Raising Charlie: A Self Help Book for Single Mothers

Part One

Jack and I wanted a large family – three boys and two girls. We both agreed. But it didn’t happen. I was disappointed; he was devastated. I was an only child. He was the oldest of six children. He didn’t seem to have a good relationship with any of his siblings. He was the oldest. Actually he seemed to look down on his siblings. After all, he was handsome, well dressed, and educated. One would have thought that he would not want so many children, but he seemed obsessed with that big family. He talked about it all the time. After nine years of waiting for the impossible and the death of two daughters, we adopted Jonathan when he was seven weeks old.

THE EARLY CHILDHOOD YEARS

Jon was the most perfect baby with one exception. He spit every bite of his green beans out in my face every time I tried to feed them to him. I tried so hard to be sure that my beautiful son ate a healthy diet. How could one eat healthy without eating green beans? Green beans from a baby food jar did not seem to be appealing going in, but coming out all over my face, my hair, and everything around me was disgusting. Once when he was a man still refusing to eat green beans, I informed him that when he puts me in a nursing home, I shall refuse to eat until he (only he) has to feed me. Then I will chew the food forever and spit it at him. For old times sake, you know.

� LESSON

It’s okay to not eat your green beans. Jon grew into a healthy adult without them.

Jon was a happy baby with blond hair and blue eyes and a perfect face. As a toddler he was satisfied with playing with his raff which was a wooden giraffe with a seat and wheels. Jon and Raff and Peppy, our hundred pound boxer dog, would spend hours in the front yard as if they were on a mission. I would be doing the yard work nearby. Life was near perfect. You can imagine my joy when one warm, sunny spring morning he spoke his first word in the front yard of our home while sitting on Raff. I had adopted a genius. As a commercial airplane circled the sky over our home to land north at Jacksonville International Airport, Jon raised his little hand and smiling, he screamed, Ah-pain. Oh my, oh my, my child was talking, and his first word was a two syllable word. I was sure that he was brilliant. I had looked forward to the day that he would just say, Momma. Of course, there was a bet with the father as to whether Jon would say Da Da or Momma first. My bet had been on Momma. We were both wrong.

The lady across the street was a single mom with three children. I wondered how she could run a household and hold a job. She worked for the newspaper. She thought Jon was the cutest thing since Mickey Mouse. She snapped dozens of pictures of Jon on his raff and wrote the nicest story for the newspaper. It covered one-third of a page with several pictures of my handsome son. All of the neighbors and the folks at my church were impressed. Now my little son was a celebrity at age two. I too was impressed.

He loved to ride in the car and demanded a ride every afternoon before his nap. It was his brilliance at this manipulation which caused Mom to give in. Just one time around the block was enough. How smart could one kid be? I never dreamed of denying this son his desire to have a ride every day no matter how busy or how tired I was.

Jon never met a stranger and readily went to anyone who would take him with gurgles, coos, and smiles. Once in line at the ticket counter in the Atlanta airport, I was holding Jon when he started reaching for a giant black man in uniform behind us yelling Daddy, Daddy. At church, at the grocery store, and visiting relatives Jon was the center of attention for three years. He thrived on this attention.

Actually his life was perfect except for his mother trying to make him eat his green beans ( I never gave up) and not having a little sister to boss around.

We started looking for a sister when Jon was two. It was hard. We tried adoption agencies and private lawyers. We had moved from North Carolina to Florida and had to establish residence for a year before we could apply through an agency. Not wanting to wait, we turned to private lawyers. This was expensive.

There were no girls. Every baby up for adoption was a boy. Finally a private lawyer in Jacksonville talked us into looking at a little boy who had been in foster care for six months. We went. What a personality! But the child had no ears. We were told that both parents were fifteen-year-old drug addicts. We got permission to take him to a doctor who told us that the boy would need at least eight surgeries to build ears. The surgeries would take years because they would be spaced out considering his growth. He also told us that there was no evidence of an ear canal, so he would be deaf. When we found out that our insurance would never cover this child because we knew about the deformity before we adopted him, we decided not to adopt him.

Then the guilt trips started. The sleepless nights. The self-doubt. How could any human being not want to help this child? We were Christians. How could any Christian not want this child? We were passing up a great opportunity to help a child. We had a year of this torment. It was not only the money, the insurance, the adjustments to the deafness, but the time this child would take from raising Jon. No, no, this child was for some other family.

THE ADOPTION

Jon was three and one-half when we finally got the call. It was the Saturday before Mother’s Day, and we were getting dressed to go to the grocery store. We had been looking for a baby girl for eighteen months. The call was from a lawyer in Cocoa Beach who was an acquaintance of my husband’s aunt. She had a client in Cocoa Beach Hospital who wanted to give her baby up for adoption. Would we come down to see the baby? We had to pay the girl’s hospital expenses and the lawyer’s fee. We could handle that. It took us thirty minutes to pack and get on the road. This was a huge decision because this was a three day old baby boy. We wanted a girl.

Sunday morning we met the lawyer in her office and remained there for her to go to the hospital to pick up the baby. When she returned with the baby, I was scared to look at him. Would he have ears? He was blood red in the face from screaming. I assumed that he must be scared. I thought this was natural. He had black hair and a huge nose. I certainly would not call this baby beautiful. But he was loud, very loud. Then she hit us with the truth. This little boy’s legs were twisted to the point that he would need eight surgeries before he could ever walk. When the lawyer turned back the blanket, I was so disturbed that I collapsed in the nearest chair. What was it with eight surgeries? The last child would need eight surgeries to build ears. Now here we were with a child who would need eight surgeries before he could walk. Was God saying something to me that I couldn’t understand? I determined that somehow we would find a way. I would take a night job. I would do anything, but I would not continue my life in guilt over denying another child. Yes, we were taking this child home. This would be our son. This would be Jon’s brother. Jon would not grow up an only child as I had.

I had a difficult childhood, but had survived. Strangely when I was around ten I had become the mother, and my mother had become the child. A very demanding, controlling child was she. This little boy would have a very difficult life, but he would have all the help he would ever need to become all that he could be no matter the circumstances.

His biological mother was a waitress and his dad worked in the Space Program at Cape Kennedy. The mother had brown hair and blue eyes and was 5’3; the father had brown hair and blue eyes and was 5’7. So we would have a short son. Charlie grew up to be 5’11" tall. He has dark brown hair and green eyes. Interesting, eh?

gl.jpg LESSON

Life does not usually consider our wants, just our needs.

After signing a pile of papers and writing the check, we began our journey home, a journey that has become the safari of a lifetime.

This baby cried for three years almost twenty-four hours a day. He didn’t want anyone to touch him. I thought he was in pain. The father began spending every minute he could with this child. He gave no attention to Jon. Actually he started being very, very strict with Jon which caused Jon to start withdrawing. The truth was that the baby paid more attention to Jon than to his mother or his father. I tried to balance the situation, but every attempt was unsuccessful.

Not flesh of my flesh,

Nor bone of my bone,

But still miraculously my own.

Never forget for a single minute,

You didn’t grow under my heart,

But in it.

      anonymous

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

Naming Jon had been strange. After planning to name our first son Christopher for nine years, we walked in to see our baby. Even before we looked at him, the father said, What if they call my boy Chrissy, the Sissy? I was shocked. A few minutes later when asked what the child’s name would be, he blurted out, Jonathan Sterling. I was not upset because I thought that a father had the right to name his son. When we got home and looked up the name, Jonathan means gift of God. How perfect!

We adopted Jon from Children’s Home Society in Greensboro, North Carolina while we lived in Raleigh, North Carolina. There was snow and ice all over the ground the night we got the call to come get him. We had all of the nursery furniture and tons of baby clothes left from my two pregnancies. I washed five dozen diapers. Then I drove to the school where I was teaching, got the janitor to let me in, and wrote a board full of messages to my students. I knew that I would not be returning. In North Carolina the mother has to stay home a year with the child before the adoption can become legal.

When we returned to our home from the adoption agency the next morning, Jack’s siblings and parents were there for a celebration. I thought I would die driving home. I had no idea how to hold a baby. I felt very awkward and scared. All of the kids I ever baby sat were two or older. I was glad his mom was there to help train me. The first three months Jon lived in our home, I frequently crawled out of my bed in the middle of the night to sit in the rocker next to his crib. I just wanted to make sure that he was breathing. I lost twenty-six pounds in that first three months. You could say that I was an uptight, frightened mother.

This time was the same. We had the name ready also. But somehow neither Juliana nor Jane seemed to fit. What to name this boy?

Being from the beautiful state of North Carolina, I immediately thought of Charles. I had taught North Carolina history before I moved to Florida, and I knew that North Carolina was named Carolina by King Charles II in honor of his father King Charles I. I also knew that I did not really want any son of mine to live a life like either of these kings.

We finally settled on Charles after my grandfather, a mean, hateful little short man, and Gideon after the father’s grandfather, a crusty old sea captain who was full of stories and rum. We would call him Chuck. I knew, for sure, that I didn’t want this son to grow up to be like either of these men. No way. When I looked up the name Charles, I learned that the name was used in almost every royal court in Europe. Many great leaders, including Charlemagne, were named Charles. Gideon was the name of a great leader in the Old Testament. Surely, if a name is all that important, Chuck would stand a chance to be great.

Almost immediately people outside the family called him Charlie. This alarmed me. Charlie? No, no, not a name for my son. For reasons unknown some relatives began calling him Tiger. Years later when their dad left, and eventually (nine years later) Mom remarried, Charles asked his step dad to adopt him and to change his name. Charles kept his first name and changed Gideon to Michael after his new dad, and with the adoption took his new dad’s last name. Michael was the name of an archangel. Wow! His baby would grow up to be a leader of men and angels.

In adulthood he uses Charles Michael as a professional name. Now I get a hard look when I call the man Chuck although his brother always calls him Chuck. I find myself calling him Charles which is so formal or Charlie, just for a lark to aggravate him. Reflecting back on all of this, I often have wondered if all these names have confused him. Will he ever know who he really is?

gl.jpg LESSON

There is evidence that one’s name affects one’s personality. I’m inclined to agree.

BEGINNING THE SAFARI

I’ve heard it said that life is a real trip. I’ve also heard it said that life is a journey. Believe me, life with Charlie has been an absolute safari from the get-go.

On the first Monday that we had him, I took Charlie to an orthopedic surgeon. This was the beginning of hundreds of doctors’ appointments over a twelve year period of time. This surgeon agreed with the Cocoa Beach doctor’s diagnosis. Our baby would need at least eight surgeries before he would ever walk. To straighten the legs as much as possible before they would begin the surgeries, Charlie was put into braces from his chest down. He wore these to sleep and much of each day for three years.

Charlie cried out loud for twenty out of every twenty-four hours every day for three years. The kid didn’t even take a rest on the weekends. He refused to be held which was impossible anyway because he was a ball of energy in constant motion. I yearned to comfort my new charge, but I could find no way.

We thought that the braces and the twisted legs were bad. I was black and blue for three years from being bumped by the braces. There was no way to avoid them. But actually the braces were just the beginning of the story.

When Charlie was three weeks old, I had just fed him, burped him, and was laying him on the bed when I noticed that he had turned black. I quickly picked him up and yelled for his father. There was a pediatrician’s office down the street. He was not the one we used, but we rushed to his office. I drove and the father slapped Charlie on the back many times; each time the baby would gasp for breath. It was a short trip. When we arrived we ran in, interrupted his appointment, and threw the baby into his arms. He began to suction Charlie’s lungs while his nurse called an ambulance. Charlie was on a suction machine in the hospital for three days. I nearly froze to death because I was barefooted and in a thin dress. But I stood outside the window looking in for three days without leaving. Finally, we were allowed to take Charlie home. Although we were warned that his bronchial tubes were stretched and that he would suffer bronchial problems his whole life, our attitude was SO ?!?

gl.jpg LESSON

Be thankful for problems you have learned to deal with because when you get rid of one, it is replaced by another and then the learning to deal with it.

We visited my mom in North Carolina that summer. Mom did not have a dryer, so I