When I Met a Boy

One of MamaKat's Writing Prompts this week was Describe where you were when you met a boy.

So I thought I would tell you about where I was when I met my son. He was a boy, and I had to meet him.

I first saw my son's picture on Dec 7, 2008. A cute little guy with ears that stuck out. My husband and I said yes - we wanted to bring him home.

Mac, once we got him home.

On Dec 22, we put SB in the car and we drove two hours to a small, stinky trailer where the wallpaper was literally peeling off the walls. The place reeked of smoke so much that my eyes burned.
But the people inside were quiet, nice. Our son's foster parents were a little older, but not old. They both had tears in their eyes and did not smile. They had taken care of our son for three months - I'm sure they were attached to him, used to him, felt like they knew him.
Then I saw him. The little boy from the picture. He was sitting in a baby walker, bumping along in that tiny trailer. Three days before Christmas and he was wearing a white "wife-beater" tank top, blue plaid pants and navy blue shoes. His cheeks were as red as Rodolph's nose. He had bronchitis and a double ear-infection.
The social worker had told me not to take a ton of pictures in their house, so I refrained and sadly don't have any pictures from that first hour. But that's okay. I have the boy.
We stayed for about an hour. I asked if the baby had a lovey - a blanket or toy he loved. They said no. And he didn't take a pacifier either. He never cried, they said (we later learned he did not know how to cry), and was an easy baby.


His things were in two big black trash bags. One was Christmas gifts still wrapped up. I felt bad that they had probably had to remove those things from under their tree. I realized later that his name had been on one of those angel trees because all the gifts were pricey. I prayed and silently thanked those who were willing to give to my son.
When SB - who had just turned two - announced she was ready to go, we left. I took one picture of my son with his foster parents. For their privacy I won't share it here. We put the kids in the car and left.

Mac and his social worker

We got home and put SB down for a nap. We looked at the expressionless little boy in front of us and wondered what to do with him. He was 10 months old and I had no idea what his schedule was, what he ate, what he enjoyed. I suddenly wished I had the foster parents' phone number to call and ask, but we never saw or heard from them again.
I washed his things twice and they still reeked of smoke. I threw it all away. I kept two little stuffed animals and a blanket his foster mother had crocheted for him.

It's been almost 3.5 years and I will never forget the day I met my son, Mac. This is part of his story.