabbed my mom’s cell phone from the counter and ran out the front door to the porch. I was still dripping water from the pool and my swimsuit was cold on my body. I tried to control my shaky breathing. My hands shook so bad I thought I would drop the phone. I dialed the number and rapidly told the operator that my brother was beating my mother. She asked about the situation and I coolly answered her questions. I waited for the police for what seemed to be forever, but was only a few minutes. The whole time I could feel my heart violently thumping in my chest and throat. My heart was beating so rapidly I was worried it would fail and stop. The officer finally parked in our driveway and slowly made his way to the porch where I was waiting.
“What’s going on?” The officer asked.
“My brother is beating my mom.”
I was irritated he didn’t act like this was an emergency. I lead him inside past the living room to the kitchen. Upon hearing the police had arrived, Max became calm and cooperated with my mother. She lifted off him and he stumbled to his feet. My mother’s clothes had wet marks from the water from the pool on Max’s swim shorts. My mother’s hair had become chaotic during the struggle so she smoothed her thin hair. The cop summoned Max to him and he slowly and shyly made his way to the officer. The officer made him promise to be good, but that nothing else. He left within 20 minutes of arriving. My mother’s voice quivered as she lowered her voice.
“Max get to your room until your father gets home.”
My mother and I tied a rope to his door knob and attached it to another nearby door knob. With doing this, Max wasn’t able to escape his room. If Max had escaped he would have continued to take his rage out on my mother, Luke or I. If he had escaped he would’ve destroyed us. My father would have come home to find his wife and two of his kids bloody and bruised and possibly dead.
My father arrived home a few hours later and lectured Max for a good two hours. He screamed and yelled at Max. Max didn’t care about any of it though. In the end my father spanked Max until he cried. My father wanted him to feel the horror Max had inflicted on his own mother. The child was grounded to his room without dinner that night. He was grounded for at least two months, not allowed to watch TV or do extra-curricular activities. It was a wretched two months for the whole family.
This was only one of the many violent outbursts my family experienced in those long eight years.
I can remember the day my parents returned home from the country of South Sudan where my brother, Max, came from. It was 3:15 and the school bell had just rung for everyone to go home. My house truly used to be a home, a place where I could feel safe. I couldn’t wait to return to our cozy abode where my brother Luke and I spent countless hours playing with dinosaurs. My parents had been gone three weeks and celebrated Christmas in South Sudan without us. Max was attached to the front of my dad’s chest, my dad holding him tightly. My mom, dad and Max all sported heavy winter coats as it was very early January and it had been snowing all day. Max looked just like he did in the picture we received a couple years ago, just older. His face was a bit slimmer than his picture but he still had a head of short, thick curls and the same crooked front teeth, both teeth pointed in towards each other. I could tell my parents were exhausted by the large, dark bags under their eyes and the way they slowly moved but their tired eyes also held excitement and hope. They had hope that they could give this child a better life and opportunities.
The problems were present in Max since the day he came home but we didn’t know the extent of the issues. His disabilities are something he will have for the rest of his life. Max had disabilities that included ADHD, ADD, and autism. He had trouble listening to all authority figures unless they bribed him.
A few summers after my parents brought Max home, my two brothers, Luke and Max, and I were playing in the 15 foot by 10 foot above ground swimming pool in our backyard. Our backyard was decent sized, filled with grass. A small shed filled with old bikes and toys set in the back right-hand corner. The pool was set up a few feet away from the back door. Luke and I teasing Max and pushing him splashing him with large amounts of burning chlorine water. Max asked us to stop but we continued bullying him until he finally got so angry he was crying and angry. He jumped out of the pool and ran inside, chlorine water and angry tears running down his face. Max stopped at the top of the steps that led to the backyard and screamed for my mother.
“Mommy! Lilly and Luke are being mean to me!”
She was angry and spiteful towards Max due to an incident an hour before. My mom had asked Max to pick up his shoes and put them in the designated shoe basket but he decided he didn’t want to. She was not sympathetic to his cries, and he did something that still haunts me. I swear I saw something spill into his eyes. It was as if the devil had been put into his tiny 8 year old body. The ten-year-old from South Sudan curled his fists as tight as possible and began swinging at my mother’s already hurting body. My mother suffered from chronic back pain and this offense just added to her pain. As a child my mother suffered abuse, so bad memories arose and brought up her defensive mode. As he was beating her, she collapsed to the floor and curled into the fetal position. My mother curled her arms around her head to protect herself. He landed hits on her back, sides and anywhere that was in reach, hitting with the intent to destroy. I remember watching this all unfold in a matter of moments. This child she worked so hard to save was beating her. I don’t know who was more terrified, me or my mother. I was so scared I was going to lose my mother yet my body was frozen. I couldn’t move. I physically couldn’t move my body. I just watched Max. My mother slowly rose to her feet and took control. She snatched his wrists and shoved him to the ground. She let her weight pin him to the ground. He vigorously tried to escape her grip.
She had a look on her face made of pure horror, pain and panic. She wailed, “Lilly! Call the cops! Call the cops!”
I had never called the cops before but I knew the number. I grabbed my mom’s cell phone from the counter and ran out the front door to the porch. I was still dripping water from the pool and my swimsuit was cold on my body. I tried to control my shaky breathing. My hands shook so bad I thought I would drop the phone. I dialed the number and rapidly told the operator that my brother was beating my mother. She asked about the situation and I coolly answered her questions. I waited for the police for what seemed to be forever, but was only a few minutes. The whole time I could feel my heart violently thumping in my chest and throat. My heart was beating so rapidly I was worried it would fail and stop. The officer finally parked in our driveway and slowly made his way to the porch where I was waiting.
“What’s going on?” The officer asked.
“My brother is beating my mom.”
I was irritated he didn’t act like this was an emergency. I lead him inside past the living room to the kitchen. Upon hearing the police had arrived, Max became calm and cooperated with my mother. She lifted off him and he stumbled to his feet. My mother’s clothes had wet marks from the water from the pool on Max’s swim shorts. My mother’s hair had become chaotic during the struggle so she smoothed her thin hair. The cop summoned Max to him and he slowly and shyly made his way to the officer. The officer made him promise to be good, but that nothing else. He left within 20 minutes of arriving. My mother’s voice quivered as she lowered her voice.
“Max get to your room until your father gets home.”
My mother and I tied a rope to his door knob and attached it to another nearby door knob. With doing this, Max wasn’t able to escape his room. If Max had escaped he would have continued to take his rage out on my mother, Luke or I. If he had escaped he would’ve destroyed us. My father would have come home to find his wife and two of his kids bloody and bruised and possibly dead.
My father arrived home a few hours later and lectured Max for a good two hours. He screamed and yelled at Max. Max didn’t care about any of it though. In the end my father spanked Max until he cried. My father wanted him to feel the horror Max had inflicted on his own mother. The child was grounded to his room without dinner that night. He was grounded for at least two months, not allowed to watch TV or do extra-curricular activities. It was a wretched two months for the whole family.
This was only one of the many violent outbursts my family experienced in those long eight years.