When I met him
Tuesday. The social worker arrives at the Los Angeles Park. He scrambles out of the back seat and laughs excitedly. He inspects the bag with the stuffed elephant, Spider Man ball and Tonka truck. His eyes turn to the grassy park and he wants to run. We follow. Catch me. Gales of laughter. So little. Strong. Catch me. Over the rubber hills. So fast. Catch me. Gales of laughter. Up and down the slide. Catch me. Climbs the jungle gym. Caught him. Screeching laughter. The laughter morphs to tears. Walk back to the social worker, the stuffed elephant, Spider-Man ball and Tonka trunk. Soft trunk sounds. Tears and soft laughter. Departs with social worker and toys.
Thursday. A knock at the door. The social worker and my new son. Observant, vigilant, delayed in speech, almost four. All his belongings in two garbage bags. We are not the first or second home. Somber and proud. He marches in. Squinted eyes inspect pictures on the walls. The furniture. Good bye to the social worker. Pees on the floor. Cries. Let’s play chase. Catch me. Run. Gales of laughter.
(Photo by Johnny Cohen on Unsplash)