Fond Memories

           It is forever…a timeless imprint on my brain…that day we first met Mom-and-Pop Harendale at their farm. Stanley and I were mere teenage outcasts derived from the Pa. Foster Care Agency. We both knew we had one last shot at settling into a permanent home, and fingers crossed, hopefully being adopted. But I kept thinking, who in their right mind would dare adopt two troubled teen brothers, especially when one bro is hooked on pain medications? But I can’t blame Stanley; as his foot was severely injured when he was just a little tyke, when our mom accidentally slammed the kitchen door on him because… well… I''d better not say. Stanley is now a big seventeen-year-old, but he never forgot the incident. Strangely enough, he didn’t hold spite against Mom, but then again, that’s why we’re in this longstanding predicament of shuffling from foster home to home. Most of the families we visited over the past six years never gave us a chance to fit in. It wasn’t until Mom and Pop Harendale were queried by the Pa. agency that we got our last odyssey.

The Last Stop

        Our Caregiver unloaded all our worldly possessions from the trunk of his long black sedan… sliding them onto the back porch of the farmhouse…a few minutes later, he bequeathed us into the waiting arms of Mom and Pop Harendale.  He had exhorted us beforehand to stay out of trouble, saying, “This agency is filled with a countless number of unwanted kids; there is no more room for you!” He patted Stanley on his head, ruffling his curly red locks, then he scuffled over to his sedan without looking back for so much as a good-bye wave. As our caregiver coasted down the driveway… (Oh, how I always loved the crunch of tires over gravel! But not this time, it’s so cold, so drab gray! By then, Mom and Pop had covered Stanley with a blanket and welcomed us into their farmhouse, where the others were waiting. We felt like a family, finally!