A Daddy for Buddy

One of the best things about teaching elementary music is forming relationships with every kid at school. In Arkadelphia, it also meant that any foster child in pre-k through 1st grade who was placed in our home would go to school with me and be my music student. “Champ” visited Perritt for the first time the day after he came to live with us. “Sis” and “Lil’ Bit” lived with us first. They became my students after they had returned to their family.

But there was one friend, “Buddy” whose first moments in our home will always fill my heart. I got the call during school. A sibling group of local kids was coming into care, and one of them was already my student. We agreed to take Buddy and a younger sibling that night. I walked down the front hallway to Buddy’s classroom and snuck a peek during rest time, preparing my heart for my new role in his life.

Hours later, after all the necessary health screenings and intake procedures had been completed, DCFS arrived with Buddy and his baby in tow. He was bewildered but pretty chipper, all things considered. Bobbie Lee, our DCFS County Supervisor at the time, had been his escort, and she knew just how to smooth the transition.

Buddy was a tiny kid, much smaller than his classmates. I could barely see his wide eyes peeking out the back seat window. He jumped out of the car, gazing up at the big house and unfamiliar surroundings. Then our eyes met, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Hey! I saw you at school!” he exclaimed.

“I saw you at school, too!” I replied.

“That’s Mrs. Parker!” he shouted to his escort.

He took my hand and entered the house where he would spend the next several months.  To him, this was like a surprise playdate. He had no concept that this situation would be relatively permanent. That night he played with toys, read books, snuggled in pajamas, and went to bed without big tears.

The sadness crept in slowly, over several days once Buddy realized this wasn’t just a sleepover. But on day one, he strutted in to class and announced, “Guess what?! I got to sleep at Mrs. Parker’s house last night, and she says I can stay as long as I need to.”

I solemnly swear that this is the truth: “Sis” was in the same class. What are the odds?!

The two of them debated.

Sis, arms crossed: “You did NOT go to Mrs. Parker’s house.”

Buddy, defiant: “Yes, I did! I saw all the toys and the play kitchen and the dragon and the fish tank!”

Sis, eyes wide: “I been in that house, too. I saw Meg and Miles.”

Buddy, victorious: “I got to sleep on Miles’s bunk bed!”

I was “Mrs. Parker” at home for several months. He never called me anything else.

“Mrs. Parker, I’m done with my bath!”

“Mrs. Parker, do I have to eat that?”

Matt, on the other hand, was “Daddy.”

“Daddy, will you read me a book?”

“Daddy, can I ride on your shoulders?”

“Look! Me and Daddy made a tower with these blocks!”

Finally, Buddy went home to his family. But I was still his Mrs. Parker at school.

A year passed, and one day Buddy’s kindergarten class entered the music room while Matt was there working intently to help me with a video on my computer. Buddy gasped. I inclined my head toward Matt and whispered, “Go ahead. Go and see him.”

The other kids were oblivious to the exchange, which I consider one of my life’s holy moments. Buddy reached up and tapped Matt’s shoulder. Matt glanced down, smiled, and made room for Buddy under his arm as he tapped away on the keyboard. They spent a few seconds together like that, neither one saying a word. Buddy ran over and plopped down in his square, grinning from ear to ear.

This experience was so special and set apart, the memory feels like a prayer.

Amen.

Happy Fathers Day.