The Hidden Child
    Gwenyth Browning Jones Santagate   

 The small, skinny, dark-haired boy who got out of the car that day wore eyes that were hardened with pain. Not the physical pain that is visible but the invisible kind that permeates the soul and rapes the spirit. As he climbed the stairs to my deck, his haughty, arrogant presence belied the insecure, frightened creature that skittered about inside his head. He was just ten years old and had already been through a lifetime of shame and sorrow and loss. Beaten within inches of his very life by his natural mother eighteen months prior to his arrival to my home, he was now abandoned and left to foster care. Foster care in houses where strangers belittled, taunted and shoved him aside. I was hoping to soothe his soul just three afternoons a week. 

 The woman who brought him to me for the afternoon grabbed him by his collar.

“Now you behave, mister, or you’ll be sorry!”

“Trust me”, he sneered as he squirmed to be released from the woman’s grasp. “I’ll behave.”  The boy shot to the paddock where my miniature ponies were lazily chewing on their hay. The afternoon sun was warm as a soft breeze rustled the fallen leaves of autumn. The child stared at the ponies then darted to the next paddock where the two horses stood watching. “Can I ride them?” he asked. “Can I?”  I let him know that the ponies and horses were his to love and care for while he was at my home in the afternoons.  The hardened eyes softened and a smile crept to the corners of the boy’s mouth. Then, as quickly as he had darted to the paddock, he was off again. This time to the chicken coop where the three small chickens scratched in the dirt. The boy laughed as the chickens fluttered away from his startling approach. “Hey! Those things are funny looking!” he cried. As the boy ran around the yard inspecting the different paddocks, pens and coops, I listened to a briefing on his background from the woman.

 “Well, I have to tell you, he’s ADHD, self-mutilating, depressed, borderline schizophrenia and a diagnosed sociopath. Do you still want to take him in the afternoons? I can’t wait to get rid of him. He drives me crazy. But, you know, the money’s good. Oh, and he’s on three meds; you’ll have to give him his meds when he gets off the bus. Don’t let him get away with anything. He’ll test you and drive you crazy! He thinks he’s so smart about everything but he’s really stupid. And, he’s not allowed to watch any TV; I grounded him from that indefinitely. Make sure he does his homework. I can’t deal with him about that. He’s got a real mouth, that boy! Don’t let him get away with anything. He’s got a history and it ain’t good. Oh, and another thing, he can’t have any toys. He’s stupid and lost his priviledge to have any toys. I threw them all away. Besides, they just make a mess of his room. He doesn’t need them anyway.”

 As I was listening to the woman’s dialogue, I watched the boy as he gently picked up a small kitten and hold it to his face. His eyes closed and the smile now curled around his cheeks. He was humming as he held the kitten and his body rocked side to side. He then softly placed the kitten back onto the ground and ran up to me.  “Did ya see that? The kitten was purring! He was purring while I was rocking him!” I placed my arm around the boy’s shoulders as I reassured the foster mother that he would be fine here.

 “I’ll make sure he gets his homework done and he’ll have chores to take care of. Those ponies need lots of grooming and loving. The chickens will need to be fed and the horses will need attention, also. I’ll teach him to ride.”

 “Really?” The boy’s voice barely squeaked the word from his lips. “Really? You’re gonna teach me to ride? I love horses! Can I ride the ponies, too? Can I gallop? Can I run?”

 I noticed his eyes were beginning to sparkle. The scowl that had been on his face when he first got out of the car had disappeared. The squared shoulders had dropped and the fists had become loosened. The boy was beginning to look like a ten year old boy should look; full of life and hope with joy shimmering his face.

 During the four weeks the boy was with me in the afternoons, he behaved as a normal ten year old child. Yes, there were times when he tested me; Times when he whined and complained. Mostly, though, he almost bubbled with the excitement of learning new things each day. He learned how to clean stalls, scrub water buckets, groom horses, feed the chickens and always made sure the gates were securely locked. He learned about how to pick the ripe vegetables and leave the immature ones on the plants to ripen. He learned how to replant young stock plants and tenderly watered them when needed. Of course, he got his homework done, quick as a wink, before he went out to the barn. He loved his after-school snacks, also. He marveled that I would allow him to pop his own popcorn in the microwave and thrilled at the chance to help bake fresh cookies. He even remembered, himself, to take his meds as soon as he arrived. On a rainy day we made paper airplanes and had wonderful flying races. He painstakenly colored each paper plane with his special, favorite colors and proudly showed each one to me.

 The day after we had the paper airplane races I received a call from the foster mother. I was to pack up all his things and he was being picked up immediately. I was not to say a word to him; he was not coming back. She had no more use for him. Besides, there were a brother and sister who needed a foster home and that paid twice as much. The boy was leaving. She had no idea where he would go and said she didn’t care. She just wanted to get rid of him so she could take in the others. I had had only four weeks with this young boy. In those four weeks, the pain in his soul had temporarily been forgotten. His spirits had soared as fast and as high as our airplanes. In those four weeks I saw hope appear and trust come out of hiding … only to once again to be driven into the hidden corners of his heart. I don’t know where he’s gone; I can only pray that he will never forget the four weeks of love and laughter and joy he spent here on my farm.