Unwanted

This child, born in 1961 was not wanted.  Not by the mother, a prostitute and not by his father an alcoholic.  The mother already had one son from a previous liaison who was two years old at the time.  Abortions were unheard of in those days so the mother gave birth to the child and took him to her apartment home in the city.  At the age of two he and his four year old brother were left locked in the mothers car in front of various bars where she went to pick up customers.

While locked in the car along the busy street derelicts, homeless people, alcoholics and drug addicts pressed their toothless faces against the car window to see the boys.  No doubt the impact of this terror for two young children was immense.  Eventually their mother would show up with her “date” for the night, both drunk, and they would drive home.  The boys slept on the couch in the one bedroom apartment while their mother and her friend occupied the bedroom.  Sometimes there were arguments and fights and the boys would hide behind the couch.

Eventually the boys became too much of a burden for their mother.  They were not wanted.  One day she told them to pack all of their meager belongings into plastic bags because she was taking them to visit their grandmother.  The boys and their mother drove to the suburbs where their grandmother and grandfather lived.  As they pulled up in front of the house, the mother got out of the car and told the boys to get their belongings.  They were met on the front porch by a stern appearing old lady and an even gruffer old man.

After a short exchange of words between the childrens mother and her mother she walked to the car and left.  There were no hugs, no explanations, no good bye’s.  She was just gone.

Now in the home of two older strangers the boys clung to each other for comfort.  The two old people were stern and not very pleasant to be around nevertheless they set about looking after the boys as best as they could.

Time slipped by.  The boys grew older and went to school.  They had no contact with their mother.  The grandfather became fond of the youngest boy and used to take him along to the barber shop and other shopping trips.  The boy looked forward to the outings in particular because he would always get a treat of a Butterfinger candy bar before coming home.  The old man rarely spoke but he held the little boys hand tightly as they walked along the street.

One day the old man died of cancer.  The young boy was in the hospital to visit with him during the last few hours of his life.  No words were spoken between the two.  The little boy put his hand on his grandfathers hand and the old man closed his eyes.

After the funeral the grandmother took the two boys back to their home and spoke to them about how they would have to do their best to help out around the house because she would have to get a job and work to support them all.  The grandmother spoke very matter-of-factly with little emotion.  There were no hugs. No tears.

The boys went to school.  They played with outer kids in the woods nearby their home.  They did all of the things that young boys do who do not have the support of a mother and father.  You couldn’t say they were happy.  On the other hand you couldn’t say that they perceived themselves as unhappy.  They were just were.  They enjoyed being boys and having fun at school.

When the youngest boy was about thirteen or fourteen his grandmother sat down at the dinner table and announced that she was ill.  She had cancer and likely would not be with them for too much longer.  She had made tentative arrangements for the boys to stay with an aunt during her treatment.  Once more the boys were to be abandoned.

The older boy was just barely old enough to join the Army, which he did.  The youngest boy stayed with his grandmother until she was taken to the hospital where she died while he sat next to her bed.  No one wanted the boy, least of all his aunt who had her own children to raise.  The boy decided to go off in search of his mother, surely she would want him.  He knew that she still lived in the city a few miles away.  He thought that surely she would allow him to live with her since he had no-one else.

After some searching around the lower part of the town he eventually located his mother.  She was not in the least pleased to see him and at first wanted nothing to do with him.  The boy convinced her that he could live on her couch and earn enough money to care for himself and to pay her some of his earnings.  It worked for a short time but eventually the mother told him to go, she didn’t want him.

The boy started wondering the streets near the bars where his mother hung out.  He met other unwanted, despirate kids living in the streets.  From them he learned how to get by.  How to get money.  How to put a cardboard box over a grate in the alley and stay warm in the winter.  He was a runner for drug dealers; after all no one suspected a child to be dealing drugs.  He stole food from the local shops.  He shared what he had with other street people.  Soon he was using some of the drugs that he was delivering.

Inevitably came the police, courts, street crime and jail.

Shortly after being released from two years in prison the boy started having vision problems and went to a free clinic to see what the matter could be.

It was a brain tumor.

The brain tumor was removed and follow up treatment was successful enough that the doctors told him he might live for ten years or so before the tumor might return.

Perhaps recalling his grandmother and grandfather and being beside their bed when they died the boy decided that with a little help from others he could turn his life around.  He got married and had three children.  He loved them with his whole being.  He struggled to make them proud of him.

He completed an education.

He got a job.

He started his own business.

He traveled to far away places.

He died in my arms.  He was thirty-five years old.  He was wanted, after all, by me and his family.