 
Nutmeg

Copyright 2011

Jacqueline Kelley-Kinnie

Smashwords Edition
Prologue

There was once, really and truly there was, a wonderful place called "Children's Garden," in Marin County, California. In our country, many small children are released from the parentage of their dysfunctional biological parents by the courts. Most have been seriously abused, physically, sexually and/or psychologically. A good many passed through Children's Garden's doors, treatment homes and fost-adopt homes to live better lives in safe places with people they learned to love and trust.

Children's Garden came about through the efforts of a wonderful dedicated woman, Doris Kirgan, a Boston Clinical Social Worker who, dismayed at the plight of children adrift in America's foster homes, decided to try to show that there was a better way. Doris led us, her staff, to learn the developmental theory of "attachment," originally written by John Bowlby and greatly elaborated upon since its beginnings. Doris knew that helping children to separate and re-attach was a monumental task and urged her staff onward with the simple sign on her desk: "I know you CAN, but WILL you?" Long before a campaigning young presidential candidate used the phrase "Yes we can," we all knew the phrase as certain to come out of the mouth of Doris at every staff meeting. "Of course, you/we, they can" was her most frequent verbalization. And so we learned we could and we did.

My years at Children's Garden were spent first as Coordinator of the Evaluation Program, then as Counselor and Coordinator to the Treatment Homes and their houseparents and children, thirdly as Coordinator of the Foster Home Program and finally as Assistant Director to Doris. I shall always cherish those years as the finest learning experience in human relationships I would ever have.

The story told in this book is fiction in that it does not really represent one child but is the culmination of the experiences of several staff members and many children who went through the doors of Children's Garden. I have written this book to increase our awareness of the pain and suffering known to all too many children in America and the world, and to tell some ways in which we can provide a path wherein they may learn once again to trust a world from a safe haven for their young lives.

I am grateful to Doris, to the staff of Children's Garden with whom I shared these experiences and years, and most of all to the children whose lives I shared for a brief moment in time. I am also grateful to the members of the Humanist Writing Camp of Sarasota, Florida which prodded me to write and complete this tale, and whose feedback has been so valuable.

Chapter 1

Nutmeg Arrives

She was, according to the records we had received, just seven years old, reportedly a bright child who had "failed" six foster homes and an adoption placement in the Bay area since the age of three months. When she was but three months old, the courts removed custody from her schizophrenic mother and made her a ward of the state of California. Now she stood here defiant, stating that she had indeed fried the goldfish on the radiator, and she was proud that she had.

"So what you gonna do 'bout it?"

"Not much at the moment," I replied. "What's your name?'

"I am Nutmeg."

"Hmmm, it says here your name is Katy."

"My name is NUTMEG!" She screamed. I wasn't at all sure the sounds coming from this cute little girl in front of me were human, but they were intelligible and very, very loud.

"How did you get the name Nutmeg?" I asked in a quiet voice.

"I made it up for myself and it's MY NAME!" She screeched back at me, stomping a little foot in a Mary Jane patent leather shoe with a lacey sock above it.

"I see. OK, then Nutmeg it is." I said quietly as I kneeled down to look eye to eye into this little girl's face. She pushed me away. "I don't like you," she screamed.

"Well, welcome to Children's Garden anyway," I replied quietly. "Since this will be your home for the next few months, would you like to see your room?" I stood up and offered my hand.

"I get my own room?" She asked, peering at me finally with incredible deep brown eyes as a small tear fell from her left eye. "What color is it?"

"Pink and white," said the housemother who had stood and witnessed these somewhat bizarre moments.

"I don't like PINK!" she shouted.

It was clear to me that this little girl was used to intimidating people, with her temper and shouting. It was just as clear that we, the staff of Children's Garden, were unlikely to be favorably impressed with such behaviors, though we were certainly used to dealing with them.

"Nutmeg," I said very quietly, "Your room can be any color you want, but for today it's pink and white. Tomorrow you can go with your house mom and pick out whatever color you want."

At Children's Garden, we sometimes worked from the "outside – in" to change the behaviors, feelings and self appraisals of our seriously disturbed children. We gave them beautiful rooms which they designed for themselves after moving in, and beautiful but sturdy clothes they were not used to. We made every attempt to let them know that though they often misbehaved in hateful ways, we respected them as people and we let them know we cared enough about them to not let them continue their sometimes hateful and usually less than polite and amiable ways.

"You're lying," said Nutmeg, but took my hand suddenly and pulled toward the hallway which was evident to all. So began a journey and a relationship between a little bi-racial child and me which I would never forget.
Chapter 2

Nightmares

At first I thought it was a dream. Then I recognized the ringing phone. It was 1:30 AM. "Hello" I said picking up the phone.

"Hi, sorry to bother you, but we can't get Katy to sleep and she's been screaming about voodoo outside her window and insisting her mother is there. She's wakened the whole house twice now, and all the kids are on edge. She says her mother is going to kill us all. And she's not dreaming."

"Have you tried some warm milk, singing to her?" I asked rubbing my eyes and sitting up to try to wake up. I'd had a rough couple of days and nights with the children in the Evaluation Home, and this was the third night it looked like I was going to have to get up and go again.

"We've tried everything. Nothing works. There she goes again... she's making the most awful sounds!" The housemother, Marci, sounded frantic.

"OK, I'm coming," I replied. I quickly grabbed my jeans and a flannel shirt. I looked bleary eyed into the bathroom mirror and quickly ran a brush through my hair, then grabbed my car keys and purse from the hall table and went to the garage to start the car. As I backed out of the garage, I felt the fog close around the car. Putting on the fog lights, I headed up Highway 1 to the house in Novato where the nighttime ruckus was happening again.

As I drove, I tried to collect my thoughts about what I had read of Katy's social and medical history provided by County Social Services. It had been sketchy, but I recalled something about her mother being a voodoo practitioner, who in one of her more insane moments had cut off the tip of a finger on her baby, believing that it would release the evil spirits within the child. I didn't recall seeing a short finger, but I really hadn't looked for one when Katy arrived. Everyone had been focused on the nasty little girl who had immediately fried the family goldfish upon her arrival.

Arriving at the house where our house parents live with six young seriously disturbed children, I saw that all the lights were on. "Oh boy," I thought, "she's got the whole house going." As I opened the front door, I heard the wailing. Both Marci and Jack, the house parents of the Evaluation Program, were in the living room with Katy on the couch. Marci stroked her hair and Jack was trying to reason with her in a quiet voice.

"Katy, Katy," I said quietly moving toward the group.

"My name is NUTMEG!" She screeched, and suddenly stopped the wailing, sitting bolt upright and staring at me silently.

"OK Nutmeg," I quickly corrected myself. "What's all this about?"

"I can't sleep in this house – EVER!" Nutmeg yelled.

"Hmm -- is your bed comfortable? Do you sleep with your teddy bear?" I knew from reading her history that she had a teddy bear she had carried around with her from home to home for as long as she had been in foster care.

"That's not it," she sobbed, tears now rolling from those beautiful deep brown eyes down her face.

"And?" I said.

"SHE'S here -- she's gonna kill us all!" she sobbed.

"Who, Nutmeg?"

"Betty Lou." I knew Betty Lou was her birth mother's name.

"Betty Lou is not here, Nutmeg. She can't get to you here," I said quietly and moved a bit closer.

"You don't know," she cried. "She's -- she's outside my window!" She began to shake as she pointed a finger, the short second finger of her left hand, at me. "You don't know!" she sobbed.

"I know she hurt you very badly a long time ago, "I said.

"She almost killed me." The sobbing was softer now. And she curled into Marci in fetal position, softly crying. I nodded to Marci who picked up my cue and carried her very gently to her pink and white bedroom, cuddling her as she placed her on the bed beside her.

After settling the other kids with Jack and getting them off to bed, I went to the pink and white bedroom to find Marci still cuddling Nutmeg in her little bed with her teddy bear held between them, softly stroking the long black curls and singing a lullaby. Nutmeg was huddled close, and seemed quiet now.

As I entered the room, Nutmeg looked up with those big soulful dark eyes. "It's always like this the first night," she whispered. Her words broke my heart: she was obviously considering this just another move -- one of many in her short life.

I sat on the bed near her. "It's OK, Nutmeg. You are safe here in Children's Garden. We won't let anything hurt you here. We promise. And we always keep our promises, you will see."

"I'm sorry," she whispered and closed her eyes, holding the teddy bear and Marci tight.

The Evaluation Home now quiet and the kids asleep, I hugged my house parents, and bid them a good night. It was 3:30 now and I had yet a long drive home before I could sleep.
Chapter 3

School

As I made my tea and toast the next morning, I kept hearing her words in my ears: "it's always like this --" How were we to find a way to this little girl's heart so that she could attach normally to someone for at least her growing up years, setting the stage for good adult relationships and attachments? How were we to teach her to trust that someone could care for her and not hurt her? She had never been in a placement where that was true unfortunately, or so the records stated.

Our job was never easy... to ease the pains of separations and abuses that often had occurred over and over in the children's short lives. But this one somehow seemed especially hard. Nutmeg, after several foster placements and considered "ready" for adoption, had literally refused an adoption, saying to her new parents: "I don't want to be Black like you!" I could feel for the new young parents who felt this child had totally rejected them, and who, disappointed and heart-broken, took her back to Social Services. Public adoptions didn't offer therapeutic support to adoptive parents. And so, Nutmeg had come to be classified as "unplaceable," meaning that unless we could change her heart and feelings and could somehow teach her to trust and attach and love a parent or set of parents, she would spend the rest of her life moving from foster placement to foster placement, never knowing a home or family of her own.

As I entered our offices, the secretary called me over. "There's trouble at the school with the new kid. They want you to come up right away."

Without even checking my mail, I headed back out to our small private school where our children in the Evaluation Home were placed. Here we did complete educational assessments of their abilities and skills, as well as keeping behavioral observations of how a child performed and acted, or acted out, in school.

Arriving at the school, Barb, the head teacher, came outside to greet me. "This one's a real pip," she said with a wide grin. There was nothing Barbara enjoyed more than a good challenge in our children!

"OK what's she done already? " I asked.

"Well, she bit little Michael, and she's been masturbating ever since, putting on quite a show. I put her in the bathroom for a time out," said Barb.

"OK," I said as I went inside.

As I entered the bathroom, I heard Nutmeg singing: "There's no mama in the sky." I listened outside the small cubicle in which she sang: "and there's no papa there to make her cry." Nutmeg crooned and cried softly in between verses.

I opened the cubicle door slowly, and sat on the floor beside her. "Nutmeg, did you hit Michael?" I asked quietly.

"Yeah, so what?" She looked at me defiantly.

"So you hurt Michael. And here at Children's Garden we don't let anyone get hurt or hurt anyone else."

"So whatcha' gonna do about it?" she asked with a challenge in her voice.

"Oh, probably separate you from the other children, give you extra chores, and take away your best loved activities," I replied firmly.

"So?" she shouted. "I don't care."

"Cradling her gently there on the floor, I said quietly, "Well Nutmeg, it's too bad that you don't care. We hope that you will learn to care and care about being cared for here at Children's Garden. Now I think you and I had best get up and go home."

Nutmeg began to wail. "No, no I'll be good – please." She cried loudly and began to kick and scream.

"Nutmeg, temper tantrums won't do any good for you or the other children," I said quietly but firmly.

"You have broken one of our most important rules –- not to harm another person -- and you must go home for today. Tomorrow is another day, and perhaps you can think about how you will behave differently then while you are home."

"But I don't want to be alone," she screamed.

"You will not be alone. Your house mom is there with you," I reassured the frightened child who now hung onto my hand tightly and tried to get into my lap."

I stood up, put my arms around her and led her quietly through the back of the classroom, out to the parking lot and into my car. I buckled up her seatbelt, climbed into the driver's side and started the engine.

"Wait," Nutmeg said quietly now. "If I PROMISE to be good, can I go back to school? There's a party later and I'll miss it if I have to go home. PLEASE, PLEASE -- I PROMISE I'll be good." She whined and looked up at me with those deep, dark brown pleading eyes.

"I am sorry to disappoint you, and I am really sorry you will miss the party, Nutmeg," I said. "but your behavior today is unacceptable, and we care enough about you to teach you that you cannot behave by hitting others. You'll have lots of time to think about that today while you are home."

I drove out of the parking lot and listened to her screech over and over how much she hated me for the five miles to the Evaluation Home. To say she was loud is an understatement.

This child had an amazing ability to turn on and off her screeching, apparent emotional upsets and outbursts and her crying and screaming. The minute we drove into the driveway of the Evaluation Home, she stopped, sighed a bit and eagerly got out of the car.

As we entered the house, she smiled and ran to the housemother. "Can we go get the blue paint now?" She quickly asked in a charming voice.

Marci looked at me questioningly. "Uh \-- just a minute, Nutmeg." It seemed that Katy had convinced her house parents to also call her Nutmeg in this short time period. "I need to find out why you are home now."

I hastened to explain what had transpired at school as Nutmeg sat on the floor and pouted, chewing on her fingernails. And Marci, a seasoned houseparent in our agency knew what to do and say next.

"Nutmeg, we need to have a little talk about your behavior and the rules here in Children's Garden. Then you can help me with some chores until the children return from school."

Nutmeg screamed: "Don't I even get lunch?"

"Yes, of course you get lunch," Marci replied. "But first, you and I are going to sit down and talk."

I left once again for the office, feeling comfortable with the knowledge that Marci would somehow get through to Nutmeg at least once. I also knew that Nutmeg was smart and would likely find another way to hurt someone or something soon.

Chapter 4

The Agency

The team at Children's Garden worked 24/7. It was a high burn-out job, no matter whether you worked in the Evaluation Program, the Treatment Home Program, or the Foster-Adopt Program. Our director, Debra, had a prominent sign on her desk with a quote we all knew by heart: "I know you can, but will you?" That little sign said it all.

No matter how capable we all were, the issues of plodding through the tiredness of the constant barrage of problems with one or more of the sixty-five children we served daily was a real one. There was never a day that one would consider "normal" for any of us.

So it was no surprise that a houseparent from the Treatment Program was waiting in my office to talk with me about one of her charges. Phil was a sad boy who set fires, and today had set one directly under the housemother's chair! Life was never boring at Children's Garden.

I suggested we discuss Phil and his problem behaviors with our consulting psychiatrist, who also evaluated and treated our children in their various placements and stages of getting well. Phil had done well for two years, but suddenly seemed to be reverting to his old ways. We weren't sure why, though we suspected we knew. Phil was about to enter an adoption placement, as that was what his southern California County had requested for him. We disagreed, knowing that his original attachment to his biological parents, despite their horrific abuse for years, was very strong. Such children often cannot sever that original attachment and form another, and we were pretty sure Phil was among those kids who would balk and begin to tell us he didn't want a new family through his behavior. Such events were not unusual in our agency. But it was difficult to convince referring county agencies that a long term foster placement would be better for a particular child than an adoptive placement. They were under enormous pressure to get the kids off the state and federal welfare rolls, despite the child's real needs.

Children's Garden often went to court as an advocate for a child about to face what we felt was an inappropriate placement. We pleaded what we believed to be really in the best interests of the child, not the State or County who had referred the child to us. After generally a minimum of three months in the Evaluation Program, and often two to three years of intensive treatment in our Group Home Treatment Program, we were determined that our kids get the very best shake they could in life. For that reason, we also had a third program, a "Fost-Adopt" Program where our children could be placed with therapeutically trained foster parents who might later choose to adopt, if they, we and the child agreed that was a good final step. These parents were not hired by the county, but rather hired and paid by the agency, who provided two years of training before they ever received a child, and continued supportive training for all the years they continued to have one of "our kids."

You will note that I included the child in our final decision making, something few if any Social Services workers are able to do. We genuinely felt that the major job we had with each child was to teach them to make reasonable and self enhancing choices in their lives. Choices might be as small as whether to buy an ice cream cone or spend the money they had saved on a toy instead. Or it might be as large as whether to stay in a foster placement that was working well, or try to move on to a legal adoption. We always sought the child's opinion, and after two or more years with us, they came to expect to be consulted about their futures. Consequently, they also learned to trust us and would turn to us later in life when they faced difficult dilemmas.
Chapter 5

More trouble

Wednesday mornings were always great fun for me. That was the day I met with the fost-adopt -parents-to-be to share with them some theoretical background and skills so they could manage these difficult children and help them to learn to trust again. As you might imagine, many of the foster parents who applied to our agency had experienced periods of foster care in their own lives. Some had had good experiences and had really loved their foster parents. They wanted to give back what they had received.

Others, however, had had horrific experiences, and wanted to make the world right for kids like themselves. Both groups of would be parents were sure they knew all about how to "fix" kids. "With just enough love," they thought, "the kids will learn to care about us and love us. " Ultimately, love would be their reward. Unfortunately, love alone doesn't heal ambivalence, fear, abuse or hatred, often the feelings and pasts of the children we served. It was my job to give them the endurance and skills to deal with the often hateful behaviors of our kids, the long nights worrying over a run-away, and the ability and knowledge to deal with all the unforeseen events which would enter their lives along with a new seriously emotionally disturbed youngster. In many ways, my job was to "re-parent" the parents so they could survive and raise a "normal" kid from the mess they received.

On this typical brisk Bay area morning, with pea soup thick fog rolling in off the ocean, I drove up Route 1 to the home of Nancy and Buzz, where the fost-adopt would-bes were meeting that morning. Driving up the eucalyptus lined dirt road which led to their home, I could smell the home-made scones Nancy always made when we met at her house. I looked forward to a cup of herbal tea and scones as we settled into the meeting. However that pleasant anticipation was quickly met with a worried look and a word from Nancy: "Barb called. One of the kids apparently got out of control. She wants you to meet with her." So much for scones and tea on a foggy morning. Somehow I knew it was Nutmeg in trouble again.

I took the freeway back to our little school to check with our head teacher before heading to the Evaluation Home. There were not many behaviors or incidents which led our teacher or head teacher to call me to come. The message our teaching staff sent to kids they had to discipline was that teachers were in control and didn't need other authorities to pitch in for them. They firmly believed that the word "discipline" meant "to teach," and they were expert teachers. Thus, I knew something fairly horrendous had occurred for them to send for me.

"Hi Barb, what's up?" I asked arriving at the school and finding Barb awaiting me on the veranda of the small house which was our school. "Hi," she replied. "You aren't going to believe this one. Your favorite child has managed to break Michael's arm and give Andy a black eye, all within a minute of having entered the school room."

"Broke Michael's arm? How? Why?" I couldn't believe my ears. Just then the ambulance pulled up and two EMTs got out with a stretcher. I waited until they were finished, bringing Michael sobbing and furious out on the stretcher and putting him gently into the back of the ambulance.

As I entered the room, I saw that Nutmeg sat on a chair at the front of the room, engaged in sticking out her tongue at the entire class. The teacher was slowly questioning the other children.

"When Nutmeg hurts other people, how does that affect you? " She asked the children. I watched and listened.

Marty, a small but outwardly tough little guy in the back row shot up his hand and opened his mouth at the same time. "Makes me so mad I wanna kick her butt \--"

"Marty, I understand those feelings, but you do need to wait till you are called upon," interrupted the teacher in a kind voice.

"Aw shit, she's just a nasty girl child, that's all." muttered Billy who sat beside Marty. "She ain't worth bothering with."

"I is so, I is so!" screamed Nutmeg.

I interrupted this melee. "Nutmeg," I said firmly, "Come with me!"

She smiled, and stated to the class. "Yippee, I get to go home!"

"No, Nutmeg, you don't get to go home. You get to come with me. Now come," I replied firmly. Taking her hand I led her quickly and firmly to the next small room behind the classroom where conferences were often held.

"You gonna beat on me?" she looked up fearfully."

"No, Nutmeg. No one is going to beat on you in Children's Garden. Not ever." I sighed. When, I wondered, would that message ever really get into her little head?

I sat her in the chair beside me. She gazed at her image in the mirror finish of the polished mahogany conference table. Neither of us spoke as I waited. Finally, after a couple minutes, I took her small face in my hands. "Nutmeg, look at me."

"Don't touch me!" she immediately screamed, twisting her head and body away from me. I let go and sat silently waiting for her to stop screaming and squirming. When she was quiet, I said quietly, but firmly, "Nutmeg, look at me and listen." She was quiet and as I watched, she looked at me with tears running down her face. I knew those were real tears this time.

"Nutmeg, I know that Marci told you all the rules for Children's Garden kids the other day. Do you remember them?" I asked. She nodded.

"Tell me the rules, Nutmeg."

"Get up on time. Make your own bed. Be at breakfast on time and be dressed ready for the day. Be polite to the house parents. Play nice with other kids. If ya don't be nice, ya get chores."

"That's very good, Nutmeg. But I think there's one more you left out." She sat and stubbornly pouted as she shook her head no back and forth.

"How about how you treat others in the house or school?" I asked.

"Ya be nice." She said.

"And were you nice to Michael?" I asked.

"Mm - hmmm" she nodded.

"I see. Then what happened that he has a broken arm, Nutmeg?"

"He tripped me when I came in. He tripped me, so I pushed his arm away and pulled it behind his back, that's all," she began to sob. "I didn' mean to hurt him. Well, I did mean to hurt him so's he'd not trip me anymore, but I didn' mean a break his arm. HONEST I didn'. And he done me first."

She looked up at me with those pleading big brown eyes, deep and wide circles of watery tears. And I knew this was real. Michael had hurt her and she had retaliated. At least she hadn't started it this time. There was hope.

"OK Nutmeg, then you can go back to class if you think you can behave appropriately toward all the other children. Later this afternoon after school you and Michael and I will have a sit down talk together," I said, stroking her hair and letting her know I believed her. She climbed on my lap and looked up at me "I promise," she said.

I knew that our teacher would continue to process what had happened with the class and Nutmeg. I could trust her to get Nutmeg one step closer to compliance with our good behavior rules, and accepted back into the class. The children who were in that class had been with us for some time, and they well knew both the rules and how difficult it was for them to learn. They had even begun to show some empathy at times.

Chapter 6

Problem Solving

My job was that of supervision and coordination rather than as therapist at Children's Garden. A major part of that job entailed collecting the data on each child which would finally lead to a recommendation for an appropriate long term placement, whether in foster care or adoption when the child left Children's Garden. Often we recommended a stay in a specialized treatment home following our evaluation. Three months was not enough time for most children to make the depth of emotional change or the number of adjustments needed for them to live in a normal home successfully.

Consequently what followed was really the information gathered by house parents and teachers on a daily basis, upon professional evaluations by our pediatricians, psychiatrist and psychologist, as well as the gathering of their social history by myself and social workers who had been in the child's life prior to coming to Children's Garden. Each child left with a book, generally of over 100 pages, telling the story of their lives, our interventions and treatments, and the advice of several professionals who were genuinely interested in what was best for the child. The Courts almost always followed our placement recommendations, though at times we had to be present in Court to advocate for a child. This would be the case eventually with Nutmeg, but we are a long way from that point in time.

Nutmeg, after one month had already used up several pages of professional evaluation and behavior observations. Everyone who interacted with her found her fascinating, a challenge, interesting, and a child they wanted to know better. Everyone had tried or was trying now to get through her walls. She was adept at hooking our attention or sympathies, than erecting a wall which it was difficult to get through. We always had the feeling that when we thought we were getting through to real feelings with her, she would suddenly erect a barrier, sometimes with a look, or a silent withdrawal or a curt question or answer meant to distance us from her. She was very good at it.

At such times, though she'd let us hold her physically, we sensed she was not really there with us, but off in another world somewhere. This ability was a bit scary to all of us. We knew her mother had been diagnosed as "paranoid schizophrenic" and we were concerned that Nutmeg might have inherited whatever makes up the tendencies, chemical, emotional, and/or genetic, toward that mental illness. The old issues of nature-nurture were very much in evidence at our staff meetings as we went over her progress or lack of it in our case meetings.

"I am constantly amazed at her resiliency as evidenced in her therapeutic play," our Art Therapist, Nancy, said wistfully during a staff meeting. "She can be making what I think are mud balls, but she says they are cannon balls. She throws them at various people, - her mother, an imaginary father, - then talks about being abandoned. Then she is suddenly making "chocolate mud pies" for her foster Mother in Carmel Valley. It's as though each session she is living and working through her past -- but it suddenly stops in Carmel."

What we knew about this foster placement was that it had been the last before the attempted, failed adoption. Since they were not in our local County area, we knew little about this couple or family other than what we gleaned through rare glimpses coming from Nutmeg. Her current Social Worker from San Francisco County wasn't much help either.

Our psychiatrist had remarked in his report: "This child shows amazing resilience and an ability to recover from severe traumas placed in her path. If she can attach again emotionally, she could become a charming and exceptionally bright young adult." He felt that she had attached or at least begun to attach to her last foster parents, but had been torn away from them at a crucial and inopportune time. Her psychological and educational evaluations indicated an extremely bright child with abilities in multiple areas. It became clear over a few weeks that we had a very bright, talented, sensitive child, still early enough in her life, who with good intervention would likely be a good candidate for a placement in a very special fost-adopt placement. Our Agency fost-adopt parents were full at the time, and we had no open placements

I finally decided a trip to Carmel Valley to get to know the foster parents she had loved and glean their understanding of Nutmeg was in order. I hoped, of course, that they would be eager to have her back and to adopt her. I also hoped that they'd become one of the agency's fost-adopt parents, and accept the help and support we gave our adopting families. I knew it was crucial to dealing with the often puzzling and difficult behaviors of the children who were sent to us to "fix."

Chapter 7

Carmel Valley

On a cool and foggy morning, I headed for Carmel Valley. Though other routes might be faster, I opted to take the Oceanside highway, Route 1. If I had to drive for nearly three hours each way, I might at least have the option of enjoying the scenery. I always loved that drive along the ocean, especially as I came near the Big Sur area. The wind-sculpted cedars against the blue sky, the sound of the ocean waves as they hit the rocky shore, the fog settling out on the horizon as the day went on, and the beautiful sudden cascades of brilliant orange and yellow nasturtiums cascading down the rocks to the shore below the cliffs was a magnificent sight I would always cherish. Along the side of the road were spreads of Mexican poppies with their bright orange faces held up to the sun. And here and there a purple lupine stood tall and ethereal like a beautiful fairy in the forest of orange. If one had to work, who could ask for more?

I had called Hermes and Becca Alexiou and made an appointment to visit them at their home in Carmel Valley. I gave myself some extra time to pull over and take a photo or two along the way, to gaze out at the ocean as I loved to do. And as I drove, I spun a fantasy about what I would find --a loving couple who missed their little girl Nutmeg -- who wanted her back. In my mind's eye I saw a loving reunion and a happy time ahead for all of them.

As I arrived in the hills of Carmel Valley some two and a half hours later, I easily found the address from the directions they had given me. What I saw ahead was a delight – a charming Spanish style stucco home with a tower and a large walled courtyard filled with the melodies of a multitude of singing birds. There was a large Toucan in the far corner and a bevy of rose-breasted lovebirds by the gate as I walked in, all chirping nicely. A nightingale and a lark nearby sang to the heavens with delightful songs. And a couple of white parrots were busy grooming each other by the arched doorway which seemed to beckon.

As I approached, a tall, lithe, blonde woman glided through the doorway, holding her arms out: "You must be Helen from Children's Garden," she said. "Come in – have some herbal cold tea with us."

Her voice was like the songbirds' melodies, soft, yet resonant. She welcomed me with a hug and led me quickly through the arched doorway to a lovely patio where a tall iced pitcher of tea glistened in the sunlight. I thought if I had been a child how I would have hated to leave this beautiful place, this pretty mother. It would have been heartbreaking, I thought.

"So, you have come to talk about Nutmeg," Becca said softly. "We miss her."

"Yes, I am sure you must," I said. "I'd like you to tell me about her – when you came to know her, how she behaved here, was she difficult? Were there other children here then? How long was she with you? How did she leave?" Realizing that I was spouting questions faster than anyone could think about answering them, I apologized. "I'm sorry, we just have so much to learn about Nutmeg in order to help her," I said.

Becca smiled. She was beautiful when she smiled. "Oh, I understand. There is so much to tell. Though she was here only a year and a half -- well, let me start at the beginning."

Becca sighed and began her story of Nutmeg at the home in Carmel Valley.

"We had wanted to adopt a child. We had called Social Services because a friend of ours was a social worker there and knew about this child. She thought that we were a good match for her, my husband being so dark, and me so light." She laughed. "He's not Black, but he's Greek and very dark skinned," she explained. So we called and our friend had already talked to her worker. They set up a time to meet in the offices at Social Services, and she was the cutest little thing, you know... all brown and bubbly and smiley with the most profound eyes _ and yet shy. We took to her immediately and wanted to take her home, but they said no, we had to visit with her several times; they had to do a home study, etc. .I'm sure you know the ropes." Becca sighed.

"Yes, I think I do... but go on," I replied. I could see the pain on Becca's gentle face. It was obviously difficult for her to remember those days and to talk about Nutmeg.

"Well, after a couple months, the home study was over and we were approved. The social worker brought her to visit us at home here a few times, and each visit was deemed a 'success", so the placement was finally made. Katy, as we initially knew her, came to stay, hopefully forever. She was a handful at times, but nothing we couldn't handle then. She had temper tantrums mostly at bedtime: she talked a lot about bad dreams and her mother cutting off the tip of her finger on the left hand. We had been warned about these dreams, so we were prepared to give her the sympathy and understanding she needed, and slowly, the dreams faded away. She loved to cook with me -- and it was during a cooking session where she decided after a year that she wanted to be called 'Nutmeg.' I can't remember what we were baking, but I was showing her how to shave the whole nutmeg when she said 'Look it's like me, black on the outside and white on the inside!' We laughed a lot about that as she took on the name Nutmeg. It seemed important to her and it didn't matter to us what she wanted to be called."

Becca looked away and seemed very sad. Taking a long breath, she said "I'm sorry. It's painful to recall. Well, when her Social Worker came to visit, we shared the Nutmeg story and Nutmeg shared with her that she had adopted a new name. The Social Worker smiled, but seemed to me a bit unnerved by Nutmeg's insistence that she be called Nutmeg from then on, even by the Social Worker. She made some comments about changing identity and wondering how healthy this was. And before we knew it, we were called into the offices of Social Services and questioned about the name change. It all seemed very innocent to us, but they apparently were concerned about it – terribly concerned."

"The placement was coming up for review by the Courts very soon, and this seemed an important new development which could delay the adoption. We couldn't understand how a simple nickname could mean something so terrible, but they insisted we should be aware that the Court might not be pleased."

Becca smiled gently, a small tear running down her face. "I guess I will never forget that Court date. It was a horrible day for us and for Nutmeg. The judge, after hearing the reports from Social Services, ordered us to pack up Nutmeg's things and return her to the Social Service detention facility. They gave us 48 hours in which to do this. They felt Nutmeg should be adopted, all right, but not by us."

Becca broke into full tears and sobbed quietly. I took her hand, trying to provide some comfort to his gentle woman who had been so misused and abused by our system. "I am so sorry," I said.

"It's all right," Becca replied. "Well, it isn't all right, but we learned something about ourselves and America that day that we'll never forget. It became clear to us that racial equality isn't real in this country yet. And when the Social Worker told us that they had an "all Black couple" they thought would be a better placement for Nutmeg, well, we were really angry. We even contacted our lawyer, but he felt there was little that would sway the judge to reconsider, so we dropped it. I still wonder if we should have fought harder for that little one."

I explained to Becca what had happened to Nutmeg; how she had been placed for adoption with a Black couple and had totally refused this adoption, been returned to Social Services, and was now with us at Children's Garden, a very hurt and fragile little girl. I explained to her our services for fost-adopt parents and left her with a question:"Do you and your husband think you might be interested in trying again with Nutmeg?"

She didn't answer me that day, nor did I expect or want her to. I was planting a seed I hoped would grow.

Chapter 8

Life isn't fair

I enjoyed a lovely trip back to home base in Marin County. It was late February and the wild flowers were rampant along the coast, reflecting the sunlight across the bays. The surf was up and the sound of breaking waves was always a thrill. The baby lambs and calves bleating in the cool coastal air \-- it was spring and though I was troubled by the history I had just heard from Nutmeg's last foster parents, my heart was happy in the springtime. I looked forward to sharing what I had learned at the late afternoon staff meeting as I was driving back to the office. Little did I know what awaited.

As I parked my little red Toyota Celica in the parking lot, I noticed that all staff cars were there. That was pretty unusual and I wondered what had brought everyone together today. I took the elevator up to the fourth floor where our offices were and as I entered noticed the dead silence – most unusual for Children's Garden where bustling about, kidding and business were always evident. As I entered the large conference room where staff meetings were held, everyone was there, some with tears running down their cheeks, others looking stunned and in shock. Debra, our director, came to me and said quietly: "We have some really bad news, Helen. You'd better sit down."

"What's happened?" I asked.

"Oh Helen, Paul has been killed."

"What? How? .Where?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Paul had been with us for two years, a sweet kid with night terrors who had seemed well when returned to his parents about six months ago. He had been placed voluntarily by his parents who couldn't cope with his constant night terrors. Every night for more than two years, Paul had dreamed, - or as he put it, "had a vision"- that he had died. Many was the night when he was in our Evaluation Program and later in the Treatment Program that he had been found in the middle of the night on the back patio, banging his head on the concrete and sobbing: "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!" And now, he was dead.

Debra replied solemnly: "It seems he was in the back of his Dad's pick-up truck with their Great Dane dog, and the father had to stop quickly. Paul was pitched head first onto the road. He was dead upon contact according to the Police report."

"No, it cannot be" I muttered. Paul's "night terrors," his visions when we had him with us, had been exactly that. He "dreamed" constantly that he was thrown from a truck and died. And now those dreams or visions were somehow real. Our psychiatrist had felt he was delusional, and we had all worked very hard to help this boy learn to trust that he was all right, that he was imagining things. There are times one wonders, despite our science, clinical skills and good intentions, whether we truly understand those seemingly extra sensitive children in our midst. There was no rational explanation for these events.

We were all devastated by the sad and tragic news. But there was little any of us could do but plan to attend the funeral and try to provide support and caring for Paul's parents. Though they were Paul's biological parents, they had joined one of our foster parent training groups in Sonoma County where they had made many supportive friends among the parents. We made arrangements for that group of parents to also attend and to provide ongoing support for the family. It was all we could do. Life goes on, but it surely isn't fair.

I left the Staff meeting and went to the Evaluation Home to share the tragic news with the house parents who had spent much loving and therapeutic time with Paul when he had been with us. They were a young couple in their early thirties, and I knew the news would be heartbreaking for them as it was for us all.

Chapter 9

Life Goes on

As I entered the Evaluation Home a week later Nutmeg ran to greet me. "Helen, come, come, look ... my room is done. My room is done!" She was obviously excited and happy, as she grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hall to see her "new" room.

"Isn't it beee-ooo-tiful?" Nutmeg jumped up and down excitedly. "It's my fairy princess room – it is – just the way I always wanted it."

I saw, for the first time, a normal excited, happy little girl, excited about her very own space in the world. The room was painted a lovely soft light blue, even on the ceiling, where white puffy clouds had been painted as though wafting in the breezes high in the sky. The house parents had done a wonderful job! The bed had been transformed with a canopy of sheer white curtains surrounding it, providing a special space for a little princess to sleep in the mounds of quilt where birds and flowers were appliquéd. And across the room, painted on the wall was a mural of fairies dancing in the forest of blue and green and sunlight. "What a lucky little girl you are," I said, "to have such a beautiful room of your very own."

"I helped, too," Nutmeg said excitedly. "I helped paint the fairies and the trees. And look, I have baskets where I can put things, and a cage for the lovebird we're going to get. Mom Marci says I have to earn it, first, though. I can do extra chores and stuff and get enough in three weeks to buy the lovebird. I already picked it out and they are keeping it for me at Pet Haven. When I bring it home, it's gonna be all my 'sponsibility ..Mom Marci said if I forget to clean her cage or feed her just once, I have to take her back. I won't forget – not never," she said solemnly. Nutmeg was full of joy and her smiles and excitement were contagious. I gave her a big hug, and she eagerly accepted it. This was a first. A happy child without anger or hostility sharing a joyful hug! Progress.

Children's Garden was one of those rare places where "treatment" involved helping a child learn to feel worthy and uniquely OK in the world through many various avenues. Many if not most of our children had been sadly neglected, had worn shoes too small for too long, had ill fitting hand-me-downs for clothes, and had shared a room and often a bed with several other children and sometimes adults. Having a room of their own, decorated the way THEY wanted it, their own clothes that fit and were comfortable, special toys or objects they valued, and an allowance they earned each week sent powerful and important messages about how important they were to the Children's Garden family.

I had been invited to stay for dinner before our weekly "family meets" at the Evaluation Home. These meetings were always interesting and a very special way to collect the important data we needed to better know, understand and eventually place our children in long term care, whether it be a long term foster placement or adoption. The house parents, Marci and Ben, were skilled in bringing up issues each child had presented during the week, and the children were engaged in a family group process to help solve whatever problems had not already been resolved. This process gave each child a chance to listen to others and themselves, and to work on problem solving with their peers, guided by skilled adult caregivers. It also gave us an opportunity to see how well our interventions had helped them to grow and to learn problem solving skills, whether interpersonal or life skills.

This evening's dinner was full of joy and excitement as the children shared their week at school and what they were learning about geography and reading about new places in the world. There was the occasional "tattle" which was quickly stopped by the house parents: "Let's wait for that till our meeting, please." After dinner three of the children cleared the table, while the other three rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Then each child went to the refrigerator and got a drink of iced water and sat around the large dining room table.

Once Marci, Ben and I had joined them, Marty raised his hand. Marci acknowledged him and he began to speak: "We all want to know why Nutmeg is going to get a pet of her own, when we all have to share Tiger?" (Tiger was the house cat.)

Ben spoke then: "Well Marty and all, this is an agreement between Marci and I and Nutmeg. First of all, she is not being given the lovebird: she has to earn it. And that will take a lot of hard work and good behavior on her part. Secondly, you all have received something special that you had to earn -- you just have not asked for a pet. Third, Nutmeg understands that when she leaves Children's Garden, if she goes where she cannot take her lovebird, it will then become a house bird, just as Tiger once was a pet and became a house cat."

Nutmeg's hand shot into the air and she could hardly wait to be called upon. "Besides, Marty, I still have to feed the cat when it's my turn. And I might not even be able to get this bird unless I AWWWWFULLLY good." She looked directly at Marty with very large deep brown eyes.

"Uh, well, OK, then , if you still have to feed Tiger, too," replied Marty in a rather shy voice. Marty, we knew, hated taking his turn to feed the cat one of every six weeks. "Can I come in your room and pet the bird?" he asked.

"Sure, y'all can," exclaimed Nutmeg.

Ben asked the group: "Are there any grumbles this week? Does anybody need help getting unstuck?" Grumbles were problems or bad feelings about other children or house parents or teachers which the children had not been able to resolve. These children often harbored ill feelings and kept them for a long time. That was framed as "being stuck" in our intervention strategies, and children were taught to ask for help in overcoming "stuck" bad feelings.

There were indeed a few grumbles and some left over feelings, all of which were processed within the next hour. Then the children were allowed to raid the cookie jar and have a glass of milk before watching their favorite half hour of TV, and off to baths, and bedtime stories.

Nutmeg came over to me quietly and pleaded softly: "Miss Helen, will you read me a story if I quick get my bath and get into bed? Will you tell me a story about a fairy princess?" How could I refuse?

Chapter 10

Planning a Future

Nearly three months had passed, and it was time to begin seriously figuring out what would be the best placement for Nutmeg. She remained a difficult child but had shown amazing growth and promise since her arrival. We had seen no more hurting of animals and no major physical confrontations with other children, though she still occasionally pushed someone in anger, or lashed out screaming verbal abuses at times. She had worked hard to change her behavior, and for a seven-year old, shown quite mature understanding of both her behavioral problems with others and how her behaviors would affect her future. She had earned her lovebird that she called "Peaches," and had been more than willing to share the bird with her new friends at the Evaluation Home.

So staff discussion began. We all felt she was rather young for our own treatment homes. She'd have been the youngest in any of the four treatment group homes we provided. A few staff thought she might be ready for a fost-adopt placement, but our own fost-adopt homes were full. What to do?

Her own Social worker had informed us that her department wanted this child "off the roles." She was to be adopted: they were quite adamant.

I had planned to contact the Alexious again, and I called them after our Staff meeting. Becca answered the phone, and when I asked the question about whether they had thought about a placement again, she replied: "Yes, we thought long and hard, Helen, but we just can't go through that again. What evidence do you have that the Judge or the Department will finally accept this placement? How could we ever be sure it would be final?"

I understood her qualms – they were all too real. "No one can guarantee that a final adoption will happen, Becca. I wish I could assure you that would be true, but I cannot. I can say that the probabilities are pretty high, and we'd go to Court to support your permanent placement. However, I can't guarantee ever what family courts, judges or social workers will finally do, or even whether her current worker will remain her worker once she leaves us."

Our director was adamant about a placement in our treatment program. "She's just too young to be with all those pubescent kids," stated Debra. "How about extending her stay in the Evaluation Program for another three/four months while we hunt for a suitable fost-adopt placement? We can take another couple on." That was fine with all of us – in fact, seemed a great solution, IF Social Services would buy it. It was a big IF. However, I'd plead long and hard that such a continuation would be cheaper than a failed adoption, cheaper than our Treatment Program, and could lead to a good fost-adopt in the long haul.

Social Services bought our arguments and agreed to a maximum of four more months in Evaluation.

It would be difficult for our Evaluation house parents to steer a course between a solid attachment and the ability to keep in both their minds and in Nutmeg's mind and imagination that this placement would end in another four months. That was long enough for a child who wanted to attach to do so -- and thus, a real danger for the child. We'd have to be very clear with her, and likely also repetitive about what was coming.

So I visited the Evaluation Program after school that afternoon. I decided to take Nutmeg out for a ride, an early dinner and an ice cream treat. I had checked with school and home and she'd been a model child all week, so she deserved a treat. We'd bring back ice cream pops for the rest of the house after supper, which would please all the kids.

The house parents had told Nutmeg about her special treat this evening, and she was all dressed up in her blue party dress and little Mary Janes when I arrived at the house. Excitedly, she told me to "come say goodbyes to Peaches", which I did. She took my hand, looking up at me with those deep dark eyes, and said "I am sooo happy, Miss Helen."

We drove along the shore to Mill Valley. Nutmeg loved the ocean, and though she was dressed up, we stopped, took off our shoes and walked along the incoming waves as we went south. As we arrived at Buckeye Roadhouse, Nutmeg's eyes got very large. "Wow," she exclaimed. "Is this where we're going?" _Buckeye_ Roadhouse is a beautiful, cozy, Aspen lodge-like dining room, complete with fireplace, located off Route 1, and a favorite place of mine. I had made reservations for the two of us and asked for a quiet corner where I'd tell Nutmeg about her future for the next four months.

As we settled in, Nutmeg began to look over the menu. She was a rapid reader these days and I was curious what she would select. She turned the pages of the menu over and over and began to look worried. "Miss Helen, there's no kids menu," she said sadly.

"You're right, Nutmeg. You get to choose right off the big people's menu."I said.

She looked crestfallen. "Oh," she said quietly, and looked at her lap. "Whatcha gonna get, Miss Helen?"

"Well, I haven't decided yet," I replied. "Does anything look good to you?"

"Doesn't matter none," Nutmeg said softly, looking at her lap.

I realized she was waiting for me to decide. "Nutmeg, you can choose whatever you want for yourself," I said.

"Really? I mean –uh-really? I don't have to wait for you and eat off yours?" she asked quickly.

I laughed. "No Nutmeg. You get to choose your own.. Now why would you think you'd have to eat from my plate?" I asked.

"'Cause that's what they always did when I was in foster homes," she said, "'cept for Mama Becca's."

"Ah." I understood now. She was waiting for me to choose and was afraid I'd select something she didn't like. We spent the next several minutes perusing an exhaustive menu as Nutmeg excitedly asked "What's this? What's that?" as she read words she did not yet know the meaning of.

She finally settled on a "Shirley Temple" and roast chicken with mashed potatoes, a big green salad and a chocolate sundae for dessert. As we ate, she kept looking at me quizzically. Finally she asked: "Why'd you bring me here?"

"Well, Nutmeg, we have something really important to discuss," I said. "And I thought it would be nicer if we could be in a nice place alone without all the other children around as we talk."

"Important?" she asked in a very small voice.

"Yes, Nutmeg, very important." She looked terrified.

"You see, you have been doing so well here at Children's Garden that we have to begin talking about your future - what you want for your future."

"You're gonna send me away again back to detention," she said pitifully and began to cry. While she had improved greatly, she was still easily caught up in negative emotions.

"No, no, that's not at all true, Nutmeg. "We're not going to send you anywhere you don't want to go. Remember how we always talk about how you have choices? Well, you have a big choice to make and we need to talk about how that's going to happen," I said quietly as I stroked her hair. She quieted a bit, looked up at me soulfully with those deep dark eyes, and asked, "I get to choose?"

"Yes -- so you have to tell me exactly what you want -- exactly, "I said.

"She answered me promptly and surely: "I wanna go back to Mama Becca's," she said pulling herself up straight and prim and trying to look strong.

"Oh I wish you could, I really do. But it's not possible, honey. I'm truly sorry, but we have to start again and find the exact right place for you." I had been afraid this would be her choice if she could have it, and while I sympathized with the couple who did not want to take the chance of being disappointed again, I felt deeply for this little girl's pain.

I watched as she cut off the tears that wanted to fall and began to pull herself together. She rubbed her eyes, wrung her little hands, and then quietly put them in her lap. She looked at me solemnly.

"Miss Helen, if I tell you exactly what I want, then I get it this time?" she asked.

"Well, we all at Children's Garden will do the very best we can to find exactly what you want, Nutmeg. You know, we don't make promises we can't keep, so I can't promise, but I can say we'll do the very, very best we can to find exactly the right place for you forever."

"OK then, let me think." She said. Recently she had adopted this answer to many of our questions. She had been taught that to "think first, and then act" was important. So I gave her lots of time to think, and she took all of about five minutes, a long time for a seven year old, and then asked me to "Listen carefully, Miss Helen."

"OK," I agreed.

"First, I want a mom who has light yellow hair and big blue eyes and smiles a lot," she said. I remembered that Becca was blonde and blue-eyed and had a lovely smile. "And then, I want a Dad with dark skin like mine and black curly hair, who is kind and smart, and fun to chase around and all." Becca's husband had been Greek, dark and with black curly hair.

"And they have to have birds, or love birds and let me have 'em, 'cause I going to be an or-ni-thol- o-gist." She pronounced very carefully, slowly and seriously.

"Such a big word for such a little girl!" I exclaimed.

"But I is gonna be one, Miss Helen, and they have to let me have Peaches when I go to them," she said earnestly. "Now you tell me back what I said." she demanded. This was another listening and talking technique she had learned in the last few months. Before you answer, if you're not sure someone heard you correctly, ask them to repeat what you said.

"OK," I smiled. "Let's see, you want a blonde, blue-eyed mom who smiles a lot, a dark Daddy with black curly hair and a place for birds because you want to be an ornithologist."

"She jumped up with joy written all over her face. "You got it, you got it!" she cried aloud. "And they should have a Cadillac Seville, too!" Now where had that come from, I wondered?

"Hmm, well I'll see what we can do." I replied.

"You'll find me the perfect family, I know you will." She exclaimed excitedly.

Our chocolate fudge sundaes came complete with a small mountain of wonderful whipped cream and a cherry on top, causing us both to exclaim and dive into the soft gooey goodness. We sat quietly as we made appreciative noises over our desserts.

As I drove Nutmeg back to the Evaluation Home, we stopped and watched the sunset together over the blue Pacific. I felt strangely sad and couldn't identify where the feeling was coming from. Nutmeg had accepted our proposal fairly easily and seemed happy to stay with us awhile longer until we had found the "perfect" family for her. She held my hand as we walked along the beach barefoot, enjoying the golden sun and the riotous reds, purples and pinks in the sky as the sun slowly descended below the horizon. As we walked, I knew where that feeling was coming from. I had fallen in love with this little girl, and I wanted to take her home with me!

Nutmeg slept for the last part of our journey home. Waking just a little as I carried her into the house, she said sleepily: "I love you, Miss Helen." Those words about broke my heart. A child had come to us hateful, unloving and unlovable ... and here she was only three months later saying she loved me! Children's Garden was indeed, as our director always said a place where children grow.

Chapter 11

Finding a Family

The focus for Nutmeg now shifted to finding a suitable family for her – a home where she would be accepted, where new parents would be able to accept the training and learn the skills that would be needed for the years to come as Nutmeg grew up. Our agency and others sometimes published in the San Francisco Chronicle the stories of "Children Who Wait." While we never used the names of the children or their photographs, an artist drew portraits of appealing youngsters which often looked amazingly like our kids, though she never saw them. We tried to be honest with the readers about who the child was, told some of their bad experiences and tried to elicit some warmth and understanding we hoped would get them to call us.

Once a call came, there was the serious and grueling job of home visits, some planned, some unexpected, to determine whether these adults and families were the right ones for our particular child. On Monday morning, I sat down with the artist, told her Nutmeg's story, and watched as she drew an amazing likeness which would appear in Sunday's paper. Then it was a call to her case worker to advise them that they'd see the story in the Chronicle on Monday morning.

"Just remember we have to have a Black family," the Social Worker responded.

"We'll do our best," I replied, "but you know, Nutmeg doesn't really want black parents. All her foster placements since the age of three months were with white families. Given the last fiasco, she could easily set up another failure if we try that."

"Can't help it. That's the County Social Services Policy. If a kid is one-tenth black they have to be placed in a black family," said her case worker.

"Yes, well, our policy is what is in the best interest of the child," I said.

"I know... just warning you."

Beyond the article that would appear in Monday morning's Chronicle, we would put out the word to our own fost-adopt parents who would spread the word among friends that they thought might be interested in becoming fost-adopt parents for Children's Garden. Unlike County Social Services, our agency paid our fost-adopt parents a real living wage as this was their full time work. At least one care-giving parent had to be available at home full time for our kids. In addition, the children each received their own support monies from the county in which they had resided, at least as long as they were in foster care. While county monies were supposed to cover the costs of food, clothing, school supplies and other needs of the children, it often was insufficient, and parents had to dig into their own pockets frequently.

We'd also publish a "Call for a Special Parent" in our Monthly newsletter that went to all County Welfare and Social Service agencies across the state's northern counties.

Since this coming Wednesday was our monthly fost-adopt parent support meeting, I'd bring the story of Nutmeg and her need for a lifetime home to the group. Hopefully through these processes, we'd find a family willing and able to love, nurture and accept Nutmeg to adulthood and independence. Children's Garden had been amazingly successful for nearly twenty years, and we'd seen many of our kids grow up and continue to love and support the families that had grown them. More than half had gone to college, and those that had not, had taken on vocational schools and work successfully.

Children's Garden was literally known as "the placement where children can grow to maturity" throughout the state and the west coast in general. We offered comprehensive evaluation of physical, emotional, social and attachment needs, and possible placement for a period of one to three years in a group treatment home. In addition we could place children in long term foster and adoption placements with continued weekly professional support for as long as the children remained and the parents needed the services of the agency. (I knew of no fost-adopt parents in the agency who ever discontinued that need. They came to count on us as valuable family members.) In this way, we were unique and thus always had a waiting list of children that West Coast county agencies wanted us to take.

Chapter 12

The Waiting Game

On Wednesday evening I drove up to Sonoma County to the home of the Hurley's, a marvelous and skilled couple who had fostered seven of our children and adopted three. All but two were now grown; five were college grads, one on the way to a Masters' Degree in Mythology at U.C.Berkeley now, and the two young ones, 8 and 9 years old, were adopted and in the home doing well. The Hurley's had dealt with a schizophrenic child, an autistic young boy, a run-a-way, a young street child who was prostituting at age 10, and a boy who at 9 was a skilled thief and part of a thieving gang in the ghettos of Oakland. They were accomplished in providing for the emotional and safety needs of really disturbed kids, and we counted on them to mentor our incoming couples as much as they could. They were more than happy to field many a barrage of questions from distraught new fost-adopt parents.

Jessie Hurley greeted me at the door, eight year old Mara in tow. Mara was a beautiful biracial child – Asian-American - who was pleading very nicely to be able to stay up and watch another half hour of TV. She didn't get her wish, but was sent to bath and bedtime story with Bill, Jessie's husband and Mara's new "Daddy." I knew Mara well: she had been through our Evaluation Home and had spent a year in our Treatment Home Program, so she whined a little at me in hopes of getting me to step in and give her more TV time. I didn't, her Mom didn't, and with a slight pout, she took off upstairs to her bath, her bedtime story with Dad and sleep.

After we had talked through several of the parents' concerns about their kids, about some house repairs they felt needed to be done, and just plain gossiped over coffee and cookies, I told the story of our Nutmeg and spelled out her needs. They listened attentively, nodding and smiling and showing some concern as I told the story of a little girl whose mother had given her up after cutting off her finger to "let the devil out" at three months. I explained how quickly she had come around after failing an adoption, and told them about the Black couple that had tried to adopt her, and her total refusal of them as her family.

Bill Hurley walked in and sat down as I was talking about Nutmeg and interrupted. "Aw, bring her here... what's one more? We've had so many bi-racial kids, one more don't matter. They all get used to each other pretty quick here." While that was true, I well knew that the "one more" made three, always a lot more difficult than two, but I didn't say no. I did ask Jessie what she thought about Bill's idea, and she laughed. "We can manage... don't matter how many," she said. They were wonderful folks and it was good to know I could fall back on them if I had to, but I didn't feel this was the right home for Nutmeg. For one thing, the appearance of her to-be parents seemed of prime importance to Nutmeg, and this couple was all black, something she had seriously rejected not too long ago.

"Well, spread the word," I asked. And they all agreed they surely would.

Thursday was a busy day of supervising some parent visits to kids in our care. Some of our children who came from abusive homes still had court-ordered visits from parents, these always being supervised in our offices as was court-ordered. Even though the courts had severed the legal bonds between parents and children, and children had often been placed or were in treatment prior to placement, these attachments still existed and needed to be honored, no matter how abusive parents had been in the past. This was a least favorite part of my job, for many legally separated parents still tried to tell their children they would come home to them one day – and of course, that wasn't going to happen.

I was glad to see the day end and looked forward to a nice weekend and a short Friday.

As I came into the office Friday morning, I found Marci, along with Nutmeg, waiting for me.

"Well, Good Morning. How come you are not in school today?" I asked Nutmeg. "Oh I had to see Doc," she replied, "and on the way back to school, I had a question Marci said she couldn't answer, but you pro'lly could, so we came by to see you. You're LATE!"

"Yes, late today, but I had a late night last night, Nutmeg, so I'm allowed by the rules to take a few hours to myself in the morning!"

"Oh -- special time for you," said the little wise one.

"Yes, exactly. Now what's your question?"

"Well, I wanted to know if we could go to that place for dinner tonight and talk some more about my new family. And some other stuff."

"Uh -- well, actually, no, Nutmeg, we can't do that. You see, I have a date with my husband and my daughter this evening."

"Oh," she sighed and a little tear formed in the corner of her eye.

"Was there something special you wanted to tell me?" I asked.

"Yup there is ... but it's a secret and I can't say it here."

"A secret from Marci? Hmmm. We don't keep secrets from our house parents, Nutmeg. I am sure Marci will keep your secret. So you can tell us."

"Nope -- not gonna tell." Nutmeg had put on her now famous "stubborn face" and crossed her little arms over her chest. "Not gonna." Nutmeg was expert in grabbing us by being stubborn and refusing to engage, I was not about to be caught in her trap. I had work to do, and she needed to learn that adults won't always engage in coaxing her.

Marci stifled a grin as I did. "Well, OK, then," I said gently. "Then give me a hug and we'll talk about it next week. You have a good weekend, and I'll see you Monday evening at our family meeting. If you can't tell it then, you can tell me after the meeting when you get ready for bed." I said.

"OK. That's OK... I'll tell you then." While she voiced agreement, Nutmeg still looked more than a little upset.

"Right... now scoot along and have a nice weekend." I bent down and gave her a big hug, and signaled to Marci it was time for them to go. "It's time for me to get to work here."

I made a mental note and one in my appointment book to remember to discuss Nutmeg's secret with her Monday evening after the family meeting, got a cup of tea from the conference room and went to my desk to go through the referrals and paperwork waiting for me. A south California county had a three year old in need of evaluation and placement. He had been severely burned and psychologically abused, and Social Services didn't think he'd tolerate a foster home in their county. He had apparently become mute, physically resistant and extremely difficult to handle. He often refused food, and there was concern for his basic growth and health needs. The County was pleading for an immediate placement. They had no suitable place for him and he was currently in a hospital pediatric ward for his own safety.

Much as I hated to tell them that we couldn't accommodate this child immediately, I knew it would be a minimum of two more months before we'd have a space in the Evaluation Program, and I wasn't really sure we could meet his needs given our current population. I made the phone call to his Social Worker, who was as distressed as I that there seemed no solution for this child's problems at the moment. Some days are difficult.

____________

My husband and I took off late Friday afternoon for Lake Tahoe. We were both exhausted from several difficult weeks, and we needed a break. At such times, we often escaped from Marin County to the lovely mountains at Lake Tahoe high in the Sierra Mountains. As we drove through three climates to get to the resort some 8000 feet in the sky, we went through drought, rainy places and finally mountain snow. As we drove the winding road through the carved piles of snow, with the sun glistening off the jagged peaks. My shoulders came out of my ears and I felt the warm sun streaming through the car window relax me. I needed this space away – we both did.

Chapter 13

Life is Stranger than Fiction

Monday morning's staff meeting covered a lot of cases that week. We were totally full, and we had some extremely difficult children in our Treatment Homes at this time. Several were reaching pubescence and creating the problems only early adolescence brings. We all laughed as Debra asked the question of the morning: "Well, what are we going to do about the necking and touchy-feely stuff going on in the back of the Hilliard House van? I don't want any pregnancies in this agency -- at least not among our clients!" she exclaimed." While we laughed, this was a genuine concern. It was our job to help the young house parents help the kids to understand their sexuality and growing feelings of attachment, and to help them separate puppy love from genuine attachment. Not an easy task at any age!

Then there was the six year old girl at Bethany House who nightly loved to take a younger boy's pajamas and stuff them down the toilet, causing it to overflow, of course. .Our house parents had to be plumbers as well as caregivers.

And the houseparent at Hillview House who wanted to resign because she was feeling burned out. She had been with us for five years – a long time for young house parents to stay with us. She had shared with our support social worker last week that she just didn't feel she could continue, but her husband wasn't feeling the same way. The issue was causing major problems in their marriage, and the children had been party to some rather loud arguments between them recently. Such issues made our children feel unsafe -- just what they didn't need.

Staff meetings always involved a good deal of back and forth among staff as we tried to help each other solve the many problems that were constantly in our midst. At times, I felt more exhausted after a staff meeting than after a day of supporting our house parents or fost/adopt parents or kids, or writing the always interminable reports due "yesterday." Today was one of those days.

As I left, grabbed a coke from the machine and went into my office, Jan called out to me from the front secretary's desk. "Phone call, Miss Helen... some woman over in Mill Valley wants the kid from the article in this morning's paper. I left the number on your desk."

"Thanks," I replied, as I saw the yellow slip with the message and phone number on my desk. I had many calls to make that day, and lots to do, but this took priority. I dialed the number, wondering what I'd hear on the other end of the phone.

"Hello, Braidon's residence," said the voice on the other end. "Good morning," I replied. "I am returning a call someone there made to Children's Garden this morning."

"Yes, yes, that was I. I am Sue Braidon." said the voice, now pleasant and seemingly excited. "I was calling about the article in the Chronicle, in 'Children Who Wait.' I don't know why but my husband and I think that little girl is meant for us." She exclaimed.

As I listened, she went on at some length. "You see, we have a daughter who is 8, and she really needs a sister. I never wanted to stop at one child, but I cannot have any more babies, so this seems a perfect match, I mean, in terms of age and all. We know Kim would be delighted to have a new sister – she does keep asking when she can have a sister or brother. We think a sister a year younger would be just perfect. I wonder what's involved to make this happen. When can we meet this child? We have enough money and love for another for sure."

While it was nice to know they had "enough money and love," but much more than those two things would be needed to nurture and grow up Nutmeg, I thought to myself.

"Well, Sue, there's a lot involved. First we'll want to meet you and your husband, and we'll need to do a thorough home study, which includes seeing you in your home several times, getting to know you and your daughter and extended family if they are here locally."

"Oh yes, she'd have grandparents right here in Mill Valley. My parents live about five blocks from us in the hills. So when can we start?"

"I'll need to gather some basic information and then make an appointment to meet you and your husband, preferably without your daughter this first time. What's a good date and time for you, - and what's your address and phone number?" I asked.

We settled on an in-home appointment for the coming Thursday morning at 10.

_______________________________

On Monday evening, I went as usual to meet with the Evaluation Program house parents and their children for the family meeting. As promised, I took Nutmeg aside for her time alone with me after the meeting.

"OK Nutmeg, what is it you need to tell me?" I queried.

"Well," uh..." she hesitated and looked up at me with those dark deep eyes once again. "Uh -- Doc said I should tell you myself -- uh --" she stopped, looked at her hands, then covered her face with them and began to cry." I put my arm around her. "Nutmeg, what is it? Come now, you're OK," I said quietly as I held her. She was trembling in my arms.

"Yeah, You-- I know I am Ok now," she said in a small voice. "But I wasn't always."

"Yes Nutmeg, we know. But you are safe now, dear. What's so troubling? Come now, tell me. No matter what it is, it can't be as bad as you are feeling. Let's get it out." I cajoled.

" OK-- I 'membered -- it was Michael who did it." Nutmeg nearly screamed at me. "He was at the same place I was, I 'member. I 'membered at Doc's office -- it scared me -- and it scared him too!" She began to speak more softly now, and she held me tightly as I was holding her.

As she looked up at me, tears were rolling down her little face slowly. I reached for the tissue box that was near the bed and handed it to her.

"Yes -- go on -- what happened?" I asked gently.

"Michael .-- he .--. He -- well, he stuck a stick up my v-jay-jay, he did it, he did it! He wanted to play doctor, he said, and he hurt me really bad, Miss Helen. That's why I didn't -- don't -- like him no matter how good he gets!"

We had not been aware that the two children knew each other prior to being enrolled at Children's Garden. .Was this possible? Or was it a fantasy? I made a mental note to call both Social Workers the next day.

"I see, Nutmeg. I see. But Michael is older now, and he's been good here, and he hasn't hurt you here, has he? How long ago was this, Nutmeg?"

"It was at the Baxter's place. We didn't like them -- none of us did -- they were mean. They hit us a lot and they made us mad a lot. They made us go to bed with no supper sometimes." The tears began once again to roll. She sniffed: we got hungry, Miss Helen. We got hungry." She looked up again at me, tears rolling down her face. "And we didn' do nuthin' bad neither."

I hugged that little body very close. "I am sorry, so very sorry," I crooned to Nutmeg.

She held very tight: "I know," she said. "I know you are. Doc said I should tell you. He said I'd be a big strong girl growin' up fine if I could say it just like that. And he said I might have to say it in Court? Does I have to?" She looked up at me so pathetically ... so sad, and obviously trying to be so strong.

"Oh, I don't know, Nutmeg. I really don't know right now. But if you have to, I'll be there with you and you'll be strong, just like you were just now," I said. I wiped her tears with another tissue and asked: "Can I scrub your back in the bathtub tonight and read you a special story?"

"Oh Miss Helen, would you do that for me?" Tears gone, Nutmeg composed herself and looked excited to have my attention all to herself tonight.

"I surely would.... Now let's get your pj's and a very good book. You pick out a special one for tonight," I said.

Chapter 14

Finding a Home

Thursday was a bright and sunny morning, full of blue skies and the brightness only a California sun can bring. I grabbed my sunglasses and was out the door, where I stopped for a moment to smell the jasmine vine which covered our front wall and listened to the crested blue jay scold a little wren too close to the bird feeder for his liking. Marin County is beautiful place, and I felt fortunate to live there.

On my way to meet the possible new fost-adopt parents for Nutmeg, I found myself hoping this was a good match and also wondering if I wouldn't like to have this child myself. The latter didn't make much realistic sense. My husband and youngest daughter from a previous marriage had moved to California recently and were just beginning to be able to settle in. My youngest was then 15 and likely wouldn't care much for sharing with a seven-year-old, having had to share with three older sisters for many years. Only recently she had remarked: "It's rather nice being an only child!" We'd only have another year with Sue: she was a junior in high school now and college bound. And I knew my husband wasn't keen on having more children of any age. No, that wouldn't work.

As I drove up the winding roads of Mount Tamapais, light morning fog encircled the top of the mountain, but was burning off in the bright sunlight leaving streaks of green and gold in the sunlit areas. A golden light streamed through the redwoods and mixed with patches of bright sun and fog, I felt as though I was driving into a fairyland where mushroom fairies played in the groves. I guess I'll always be a child at heart.

Back to reality, I quickly found Strawberry Drive on the hill overlooking the quaint small city of Mill Valley. The home at 3400 was within easy walking distance of the well known Strawberry Point School, one of the finest in the area. That would be good for Nutmeg, I thought. The school had a well known program for gifted children, and Nutmeg certainly qualified for such programs given her exceptionally high IQ. She was reading at age seven more than four years above her age level, and would need and benefit from the stimulation of such a program.

As I drove into the large circular driveway, a young woman, strawberry blond with sparkling blue eyes, ran out to meet me as I stopped the car. Accompanying her was an adorable bouncing Bichon Frise, all white and fluffy as a puffball. She'd obviously been watching for me to arrive.

"Sit, Buffy," she said as she reached out to shake my hand. The pup sat, still wiggling it's little behind, but continuing to sit until she said "OK" to it.

"Hmm, I thought, she can certainly train a dog ... I wonder if she does as well with children."I was reminded of an old saying: "Children are like puppies: they need to know their limits and boundaries." Well, it was certainly true for the abused children who came to Children's Garden!

"Good morning. I am Sue. Welcome to our home," the young woman had a pleasant voice and charming manners. Would you like a cup of coffee? I baked some blueberry muffins for us, and Jack is waiting for us in the kitchen, "she said as we strolled toward the house through a lovely rock garden entrance into a large sunny courtyard." Under the spreading yew I heard a lovely song, and saw the cage which was intertwined around the branches of the tree with three lovely yellow songbirds enjoying the morning air and shade of the tree as they boisterously sang their trilling notes. Thinking of Nutmeg's criteria, my brain did a quick calculation review: "a blonde Mommy and birds!"

"Thanks, no coffee as I don't drink it, but I'd love a blueberry muffin!" I replied, noting the well kept floral gardens in the courtyard. The kitchen was sunlit and lovely with a long teak harvest table and very comfy captain's chairs around it, modern appliances, watercolors of fruits on the walls with a Turkish rug under the long table and a child's art work on the refrigerator made it a very comfortable and warm family gathering place.

Sue introduced me to her husband, a tall, rather swarthy dark man with a wavy beard and a very full head of black wavy hair. Though there was an air of aristocracy about him, he greeted me warmly and we all sat down as Sue poured the coffee for him and herself and tea for me.

"We are certainly glad to welcome you here," Jack said at the outset as we settled in with food and drink. We've been wondering how to adopt another child for some time, and this seems a perfect solution. Do you have a photo of the child?"

"Yes, well, let's get the necessary preliminaries out of the way and then we can talk about your desire and Nutmeg's needs. I have not brought a photo. We prefer that we complete our investigation and interviews before we show a child to anyone,' I replied.

"Jack looked a bit taken aback." "I see. Well, OK then," he said. "What is it you need to know? Our finances?"

"Well, eventually, yes." I replied. "But first, tell me about you two. How did you meet? How long have you been married -- your family history, and why you want a child." I looked him in the eye. "Money doesn't solve our children's problems, Jack, and while love is crucial and important, it's not enough either. I really need to get to know you and Sue, to understand your desires and needs, and to weigh whether or not Nutmeg would be able to attach to and love you. I need also to know how open you are to receiving the help and guidance you will need from our Children's Garden staff to learn to help and shape Nutmeg's behavior problems. While she has made remarkable progress in a short time with us, she will need continued special care to keep growing better and well. This will take several interviews, and then I'd like a chance to meet your daughter Kim and the extended family. Also, I may ask you to visit with Dr. Solomon, the psychiatrist who is treating Nutmeg, so he can form an opinion about how Nutmeg is reacting to this change in her environment and you can know from him as well the risks of taking on the life of a disturbed child."

Jack backed off. "Of course," he said thoughtfully. "I just hope it can work out."

"Of course, I understand, Jack... and I too hope for you and Nutmeg that it can."

____________________

Over several interviews in the next two and a half months, a visit to interview the older couple who would become grandparents if Nutmeg were to take on this placement, and the charming eight year old daughter, Kim, as well as Buffy the dog, and Sheila the cat, I began more and more to believe that this family were indeed "the right one" for Nutmeg. They had the intellectual and social environment which would certainly enhance any child's upbringing, the finances to manage a good college education for a bright child, and the love and expectations we all hoped our children would find one day. In addition to all those necessary facts, they also fit very well the criteria Nutmeg had requested.

The time was coming when we wanted to introduce the family to Nutmeg. However, one major obstacle stood in the way of such a possibility. The family's religious practice was that of Christian Science. As believers of this practice they would not use scientific medical practice when Nutmeg became ill, nor would they provide appropriate vaccinations or medical checkups. Instead, they would rely upon their faith in God to heal what the faithful believed were "God's perfect children." I had been upfront with them about this stumbling block in the Family Court system, which insisted on approved medical care for all state wards and all adoptions. Yet they continued to want to try this placement and asked if Children's Garden would fight for them and their beliefs in the Court hearings to come.

Our staff weighed the pros and cons, sought other family options, and finally agreed that if the parents would agree to a yearly medical checkup and vaccinations required by the state and public schools for Nutmeg, would continue Nutmeg in therapy with Dr. Solomon, and would continue for a minimum of three years in our fost-adopt training and support program, we would indeed go to bat for them with the County Social Services agency and Family Court. We warned them it would be an uphill battle which might lead to heart break for them and for Nutmeg. And we felt placement should not occur at all until this issue had been decided. Since Nutmeg didn't yet know we were involved with a family for her, she was not disappointed. But the Braidons were unhappy with this decision, though they understood why we made it.

Chapter 15

Nutmeg Blossoms

While we were all working with the family and the rest of the agency's business, Nutmeg was blossoming in the Evaluation Program and in school. She had really changed her negative and confrontational destructive behaviors to the point we felt she could now handle Public School and it fell to me to introduce her to Pleasant Valley Elementary where she would be tested for appropriate placement. While we had an IQ score of 190 on the Cattell, the school wanted achievement tests of their own.

So on a beautiful Friday morning in March, with the wild flowers blooming along the roadside, Nutmeg and I made the three block walk to her new school. She was excited and happy, but worried about the tests,

"Will I pass everything, Miss Helen? Oh, I hope I can go to third grade, not second, I read better than that," she proclaimed. She had recently taken a reading test in our small private school for our children in placements and she knew she was reading considerably beyond the second grade level. But she was still a seven year old, and that's usually a second grade placement. So I tried to head off disappointment.

"Well, Nutmeg, it's almost the end of the year, so they might still put you in a second grade and give you reading to do at a higher level. Otherwise you'd be skipping second grade, and sometimes that's not done easily," I replied.

"Hmm . Well, OK, but I don't want no baby reading." She said as we walked up to the school from the large parking lot.

A very pleasant woman met us in the outer office of the Principal.

"Hello, Katy. Welcome to our school. We hope you will like it here a lot. One minute and I will get Mr. Pritchard for you."

Nutmeg looked at me searchingly. "Katy?" she asked.

I quickly replied: "Nutmeg that is your legal name and they may insist on calling you by your legal name. Please try to accept it."

To my surprise, she sighed quietly and said a simple, "OK".

Mr. Pritchard, apparently the Principal of Pleasant Valley, came out of his office, extending a hand to Nutmeg. "Welcome, young lady. Do you have any questions for me about Pleasant Valley?"

"Yes sir, I do. Can I go to third grade?" Nutmeg quickly and rather assertively replied.

Mr. Pritchard glanced at me as though seeking an answer from me. I remained quiet and just smiled at him. "Uh, well, we'll see, Katy. We have some evaluations to do. I think you know about that, don't you?"

"Yes sir, I do. But I've had those before and I already know I read at 6th grade level, sir."

"I see," exclaimed an obviously flustered Mr. Pritchard. "Well, come along." He took Nutmeg by the hand, leading her down the hall outside to a small room where another pretty young woman waited for us. "Miss Johnson, this is Katy. She says she can read at 6th grade level and the paperwork we have so far indicates that may be in fact accurate." He seemed to be giving the teacher a clue.

"OK, Mr. Prichard." She turned to Nutmeg and said "Wow, you must read really, really well. I'm looking forward to our time together." She handed Nutmeg a book: "Can you read from this for me?" She smiled at me in a rather dismissive manner and took Nutmeg to the corner where a small couch and table, piles of pillows on the floor and a reading lamp seemed to form a comfortable reading corner in her classroom.

To my surprise the book she had handed to Nutmeg was L. M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables. I tagged along behind them and sat in a comfortable wingchair beside the couch as Miss Johnson led Nutmeg to sit with her on the couch. I listened as Nutmeg competently read the first four pages, only once stumbling on a word.

Miss Johnson stopped Nutmeg after the first few pages. "My goodness, you certainly are a fine reader. Can you tell me..." And she proceeded to ask several questions about the characters in the story, all of which Nutmeg answered well and promptly in a rather strong manner I had not seen before. Miss Johnson smiled at me. "I am impressed," she said.

She then asked Nutmeg to take a chair at the table nearby. "I am going to ask you to tell me what a word that I give you means. You can tell me directly, or use the word in a sentence, whichever feels best to you." She stated. "Ready?"

Nutmeg nodded.

"The first word is cautious." Miss Johnson said.

"Oh, that's to be careful," replied Nutmeg quickly.

"Very good. How about the word identical?"

"Uh -- that's like twins that are so much alike you can't tell them apart – identical twins," said Nutmeg.

The list went on for several minutes until Miss Johnson looked up smiling broadly. She took Nutmeg's hand, patting it while exclaiming: "Well you certainly are a bright girl and know a lot of very adult words." Until now, Nutmeg had been very serious. She suddenly beamed and asked excitedly: "Then can I go to third grade?"

"Oh my, that's a very big jump, Katy. I don't decide that. Mr. Prichard and other teachers make that decision, but I will certainly tell them you want to advance, and we'll see what they do, OK?"

"Mmmmm -- but will you be on my side?" Nutmeg asked plaintively.

"You bet I will!" replied Miss Johnson.

The evaluation had taken the better part of an hour and I could see that Nutmeg was anxious to be done.

"Is there anything more we need to do today?" I asked.

"No, that's it. I will be recommending a gifted program placement for Katy. I am sure Mr. Pritchard will call you by the end of the week with the appropriate placement and the day for Katy to start here. Now, I hope you both have a lovely day," explained Miss Johnson, leading us out of her room and down the hall to the front door.

As we left the building, Nutmeg began to jump up and down..." I 'cited, I cited," she shouted. "I like that teacher! I was 'fraid I wouldn't like her none. Do you think they'll let me go to third grade? Huh? Do ya?"

Laughing, I took her little hand in mine. "I don't know, Nutmeg, we have to wait till we get the phone call from Mr. Pritchard."

"What's a Gifted Program?" she asked.

"Well, that's a program that special kids get to enjoy because they are ahead of some of the other children in their skills," I explained. I went on, "Sometimes, gifted kids feel different from other kids, and it's also a place where they can share those feelings, and do special projects they are curious about."

"Hmm -- that sounds neat. I think I like that too," Nutmeg said. Then practically knocked me over with a giant hug joyfully shouting: "I cited, I cited."

"Well, you did very well on your tests, Nutmeg. How about I take you out for an ice cream on our way home? Think you can calm down enough to eat it?" I laughed.

"Oh, Miss Helen ... you are so good to me! Can I have chocolate?"

I laughed. "Sure you can have chocolate and so can I!" And we chocoholics were off to Olde Bailey's Ice Cream Shoppe.

________________________________

Two days later, Mr. Pritchard called to tell me that Nutmeg/Katy had been assigned to an advanced two-three combination grade for bright children, and that she'd spend a half day twice a week in the Gifted Program for grades 2-3. He explained that the Placement Committee felt she was strong in all basic skills, but still young and had moved so many times in various schools that she wasn't yet really ready socially for a third grade, especially in the last half of the year.

However, if she tested out ready for fourth at the end of the year and seemed socially ready, they would then advance her to a combination third- fourth in June.

I thanked him for the generosity of the Committee and said I'd share the good news with Nutmeg. I explained to him about her nickname, and he laughed, saying he understood and if she insisted, they'd likely go along with her.

______________________________________

I arrived at the Evaluation Program house about four the next day just as Nutmeg arrived back from her appointment with Doc.

"Nutmeg, I've good news for you," I said.

"Oh -- Do I have new parents?" she asked, jumping up and down.

"No, not yet. We're working on that, Nutmeg. But you are going to a combination second-third grade starting Monday!" I exclaimed.

"Really, really?" Nutmeg ran towards me, arms open for grabbing a giant hug. I picked her up and swung her around.

"Yes, really."

"Oh that's so wonderful. Wonderful, wonderful." And she began to sing a crooning song I've heard her sing rarely. I had noticed that when she's happy, Nutmeg sometimes bursts into song.

She stopped singing suddenly and exclaimed: "Marci and I are going shopping today. We're gonna buy school clothes and sneakers for gym and get paper and pencils and a notebook and everything!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Can I get red sneakers? Can I? Those ones with the lights on them?"

I laughed. What a joyful moment Nutmeg was sharing. "Of course you can, if Marci says it's OK." I replied.

Chapter 16

Nutmeg Begins the Journey Home

On the home front, we were slowly making progress. After a series of several meetings and consultations, County Social Services had agreed to a placement with the Braidons if they would sign a health contract which included a regular medical yearly checkup by a local County physician to legal age 18, recommended vaccinations, hospitalization treatments if recommended by the physician, and continuous overview of Nutmeg's health by the County Medical Services Unit. This meant that Nutmeg's doctor would send reports of her health status and progress on a regular basis to the County Health Dept. for approval and safety until she was of legal age. Social Services warned us and the parents that the Courts might not approve adoption under these circumstances, but they agreed that if the foster placement was deemed successful after two years, they would join us in advocating for permanent placement and adoption with the Family Court.

With these conditions agreed to by the fost-adopt parents, the Social Services Department, the Health Department and Family Court initial overview, we were ready to begin Nutmeg's placement, first as a foster child and, hopefully, eventually as a permanent adoption.

Working with the parents, we decided that we would begin now, in March, with day visits after school, and then proceed to overnight and weekends, with actual home placement in June at the end of the school year. This would allow Nutmeg to complete her school year without another interruption in her education, and then begin in the fall at Strawberry Point where the family lived. Four months of preparation would allow us to continue helping Nutmeg continue to grow into a healthier child as we helped her and her new parents adjust and begin, hopefully, to attach and learn to love each other.

It was now my job to tell Nutmeg about her new family and take her for a first visit. I had called Marci to tell her to have Nutmeg ready for a trip to meet her new family on Friday afternoon after school. She would stay for the afternoon and for dinner with her new family, meet her new grandparents and her new sister and stay for a few hours after dinner when I would return her to the Evaluation Home. We chose for me to do the first delivery and return home in order to assess her initial reactions to the probable placement. If all went well, the Braidons would then be responsible for her pickup and delivery. Now I was on my way on Wednesday afternoon about 4:00 to tell Nutmeg the news.

_______________________________________

Nutmeg met me in the driveway as I drove up to the Evaluation Home. "Marci said you were coming," she exclaimed, "and she said you have good news for me. What is it? What is it? "She jumped up and grabbed my hand excitedly.

Laughing, I swept her into my arms. "Nutmeg, let's you and I walk to the park and have a quiet talk there, what do you say?" I asked. The park was just around the corner, less than a block away, and a place I often took children to have private talks about important things in their lives.

"OK," she said. "But do I have to wait till I get there to hear the news?"

"I think it's better." I replied. I saw a little pout come upon that beautiful golden brown face as Nutmeg tried to contain her excitement. We walked hurriedly to the park where spring dogwoods bloomed and wild violets were poking their heads up through the grass. It was late afternoon, but the fog had not yet rolled in off the Bay, so the air was warm and pungent with the fragrances of spring.

Nutmeg quickly found a park bench, pulled me down on it, and said: "OK we're here. Please, please tell me the news." Her deep brown eyes pleaded as she stood over me, hands on her hips, demanding to know what I had to tell.

"Well, Nutmeg, it looks as though you may have a new family." I said quietly. "There may be a few problems to work out, but we think this is a very special family for a very special girl -- you."

"There was a moment of silence as Nutmeg hugged herself and crooned in a sing-song way very quietly: "I have a family. I have a family." Then an explosion of joy right before my eyes as she jumped up and down, twirling this way and that wildly, screaming "I have a family!"

She stopped twirling, put her hands again on her little hips and demanded: "Tell me EVERYTHING about them!"

"I will if you sit down and be very quiet. Come." I patted the space next to me on the park bench.

Nutmeg sat down, put her hand in mine and looked up at me, waiting with pleading eyes.

"OK, Nutmeg. Your new family are the Braidons. Sue Braidon, the mom, is exactly what you asked for. She has light hair and a lovely smile and her eyes sparkle. And I like her a lot."

Nutmeg was looking into my eyes, holding both my hands very tightly.

"Jack Braidon is the Daddy in this family. He's very tall, is dark and has wavy hair and sometimes he has a beard when he doesn't feel like shaving."

Nutmeg uttered a quiet "Yuk."

"Kim, the eight year old daughter, says he's lots of fun, even with a beard," I teased Nutmeg. "Really, she says her Dad is very special and he never hurts her or her Mom."

"Uh-huh -- I gots a sister, too?" She asked looking at me with very big eyes.

"Yes," and a puppy dog and a kitty -- and --"

"Tell me, tell me."

"Well, lots of love birds and a cockatoo and finches and more. And even a nice pair of grandparents right up the street a little way from where your home will be."

"You ain't spoofin' me none, now is you?" she asked urgently. Nutmeg was so anxious she reverted to earlier street language patterns. We had seen her do this several times.

"No, Nutmeg, I'm not spoofing you. I wouldn't do that with such a serious subject."

"I know, I know, but I can hardly believe this," she said excitedly. "Oh Miss Helen, is I really, really gonna have a real true home forever?"

"I hope so, Nutmeg. I really think so. But I have to tell you, you know, that the Family Court will decide this for sure, and we can never know what they will do in the end. I'm sorry that is always true, Nutmeg. But you already know it is. This time is a little different, because you have Children's Garden on your side and we will tell the court, if this is what you decide you want, that this is right for you and really urge them to go along with us all. That's a pretty good advantage you didn't have before."

"Uh-huh, Children's Garden can do ANYTHIN'!" she said with gusto.

"Well, not everything, Nutmeg, but we do pretty well most of the time," I said.

She suddenly jumped up, twirling and singing: "I got me a family. I got me a family... wheeeee -- I got me a family."

Turning to me and stopping mid a jump, laughing, she demanded: "When can I go meet my family, Miss Helen?"

"How's Friday after school?"

"Really, REALLY?"

"Yes, really."

"Oh Miss Helen I can't wait!" Nutmeg jumped into my lap and hugged me tight.

"We'd better get back to Marci. She'll want to help you pick out your clothes and likely have a talk with you about meeting your family. I will pick you up at school Friday and we'll drive over together. Your family lives in a beautiful home in Mill Valley. And your new school, next fall, is a wonderful one, Nutmeg."

"Can I take my lovebird?" she asked wistfully.

"Yes, you surely can, but not tomorrow. Tomorrow you will just go for an after school visit and have dinner. Then I will pick you up and bring you back to Children's Garden for bedtime. You will be visiting a lot in the next few months, Nutmeg. We're going to take this slowly, to be sure it is right."

"Oh I know it's right if you picked them out, Miss Helen."

"Thanks," I said. I surely hoped she was right. She deserved a good home forever.

Chapter 17

An Exciting Visit

Friday came quickly and with it an horrendous morning. One of our treatment homes had come down with mumps and three of the children were home in bed, complaining bitterly and keeping both the social workers and the houseparents busy trying to entertain them. The house dad had never had mumps and was more than terrified he'd come down with them. Our director had just learned she had a heart valve that wasn't working properly and would have to go in for surgery. Our phones were ringing off the hook with new referrals we did not yet have room for.

Consequently, all of us were in a bit of a tizzy and before I knew it, it was 2:30 and time to go pick up Nutmeg for her visit to her new home.

As I arrived at her elementary school, I saw Nutmeg coming out the big front doors with her class. She saw my little red car and ran excitedly.

"Are we going right, right now?" she asked.

"Yes, Nutmeg, we're going now. My goodness, you look pretty -- and very, very excited. How about taking a deep breath and calming down while we drive?"

"Uh -- I mean, my new Mom and Dad? "She looked confused. "What should I call them?"

"Well, why don't you ask them? I will introduce you to them by their names, and you could call them by Sue and Jack, or... you could ask their permission to call them Mom and Dad if you wish."

"Uh -- well, OK, but I want to call them Mommy and Daddy." Nutmeg's voice became very small, almost like a young toddler. "Do you think my real Mommy knows where I will be?"

"No, Nutmeg, we haven't told her that, and we never will without your permission."

She let go an enormous sigh. "Good, that's good."

As we drove up Strawberry Hill towards her new home, I said quietly, "We are almost there. Ready?"

"No -- can you pull over? I need to have few minutes."

"OK," I smiled. I pulled the Sentra over to the curb about a block away from her new home.

"Isn't this a pretty neighborhood?" I asked.

"Uh huh. Oh Miss Helen, I'm so scared. What if they don't like me?" Nutmeg grabbed my arm and pulled herself very close to me. She was obviously anxious and upset.

"You'll be just fine, Nutmeg. They have seen your pictures and they think you are just gorgeous and wonderful!" I exclaimed. "And they even painted your new bedroom like the one at our house," I explained. "I wasn't supposed to tell you, but perhaps that shows you how much they want you."

"They really did that for me? And they will let me bring Peaches?"

"Now, Nutmeg, we already told you that was possible. They love birds as you will see. Come on now, you are procrastinating, and it won't be any easier an hour from now. Let's just take deep breaths and go for it. OK?"

"Okay." She said in her smallest young voice as she moved back into her seat and sat up primly, hands clasped in her lap.

As we drove up the circular driveway, Nutmeg let out a huge breath and cried out "Oh, is THAT my house? Is it? Is it? It's bee-oo-ti-full! And LISTEN, I hear birds singing! Oh, is this mine, really?"

"Yes really. This will be yours one day soon, Nutmeg."

As I parked the car, Jack and Sue along with daughter Kim appeared at the front gate, ready to welcome us.

I heard sniffling and rapid breathing and looked over to see Nutmeg had tears in her eyes and was trying not to cry. I wiped her tears and gently said, "Let's go. Your family is waiting to meet you, Nutmeg."

I opened her door and she slowly got out. Suddenly she burst into a huge smile and took my hand. As we walked toward the Braidon family, Kim came first, put out her hand and took Nutmeg's: "Hi, I am Kim, your new sister," she said. "Welcome to our home,"

Next came Jack and Sue. I introduced them to Nutmeg. Both gave her a little hug and welcomed her. Suddenly a whiz of yellow fur went by streaming by quickly followed by a white fur ball racing after it. Sue laughed.

"Leave it to Buffy and Shadow to break the ice," she said. "Nutmeg, those are our pets, along with many birds. We understand you have a lovebird to bring later, too. Come, we'll all go in." Sue took Nutmeg's hand and then Kim's hand on the other side leading us through the courtyard with the many birds singing toward the kitchen door.

"C'n I call ya Mommy?" Nutmeg blurted out, peering anxiously at Sue.

"Sure you can, if that's what you want to do," replied Sue.

"And what would you like to call me? Jack asked jovially.

"C'n I call you Daddy?" Nutmeg asked shyly.

"You sure can, honey," Jack replied as we arrived at the kitchen door. "Now, this is our kitchen where you and Kim will do your homework nights, and where we all eat our meals, that is, unless Sue's parents are over. Then we eat in the dining room because there's more room. Turning to his daughter, he asked: "Kim, why don't you show Nutmeg the rest of the house?" He winked at Kim and she grinned back at him.

"C'mon, sis, this way. Kim took Nutmeg's hand and led her off to explore.

Jack offered me a kitchen chair, and said: "Here, have a glass of wine with us before you go." Over a lovely glass of chilled Chardonnay we chatted, sometimes interrupted by gales of laughter coming from upstairs where the girls had obviously explored and found Nutmeg's new room.

"Well, I think I can take my leave now. She seems to be fine," I said to Jack and Sue. I'll return at 7 to pick her up."

"That'll be fine. Drive carefully... and see you then." Sue replied.

_________________________

I arrived a couple minutes after seven to collect Nutmeg from her first visit to her new home. She was waiting, munching on a brownie as I came to the front door.

"Do I have to go now?" she asked wistfully. "We were just watching a good Disney movie..." her voice trailed off in disappointment as she saw the look on my face which obviously told her she would have to leave now.

I gave her a hug and a squeeze and said: "You knew you were going home at 7, Nutmeg. Sorry, but we have to keep to our schedule today."

With a small pout she took my hand and turned to her new family. "I don't want to go, but I have to," she said solemnly. "I had a wonderful time and I wanna come back soon. Can I, please?" she asked in a pleading voice.

Jack laughed, replying quickly, "Of course you can, Nutmeg -- and very soon, we promise," he said offering open arms for another hug.

"Nutmeg released my hand and ran to her new dad. "Oh I love you already," she shouted with joy. Then encircling both Kim and her mother, Nutmeg went on quickly, "And both of you, I love you too!"

Knowing she was obviously happy, but also knowing she was very good at manipulating to gain extra time she wanted, I quietly took her hand again: "We need to go very soon, Nutmeg."

Sue Braidon quickly gave her a hug, as did Kim, and Buffy the pup barked excitedly, as if to say: "You'll be back soon."

"We are wondering if Nutmeg can spend Sunday with us when my folks will be joining us for services and Sunday dinner. They really want to meet our new daughter." Sue spoke with a great deal of caring and earnestness.

"I looked at Nutmeg to see her reaction." She squeezed my hand, peered up at me with big eyes, saying "Please, please, please?" in a plaintive tone.

"I don't see any reason why not." I replied. We quickly made arrangements for Jack and Kim to pick her up at the Evaluation home Sunday morning about 10 and I grabbed her hand. "Come on, Nutmeg. It's time to head back now."

She seemed resigned to going then, and eagerly took my hand, skipping out the door after once more hugging her new family and Buffy the dog.

___________________

On the way back to the Evaluation Home, Nutmeg rambled on rapidly about her impressions of her new family. According to Nutmeg, Her new mother was "a lot like Becca .. I like her, and she's a real good cook, too!" Her new dad was "real handsome, but he has a real deep voice when he wants to be stern. I don't want to make him mad – not ever." She exclaimed. When I asked about Kim, the daughter of the family, I heard a bit of hesitancy, perhaps jealousy, as Nutmeg recounted, "Well, she's got just oodles of pretty clothes – more than I could ever imagine except in a store, and she's OK -- but I think it'll take awhile to get to know her." Buffy the dog met with her speedy approval but she wasn't as sure about the cat who had "snubbed her nose and walked away when I tried to pet her."

I laughed as she rambled on and on. It all sounded so normal for a little girl who had come from far less than normal life circumstances. I only hoped life for her could continue to be so real, so normal, and in her view, so "super fantastic."

Chapter 18

Life settles down... most of the time

As the days became weeks, Nutmeg's "new parents" continued to bring her "home" for periods of from half a day to a long weekend. They also began dealing with some behavioral and sibling rivalry issues. These they shared with the foster parents' support group which met each Wednesday evening in one of the homes. The Braidons were not shy and often asked for help and support.

"What do you do when your new child is obviously a better student than your own kid?" They asked. It seemed Nutmeg had tried to help older sister Kim with some reading assignments, and Kim did not react well, telling her to "bug off and go get lost, you creep!" Nutmeg had responded with a fierce temper tantrum and crying nearly all night, inconsolable even when Kim had apologized and assured her she had not meant her words literally. For Nutmeg, the words meant not only that her new sister didn't like her, but that she wanted Nutmeg gone from her life forever – more than she could bear.

As we all knew, Nutmeg was an adept manipulator, and as she tried to adjust to her new home and family, she showed these skills repeatedly. She used tears, tantrums, even running away as she struggled with her own issues of self worth and feeling worthy of having a "forever real family."

It was about 1:30 A.M. in the morning about two months after Nutmeg had begun her longer visitations when I received a frantic call from Sue and Jack.

"We are terribly sorry to wake you at this hour," began Jack on the phone. "Nutmeg has disappeared and we don't know where she could have gone."

"When did you miss her?" I asked.

"Well, Sue and I stayed up watching the Late Night Show and were just going to bed about a half hour ago and we stopped in each of the girls' rooms to check on them before settling in for the night. Kim is here . She was asleep. We woke her up, but she doesn't know anything. Nutmeg didn't say anything to her, but we cannot find Nutmeg and we've pretty much combed the neighborhood looking."

"Have you called the police?" I asked.

"No. We weren't sure whether to do that yet." Jack's voice shook and dwindled as he tried to control his anxiety.

"Please hang up and call them. I will be there shortly, "I said. "Be sure to tell them she is a Children's Garden Foster Child and tell them I am on my way to your house." The Marin County Sherriff's Department had dealt with our kids over a decade, and knew both how to find the kid and how to help the parents through the ordeal.

"OK," replied Jack. I could hear Kim crying in the background as I too hung up, got out of bed, and headed for the bathroom to wash my face, wake up and get dressed for an all-nighter. A few minutes later I was on the road to Mill Valley to the Braidon home.

When I arrived at Strawberry Hill I found two police cars parked outside the Braidon home. Neither had flashing lights or sirens on as they were aware these could frighten one of our children badly, and also wake up the entire neighborhood. Sergeant Bill Tilden, a specialist in child welfare and abuse met me at the door. I was surprised to see him.

"Bill, my goodness, how come you're out on a run-away?" I asked.

"Just filling in for Don, "he replied. "His wife is having a baby right now and Don's holding down the fort with his older kids.

"Ah -- Well, what do we know?"

"Not much," Bill said. "Doesn't seem to be any reason anybody knows about why this kid split."

"Hey, you know as well as I there often isn't any rational reason, "I said.

"Yeah -- but I always want one anyhow," Bill replied grinning sheepishly.

At this point, Sue Braidon came running into my arms. "Oh Helen, I don't know what we did .- where could she be?"

"You probably did nothing at all to cause her to run, Sue. Don't start feeling guilty, now. We'll find her." I tried to soothe Sue's guilt and fears. "Let's go into the kitchen and have some tea," I urged Sue. I knew that keeping busy was a good antidote for the anxiety and guilt parents always felt at such times.

"Oh sure... never thought about it," Sue replied and began to bustle toward the kitchen all ablaze with lights.

Meanwhile Kim approached me saying "Miss Helen, I don't know why Katy left. I really don't." She seemed to be feeling put upon and I noted her Dad had been talking with her.

"I am sure you don't, Kim. Please don't think we feel you are responsible," I said and took her hand, trying to assure her.

Jack Braidon looked at me with tears in his eyes. "Why would she do this?" he asked. ."We didn't discipline her. We haven't needed to this weekend. Everything was going so well. Why?" he pleaded with me.

"We may not know why for some time, Jack. But we will find her, please sit down while we wait. Have a cup of tea with your wife and me. We all need to calm down and be patient." I explained that the police would likely do a thorough home search and would have already alerted the police in Marin and neighboring counties who were patrolling the roads and streets. Jack wanted to drive around himself looking, but the Sergeant and I urged both parents to stay put in the house in case Nutmeg returned on her own.

Kim asked quietly, "Do I have to stay up too?"

"Aren't you worried?" asked Jack.

"Well yes, but I'm sleepy, Dad," Kim complained. "Sheesh -- you woke me up!" she whined.

"Kim," Jack said in a rather threatening deep voice. I could see that he was upset to think his daughter wanted to go back to bed.

"It's OK, Kim. Jack, if Kim is tired and needs her sleep, let's let her make that decision," I intervened.

"You're sure you don't know anything?" Jack questioned his daughter.

"I told you, no. She just went to her bedroom and closed the door after we played a couple of games on the computers. She didn't say anything other than 'goodnight.'" Kim exploded to her father rather angrily. "Now can I go to bed, please?"

"OK, Kim, but I can't believe you can sleep." Jack replied.

Kim stomped out of the room angrily and ran up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door.

Sue, looking worried, said" That's not like her, Jack. Something's wrong."

Sergeant Tilden interrupted: "Do you know what she was wearing, perhaps?" Both parents shook their heads. "She had gone to bed -- maybe pj's? " I tried to answer him for them as they both were upset.

"And this is the best picture of her you've got?" he asked holding up a snapshot of her with Buffy, the dog.

"They nodded agreement."

"Bill, Children's Garden has a good portrait of her. I can get it at the office if you want."

"That's a great idea, Helen. Would you please?"

"Of course," I said while putting on my coat. "I'll be back shortly, I said to the sergeant and parents, and headed out the kitchen door.

"Wait, Johnnie here will take you. No point in driving in this fog yourself," said Sergeant Bill.

So I was escorted, I think breaking the speed limit, back to Novato and Children's Garden offices, where I quickly accessed Nutmeg's file and pictures, taking a couple along for the police to use as they needed. A good hour and a little more had passed by the time we returned. I looked questioning at the Sergeant as we went in the kitchen door.

"Nothing yet." He said.

I sat down at the table where Sue poured me some tea and urged me to take a muffin. It was now after 4:00 A.M. and all any of us could think about was that little almost eight-year-old out there somewhere in the fog. It was now drizzling rain and was damp and chilly as nights along the Bay often are.

"So – tell me how this visit has been," I said to Sue and Jack.

"It has gone really well." Sue began. "We picked Katy up from school Friday afternoon and she's been with us since. Friday night we just kind of hung around here, played some games together, had a barbecue dinner outside on the patio -- just a usual Friday night here, really. The girls went to bed about nine. Well, they went upstairs about nine, we heard them giggling still at 10, but they were both asleep in their respective rooms when we went up at 11 ourselves. We had promised the girls a trip to Pier 39 on Saturday morning, so we all were up and out of here by 9 AM. Jack drove us over the bridge to Pier 39 and we all watched the big ships dock and had breakfast at The Eagle Café. The girls both love their huge breakfasts. After breakfast, the girls rode the Carousel. Nutmeg had never seen it before and she was awe-struck by the horses. We wandered around the pier, watched the seals, and the girls begged us for a whale-watch ride, so we took the three hour one along the coast. By the time that was over, it was time for dinner, so we just stayed at the Pier and ate a fine supper at Neptune's. The girls both loved their crab cakes and the view of the sunset there is spectacular. It was really a lovely happy day, and as we drove over the bridge on the way home, Katy remarked: "I can't believe I am really here."

Jack interrupted: "Sergeant says they've had a sighting, they think, but in Oakland!"

"Oakland! How in the world would that little one get to Oakland in the middle of the night?" Sue asked.

"I don't know, Mrs. B, but that's the one sighting we've had. They have her at the police station. They seem pretty sure it's your kid. Helen, will you go over there with me and identify?"

"Sure ... let's go," I said.

Sue and Jack wanted to go as well, and while we understood their eagerness, we felt it best they stay at the house. We promised to call the minute we got to Oakland's police station to tell them the news, good or bad.

Bill and I went out into the drizzle and fog, climbed into the Sheriff's car and he waited till we got to US 101 away to turn on his siren. It was nearly 6 A. M. and early morning traffic was pretty heavy as we approached the Richmond Bridge. As we headed downtown, I turned to Jack. "How sure are they that this kid is Nutmeg?" I asked.

"Well, they seem to feel pretty sure. She's black, got frizzy hair, and says her name is Katherine."

"Katherine? I don't think our Katy would ever use that name!" I exclaimed.

"You think this is a wild goose chase?"

"Could be," I muttered, just sure it was probably so.

Finally we arrived at the Downtown Oakland Station and went inside. We were met by a large burly officer who said, "You the folks from Mill Valley?" They got her in the chief's office," he reported.

He escorted us down a long dark hallway to the Chief's office door where we knocked.

"Come in -- Ah, Sergeant Tilden and -?" He looked up at Bill questioning who I was.

Extending my hand for a shake I introduced myself. "I am Helen Kelly from Children's Garden," I said. I glanced at the little girl sitting in a big leather chair near the Chief's desk. It was not our Nutmeg. The poor thing was sobbing and all curled up in a ball. She looked terrified.

I shook my head: "It's not her" I said quietly to both men. The chief looked sheepish and said: "We're getting nowhere with her..."

"I am sorry, but I must get back." I could hear the unspoken request to take her off his hands. Maybe call County DSS emergency number," I suggested.

"Yeah OK -- good idea." The chief replied.

We left with as much speed as we could respectfully muster. Now I really was worried. It had been over seven long hours and there was still no word of Nutmeg,

Chapter 19

Not the Usual Run-Away

As we drove into the driveway of the Braidon home, we were met by Jack and Sue looking relieved and excited.

"She's OK. We're going now to get her! Come along?" They both shouted excitedly at us.

"Where? What's happened?" I asked.

"Katy is at the Strawberry Hill Elementary School and she has Buffy as well. We never missed him we were so worried about the child!"

"Whoa. Wait. Tell us more," I said, looking at Sergeant Tilden. The Sergeant explained:

"Well, we just got a call from the security man at the school who was doing his early morning walk-around before opening up the school. He spotted her asleep in the back entrance to the school. He asked her who she was and she said her name was Nutmeg and she said she lived with the Braidons here, and the guy knew Jack, so he called them right away. "Let's go. We'll take the wagon," he said. We all piled into the large station wagon and breathed several sighs of relief.

I wondered why she would go to the school. She would eventually be going to that school when her placement was final and approved by the courts, but why would she go there now in the middle of the night? As far as I knew, she had not been there, though it was certainly possible she had visited it with Kim during one of her visits. I wasn't sure.

As we arrived at the school, the golden dawn was just breaking on the horizon. The morning fog was still heavy and it felt really damp as we exited the wagon and went in the front doors of Strawberry Elementary. We hurried to the Principal's Office, where Jack and Sue had been told the security man would stay with Nutmeg until we arrived.

As we opened the frosted glass door I could see Nutmeg curled up in the big office desk chair looking very frightened. She was holding Buffy tightly on her lap and burying her head in the fluffy dig's soft fur. Before we got the door completely open, she began to wail loudly:

"I'se in big trouble, I is -- I know I'se in big trouble. Oh please don't whoop me, please!"

Jack and Sue hurried to her and Jack picker her and Buffy up together and cuddled her. "Of course we won't whoop you, Katy, Katy, we'd never hurt you. But why are you here? How did you get here?"

Jack and Sue sat on a long wooden bench placed on the side wall with Katy and the dog, patting and soothing the child and the dog together, I thought as I watched: "That's quite a picture."

Nutmeg peered over their arms at me and the police Sergeant. "Is I in big trouble, Miss Helen? Is I?" she asked plaintively.

"I'm not sure, Nutmeg. We need to know why and how you got here in the middle of the night. Can you tell us about that?" I answered in an easy manner, hoping she'd tell us all what had inspired this rather bizarre happening.

"Well, I had a strange dream, Miss Helen. I dreamed I was going to Strawberry Hill School with Kim and that my classroom was in the back of the building where I could see deer and rabbits near the woods there out the classroom windows. Strange – I dreamed Buffy was with me in the class and he really wanted to chase those rabbits. In the dream he kept hopping up to the window sill to see the rabbits and barking. The teacher was annoyed, so I was going to take Buffy out and put him in the back yard there. I got up and I remember going to the computer and getting the mapquest website on the favorites list -- and I put in our address at home there and the school and I got a map showing me how to get to the school. I printed it on our printer and took Buffy and followed the map. It was hard to do because there aren't a lot of streetlights, and it was pretty dark. I was afraid I couldn't find my way home when I got here - it was so dark. So I decided to wait till it just started to get light. Then I was gonna go home before anyone knew what I did. I must have fallen asleep, and this man woke me up. Oh Miss Helen, I don't know why I did it! But I told you how -- is that good enough?" And having told her story, she again began to wail, "I am sorry. I don't know why, but dreams are real sometimes. They are, Miss Helen... they are, and so I do them," she repeated with some gusto, then again began to wail and sob.

Could an almost-eight year old really have managed to get directions from the computer and print them in her sleep? Or was she awake? Was this another of Nutmeg's rather fabulous stories, or was it true? And how were we to know?

"Do you have the map?" I asked quietly.

"Yeah -- here," she reached into her pajama bottoms, pulled out and passed a crumpled piece of paper with a printed map on it. Sure enough, it was from mapquest.com and it was a map of how to get from the Braidon home to Strawberry Hill Elementary School!

I gave the map to Jack and he and Sue looked at it with amazement.

Sue asked: "You really did this in your sleep, baby?"

"I don't think I was asleep," Nutmeg replied. "Well, sorta like sleep, but not really," she added.

"I don't understand," Sue queried.

"Me neither. I do it sometimes." She paused and looked puzzled. "I mean I have dreams in which I am doing something and so I do them really," Nutmeg answered.

"Yes, we've seen this a couple times while Nutmeg has been with us," I interjected. "But we've never seen anything quite this adventurous!" I laughed trying to lighten up the situation.

"Shall we all go home now and get some breakfast?" asked Jack. "We can talk more later."

"You're not gonna whoop me?" asked Nutmeg plaintively.

"No, we aren't going to whoop you, Katy. But we really don't want to see you wandering in the night again," exclaimed Jack. "Not ever." He repeated rather sternly.

"As she began to unfurl herself from his and Sue's laps, she said solemnly: "OK not ever."

We all thanked the security man as we left and got into the station wagon driven by Sergeant Tilden. Nutmeg fell asleep in Sue's arms as we drove the 2 miles back to their home. And as we got there, we made plans for a parent meeting with the psychiatrist Dr. Miller, and me for late that afternoon. I would call and let them know the time if I could arrange it.

"You all have a good day," I said as Kim came out the back door, rubbing her eyes and looking confused. She was followed by the cat who chased Buffy the dog into the house.

"Where were you all?" she asked. I came downstairs but no one was home."

"It's my fault -- they came and got me \-- my fault," Nutmeg said to her sister.

"Yeah, well you shouldn't run away and scare everybody."

"I didn't do it on purpose, Kim," Nutmeg cried and started to wail once more.

"ENOUGH!" stated Jack firmly, getting between the two girls.

I smiled and waved goodbye again leaving the parents to deal with the two daughters.

As I drove home, hopefully to get a little shut-eye before heading to the office, I thought through what had happened, What Katy had described sounded a lot like somnambulism, a sleep disorder. Sleepwalkers can get up in a state of low consciousness and perform activities that they normally would do during a state of full consciousness. Many people sleepwalk, especially in childhood, and while most sleepwalking is rather benign, it can dangerous as in cooking, driving, or even engaging in extreme violent gestures, or homicide. Sleepwalking in children is not at all uncommon and generally disappears as the child gets into adolescence, but we needed to make Dr. Miller aware that a third episode had occurred, this one far more complex than the simple walking to the refrigerator and eating we had seen at the Evaluation Home.

I made a mental note to call his office and leave an urgent message for a late afternoon appointment with the Braidons and myself.

_______________________

Fortunately, Dr. Murphy had a relatively easy afternoon and could manage an hour appointment for the Braidons and myself. As we told him about the previous night's events, he listened, nodding rather seriously. Dr. Murphy or "Doc" as we all at Children's Garden knew him, finally spoke:

"Yes, Helen, I think you and the staff have been correct all along. Nutmeg does suffer from somnambulism as well as a broken attachment which seems to play into her fantasies, fears and the events she seems to create somewhat at the edge of consciousness." He turned to the Braidons:

"You are doing a great job, both of you, and I know this is stressful, but if we can all hang in and continue loving and supporting this child through her fears, I think we're going to have one spectacular kid on our hands. She'll be difficult in adolescence, no doubt about that, and I think the adoption should take place before she gets heavily into puberty and all the messy emotions which accompany it, but I do think we can be successful with her. And she's worth it?" He looked questionably at the Braidons, who nodded just as seriously back. "We'll make it, Doc," said Jack. "But what's all this fear of being "whooped" and how do we handle that?" he asked.

"She's had a lot of rough treatment in previous foster homes. Probably the only good one was the last one before her failed adoption. She's remarkably resilient, given her history, but she will show us fears for a long while to come yet. She's been just visiting with you really a short while, and she's already showing signs of affection that are building toward accepting you both as parents. Your voice scares her a little, Jack. Nothing you should change or worry about. It's just that for some reason a deep male voice scares the heck out of her. No doubt there is a connection to a rough foster parent somewhere in her placements. She's an extraordinarily bright child and she's quite open to recalling and dealing with the bad stuff when it comes up. Amazing, really." Doc then answered a few other questions about the visitations, suggested that outside doors be carefully locked before bedtime, and urged them to gently lead her back to bed if they found her wandering. He then sent us on our way, relieved and more confident that we were on the right path with Nutmeg.

Chapter 20

Life Continues

Weeks went by with few problems with Nutmeg. She was doing really well at Pleasant Valley School according to her teachers and the reports which came home with her every Friday. She was to receive academic honors at the final ceremonies of the last quarter of the year, as well as an award for helping a younger student with reading. The school had an in-school mentor program where students from grade 2 up could help younger students, and Nutmeg had been really successful in helping a first grade girl learn to enjoy reading as much as she did. She seemed to have a natural aptitude for reading herself and somehow transferred both her enthusiasm and skills to the youngster she met with twice a week.

She thoroughly enjoyed her eighth birthday and had three parties – one at the Evaluation Home with balloons and cake and games with the children there, one in the Braidon's home complete with grandparents, presents and a lovely dinner and cake, and one at school, where Sue Braidon sent along cupcakes for the class and teacher. This was almost overwhelming for Nutmeg and she shed happy tears at each event. When she was asked why she was crying in school by a fellow student, she replied: "I never had a birthday party before and this year I got three!"

Over the next couple months we saw growth in all areas. She was a tomboy, and enjoyed climbing and running, so that the school athletics teacher suggested that she be allowed to stay after school to learn gymnastics. Nutmeg took to the sport easily: she was extremely agile and soon became, as her teacher said it, "a wicked competitor."

Coming home one Thursday after school she pleaded with Marci:" Please, Marci, teach me how to ride a bike." She was adamant that she needed to learn to ride so she could ride along with Kim to the neighborhood activities and parks with her new sister, Kim.

She said plaintively: "I have to walk and she has to go slow so she doesn't lose me." Checking with the Braidons, I learned she was telling it straight – she really did need to learn this skill to keep up with the children in the neighborhood. We gave permission for the Braidons to buy her a bike and keep it at their home, and we purchased a second-hand bike for the Children's Garden Evaluation Home – one that had training wheels for young beginners. It didn't take long for Nutmeg to lose the training wheels: she really didn't need them after a couple attempts at riding.

She and sister Kim were beginning to develop genuine caring and companionship. They shared many of the same interests, though their abilities in academics were very different. Kim had to work for her grades and sometimes had difficulty learning new concepts, while Nutmeg often surpassed her in understanding despite the fact that she was a year younger. The Braidons were very good in helping both girls learn to accept and tolerate each other's differences in ability and aptitude, and got a lot of support and help in this area from our parent support group.

I was invited to dinner with the Braidons, their girls and the grandparents one Sunday evening and was really pleased to see how cohesive this family had become. Mrs. Braidon Senior referred to Nutmeg and Kim as "God's perfect children," and was obviously very fond of both. Sue Braidon told me quietly she had felt it important to limit the grandmother's spending on the girls. "She just wants them to have everything, and we feel they need to learn to work for what they get." If this was to be the worst of their family adjustment problems, -- well, we could handle it.

After dinner the girls went out to ride their bikes to the large park next door to the grandparents' home and the four of us retired to the patio where Sue and Jack asked: "We are wondering if Children's Garden would allow us to pay for Nutmeg to attend the summer day camp at Strawberry Hill School this summer? Kim always goes and she really loves it. We think Katy would also enjoy it and she'd be able to make some friends of kids with whom she'll be going to school next fall. I knew the Camp well. Located at  the nearby school with a safe and secure facility, huge grassy fields, beautiful shoreline trails, multiple playground facilities and the peaceful Richardson Bay just a few steps away, Strawberry Hill Camp was a wonderful place to be in the summer. I saw no reason to refuse, but suggested that we take it to staff and Dr. Murphy before making a final decision and before discussing the possibility with Nutmeg.

"I'm afraid we can't keep it a secret, Helen," they said. Kim has already told Nutmeg she wants her to go. The girls brought it up to us!"

"OK, well the answer has to be "Maybe, we need the approval of Children's Garden, her county Social Welfare unit and the doctor first."

"Oh that's fine. We told them we'd talk it over with you."

I was pretty certain that Doris and Doc would approve, but never acted on my own suppositions. Something could have come up. I didn't know about, for example, from the County Department of Social Services which still had custody over Nutmeg. Fortunately her county DSS worker left the decision to us, and as soon as school was over, Nutmeg 's schedule changed for awhile as she spent Monday through Friday for the next four weeks in her new home and weekends with us at the Evaluation Home. We began working in earnest toward the final full-time placement, getting everything in order with Family Court, her county Department of Social Services and our own agency. It would be two years after that final placement that we would move toward final adoption.

Finally a month later, we had a farewell party for Nutmeg at the Evaluation Home. She had been there in placement longer than any other child had ever been, and her houseparents, though happy for Nutmeg, were also sorry to lose her. The adjustment for them was difficult.

As I drove Nutmeg on her final ride to her new home, I too had some feelings of loss. Though I would see Nutmeg probably once a month or so for the next couple of years, I would lose the daily checkup times and the weekly reports from her houseparents as she entered her new world. Nutmeg, too, was very quiet as we drove the winding road over Mt. Tamapais to Mill Valley. As we reached the summit lookout, she asked me to pull over so we could have a last look at the view of the Bay together. I was happy to do so -- happy to extend our brief time together today for just a little while.

As we stood looking over the bay with the fog rolling in, but still sunshine upon the nearest white-capped waves, she took something from her pocketbook slung over her shoulder. She handed me a small package with tears in her eyes, and said "Miss Helen, I want to give you something I made for you so you won't ever forget me. I won't ever forget you. Go ahead. Open it. I hope you like it."

Inside the small bakery box was a precious pair of earrings made from tiny shells and silver beads. I hugged this little girl who had stolen my heart.

"Nutmeg, they are lovely -- just beautiful. How did you make them?"

"Kim and I took a beading class at camp, and one Friday night we walked on the beach and gathered shells, and when we went home my Dad drilled holes in the shells for me. Mom and Kim helped me. I strung the beads and the shells all by myself, but I needed help with the silver wires to make the loopy thing you put in your ears." She looked up questioning: "You really like them?"

I took out the earrings I had and put on her little creations. Then I picked her up and swung her around, hugging tightly. "I love, love, love them, Nutmeg. I will always cherish them!"

Though I wasn't really ready to let go, I knew we should go. "Come on, sweetheart, we have to get you home," I said.

"I know, and I want to go, but I don't want to go, too. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I surely do -- but let's get on our way," I replied, gently leading her back to the car. Neither of us said a word as we drove on, though each of us reached over to pat the other as we went our way down the mountain's curvy road.

As we drove into the driveway, we heard Buffy barking, and quickly saw the family waiting once more to greet their new daughter.

"This is it Nutmeg," I said as I handed her the lovebird in its cage. She took it solemnly and placed it next to the other lovebirds on the perch to the right of us.

"There you go, Peaches. Now you have a new family, too," she said.

We hugged briefly once more and with tears in my eyes, I walked her to her new Mom and Dad and sister Kim.

"She's yours now," I said.

"Forever?" she looked up at me, tears streaming down her little face.

"Yes, Nutmeg. It's forever."

We all had a big group hug, and I took my leave as the family went into the sparkling kitchen.

T here are no words to explain such feelings: It's a strange wild mixture of joy, sadness, exhaustion and relief as we finally place a child in a "forever home."

Chapter 21

The Beginning

The next time I heard about Nutmeg was at the Parent Support Group three weeks later. Jack and Sue would be attending the support group meetings at least until the adoption was final, which might be for 6-8 months or even stretch out as long as two years, depending upon her social worker and the Family Court schedule. Many of our adopting families chose to attend these meetings well past the time the adoption was completed and legal. A few sets of parents continued until their kids were into adulthood. Our Children's Garden families bonded strongly through these meetings, and often took it upon themselves to take joint outings for a barbecue or other venture in someone's home. With all the kids and parents, they were quite a crowd. Forty five of them even chartered a bus once to take them all to the National Seashore nearby for a whole day of sun and surf.

Jack and Sue explained to the group that Nutmeg was doing well within the family. She seemed to be enjoying summer camp along with Kim and had really enjoyed a weekend visit flying kites at Presidio National park along San Francisco Bay. They had one concern.

Jack said "This may not seem like a big problem, but we wonder if there will be a problem and we're not sure how to handle it. You see, Katy is already as tall as Kim and she seems to be having a growth spurt and will soon be taller than Kim. She's already brighter – and she knows it – and we wonder how to help Kim who may begin to feel inferior as Katy is taller and smarter than she! The Summer Camp Counselor tells us that Katy is also remarkably agile in gymnastics and all things physical and really outdoes Kim. We see her also as a better manipulator -- she can outfox Sue and I if we're not careful!"

"Does she actively try to compete with Kim, though?" asked another parent in the group.

"Well, no, really, she's actually very eager to help Kim, but the differences, with Kim a year older, do seem significant," replied Jack.

"Well, I wouldn't anticipate trouble," said another parent. "If the girls aren't showing a problem or Kim's not complaining, be careful you don't set it up with your worries."

Another parent chimed in: "And you know, we talk about this all the time. These kids are different, and all kids are different from each other. You just need to keep talking about how differences are good, make the world go 'round, and find what Kim does better than Katy, so you can show them how the differences are a good thing."

"I'd like to reinforce that last point," I interjected. "All our kids, even within the same family, are really different from each other, and while sibling rivalries do exist, we can lessen them a great deal by pairing kids of complementary skills together on tasks, and by praising them for working well together. Try to stress each kid's individual and unique traits and talents and to acknowledge each one's successes and accomplishments."

"We found that spending some alone time, special time, with each child is really important in our family," said an adoptive parent of four.

"Yes, spending a special time regularly with each child not only cuts down on sibling rivalry. It also helps your relationship with each kid." Our hostess chimed in.

"We are sure glad to have such a supportive group to help us through this process," said Sue to the group. She smiled: "We really appreciate you all and feel we've made good friends here."

"Well, glad to have you!" was the fervent reply around the room.

"Oh, and Doc Murphy was saying at Nancy's appointment today that maybe Katy and she would make good playmates. Nancy says they do a lot together at the summer day camp. Can Katy come over someday soon - maybe after camp for an overnight?"

"I'm sure Katy would enjoy that," replied Sue. "You just tell us when."

The meeting went on with talk about a recent teenage runaway and how to deal with it, and with an announcement that one of our parents has just received four-month old twins and needed some extra help. A few good laughs and sharing of wonderful chocolate goodies and coffee concluded a good discussion and sharing time for our families.

As we were leaving, Sue and Jack pulled me aside. "We were wondering," They said, "whether Katy might have an appointment time with you soon." She seems to miss you a lot and talks about wanting to see you, and her houseparents, too." Jack said.

"Oh, I miss her too," I shared. "However, it's best that we let her adjust to your family and her new camp experience for a bit. After about another two weeks, I'll be over to see her, and to see how things are going with all of you. You certainly can call if you have any issues come up where you feel you need help: please don't hesitate if you need me, but we like to give the children time to adjust before bringing back memories of earlier relationships. We've found it works better not to confuse things for awhile."

"What shall we tell Katy, then? She pestered us a lot to be sure we asked you to come over really soon." Jack looked crestfallen, as though he did not want to disappoint his new daughter.

"Tell her to think about when she first came to Children's Garden and how she and the other children were not allowed visitors or family for the first six weeks of their stay with us in the Evaluation Home. They needed the time without interference to get used to us and we to them. Tell her it's the same rule now in her new home and assure her that I WILL be there in awhile, and have certainly not forgotten her."

"Well, we'll try," Jack and Sue said together.

_______________________

Time passes quickly at Children's Garden. There's certainly no room for boredom in this agency. And so two weeks were gone before I knew it, and it was time to make an appointment to visit the Braidon's. I called and asked about a Thursday afternoon after the girls returned from day camp.

"That'd be wonderful, Miss Helen," said Sue Braidon on the phone in response to my request. "And won't you stay for supper and a bit after?" she asked.

"Sure, I'd love to," I said. We talked a bit longer on the phone about the girls and how they were getting along. Sue reported that they seemed to be hitting it off very well and she felt that Katy was making friends who would be in school with her soon in September. She said her mother, grandmother to the girls, had bought each of them an American Girl doll, and that she had found one for Katy that looked a lot like her, and the books which came with the doll explained the story of a black girl living in the South during the Civil War. Katy had apparently really taken to the doll and the story, and she and Kim were really enjoying playing with the dolls together and with their friends. She also said Katy had discovered dance, and wanted to take both tap and ballet in the fall along with her gymnastics. I wondered if this was not a bit much, but Sue felt it important to allow her to explore all three. She said Kim was so busy with sports, track and girls' basketball and all that she felt it was important for Katy to have these outlets as well.

"You're going to be one busy chauffeur this fall," I said. "See you Thursday about 4:30 then."

Chapter 22

Real Feelings in a Song

As I drove over Mt. Tamapais to Strawberry Hill, I thought about the months we had come to know our Nutmeg, and how glad I was that we had found the home we did for her. We are not always so fortunate, though we try really hard to find not just a "suitable" home for our kids, but one that's really as perfect as can be for them. The Braidons were certainly ideal parents for Katy, which is what she now wished to be called. She seemed to feel it was finally alright to give up her previously selected name, a good sign in her accepting and finally establishing her identity.

Pulling into the driveway I saw Kim and Katy practicing cartwheels and back flips on the long green lawn, with Buffy the dog running alongside of them barking joyously. Buffy noticed me and began running toward the car, now safely parked near the garage and the girls came running after him. The girls were shouting, the dog barking, and as I got out of the car I held my finger to my mouth and said "Sh, I can't hear myself think, much less hear what either of you are saying!"

Kim spoke sternly to Buffy: "No barking \-- "and Buffy sat, looking at her quizzically, but was quiet.

"Oh Miss Helen, we're so happy to see you!" exclaimed Katy excitedly.

"And I am happy to see you both as well," I replied.

"Let's go in. Mom and Dad are waiting for you," Kim interjected and led the way into the sunny kitchen where Jack and Sue were having a cool drink.

"Come join us," they said together, as Sue poured me a tall glass of coolness.

"Thanks." I sat down at the table with them all. "So tell me, how are things and what's happening?"

"I'm taking dance lessons and I got an award at camp in gymnastics," offered Katy. "And Kim got one, too. We're both really good at gymnastics."

"You're better than I am," said Kim quickly, "but I'm better at tap and even ballet." But you'll catch up with me, I think."

Jack intervened: "Girls, how about you two go do something constructive and let your Mom and I have a little time with Miss Helen now? You can have her all to yourself after dinner, Katy."

The girls looked a bit annoyed with their Dad, but took off outdoors and I soon heard them giggling together at something. They obviously enjoyed their time together.

"They're a handful, said Sue, "but a wonderful one."

"How are things going?" I asked. "From where I am, looks as though the girls are doing well together."

"Oh yes, they are. They do occasionally have little spats, but I think that's normal, and Jack and I pretty well stay out of their little arguments unless we feel something's really not right. We do have a question about school this fall, however. We took Katy to school and they had gotten her records from Pleasant Valley. They feel she'd be in the advanced third grade here, and Kim will be in her gifted extra-curricular programs as well, since they combine third and fourth. Do you think that's OK? We are a bit concerned about their both being in the same group. What do you think? The school can move them around a bit so they'd be in different groups."

"That could become an issue, but I wonder if you've asked the girls about it, together and perhaps also individually. They may really want to be together, or one of them may have feelings about wanting to be separate. Since they will be in separate grades, they'll each have ample time to make separate friends. They'd only be together for the hour gifted program after school. Well -- I'd suggest you ask them." Those of us at Children's Garden firmly believed children should have the right to make choices.

"Well, how about we do that during dinner, then?" asked Jack.

"Sounds good," I replied. How is it day to day with two lively little girls to keep you running? I asked.

"Run is an accurate description of my days, Helen," said Sue, "but I really love it. If I don't get gray before my time, I'll just keep on loving it."

We all laughed as the girls tumbled into the kitchen with Buffy following closely.

"When's dinner?" they asked together."We're HUNGRY!"

"Coming up soon now. Why don't you go change for dinner and wash your hands?" replied Sue.

"OK, but do we have to change clothes too, Mom? Why?" whined Kim.

"Because we have a guest for dinner. You know why, Kim. Now go do it, both of you!" Sue responded rather sharply.

"Awww - mom --". They both left the room whining. How very normal was my thought.

We sat down to a feast of scrumptious wonderful food. Lucky kids, these. They got fed the best fresh food available, unlike lots of kids placed in foster homes that have to scrimp to feed large numbers of kids. And dessert was probably the best Crème Brule I've ever eaten.

During dinner, Sue opened the subject of the after school gifted program to the girls. They were very clear that they wanted to attend it together in the same group. It was clear from their comments that they viewed each other as both inspiration and helper and were really set on doing this together, as they were their gymnastics and dance classes. Seldom have I seen two youngsters so close in age, also so close emotionally. It was clear they sometimes were competing, but it was a healthy competition recognized by both and enjoyed, and each seem to revel in the other's accomplishments.

"C'mon Mom and Dad, "said Kim, "You said you were getting me a sister to enjoy. And you did. So how about letting us enjoy each other and stop worrying about whether we want to be together. Of course we do!" Kim looked at Katy meaningfully, who picked up the cue immediately.

"Yeah," Katy remarked, how come you two worry about us when we don't?"

"Well," Jack said, "I guess we've been told," as he looked at his wife with a broad grin.

After dinner, Katy took my arm and said, "Let's go for a walk to the park, Miss Helen."

It was still light, though the sun would be setting soon, so I said "OK." And off we went, hand in hand like old times when Katy had been our Nutmeg at Children's Garden.

As we walked, Katy crooned a song, singing the popular Dolly Parton song:

"My love for you is deeper than the depths of any ocean,  
And as faithful as the stars that grace the night,  
As constant as the sun making its journey through heavens,  
and we'll always be together you and I."

"I heard that on my radio," she said. And I thought of you. Will we always be together , Miss Helen? Will I always be able to see you?"

"Oh Katy, of course we'll always be together in our hearts. We both may move away physically someday. My husband and I are talking about going back east, but you'll always be in my heart, dear, and I hope I will be in yours." I stopped and gave her a big hug. She clung for a bit, then broke free and ran ahead, shouting, "Come on, let's get to the ridge where we can see the sunset." Apparently our views of the sunset in the past had made their mark, and sharing yet another was important to her.

As we watched the golden sun sink below the horizon, Katy pulled my arm and said: "Come, if we go down the hill we can watch it again!" And so we did, scrambling over the rocky path to the crest of a small hill below where we watched the sun turn golden and the sky streak with shades of rose and purple and gold. I held her in my arms and we both sighed as the nighttime came.

"I just had to share that with you," Katy said. "My sister showed me about seeing two sunsets. Isn't it wonderful?

"Yes, Katy, it's wonderful, it truly is. And you seem to really like Kim and get along well with her," I went on.

"Yeah, we decided we're soul mates," she said and looked at me with a face filled with radiant pleasure. "Did you know we were going to be soul mates, Miss Helen?"

"I laughed. "No, I didn't know that, Katy, but I am surely glad to hear it. Now tell me about the rest of your family and how things are for you now, Katy."

"I don't know where to begin, Miss Helen. My family is just wonderful. Well, I mean as wonderful as parents can be, I think. Sometimes they get cross with us, but we usually deserve it. We get kind of loud sometimes," she relayed rapidly. "We both love fooling around and sometimes we get Buffy to barking too much, or we play a joke on them. Sometimes they think it's funny, but sometimes they get mad at us. But they don't stay mad very long. We always get a hug and a kiss before bed so we figure they're over being mad then. Sometimes we stay awake too long in each other's rooms. We want to have a room together before school starts -- and then they get mad again, but we really can't help it, Miss Helen. We really have so much to talk about!"

I laughed as I thought to myself: "Couldn't be more perfect."

"Miss Helen, do you think you could tell Mom and Dad we should have our room together?" asked Katy with winning smile.

"I giggled at Katy. "Hey missy, now don't you start maneuvering me." I said, remembering how easily she had manipulated at Children's Garden. Old habits do not die easily.

"Oh I'm not, -- I wouldn't. It's just really, really important, Miss Helen," she said earnestly.

"Then perhaps you and Kim had better talk to your parents together about it," I said. "I'm sure you are both capable of doing that. You don't need me to intervene for you. " I replied.

"Are you sure?" she asked wistfully. "We thought it would be best if you told them first that it'd be OK with Children's Garden."

"Hmm, well, I think not, Katy. Your parents are the final say now, not Children's Garden."

She looked up at me with a puzzled expression. "But don't I still belong to Children's Garden?" she asked.

"Yes, until the Court finalizes your adoption, I suppose you do, but we are confident your parents are the right parents, and so we have given them all our power," I explained.

"ALL of it?" she asked.

"Yes, Katy, all of it."

"OK," she sighed a very long sigh. "Then we'll do it ourselves. Shall we go back then?"

"Sure," I said, realizing that the purpose of the requested appointment from Katy had been to assure her that her family really was hers and that it was alright with Children's Garden whom she had come to trust. This gave her permission to believe in and trust her new family, and perhaps to form a genuine attachment which would stand her in good stead for the rest of her life.

I learned a couple weeks later that the girls had moved together into the large playroom, making it their bedroom. According to Sue, the two girls were "simply ecstatic to be together so they could chatter half the nights away."

As the summer came to a close, I went to visit a few times and found a happy family full of energy and joy and coping extremely well with small daily problems. Both girls had enjoyed summer camp and were eager to return to school. Both had received awards at camp: Kim had received the award for "Most helpful Camper" and Katy had earned a "First Place" ribbon for her gymnastics prowess. When I went to visit on a late August Friday afternoon, the girls proudly took me to their room and showed me their awards, now framed on their wall. As a special treat I took them both to the Pier for dinner and then to see Black Stallion, a film adaptation of Walter Farley's story for children that tells the tale of the remarkable relationship between a young boy and an Arabian stallion. Some elements of the film struck the girls as similar to their story, especially the parts about how the stallion and boy become fast friends. It was a fun evening for all of us.

~
Chapter 23

Pushing the Time Line

Shortly after school began in early September, I heard from Katy's social worker that her county Social Services department wanted a report on how close we felt we were getting to formal adoption procedures. She too had visited Katy in her new home several times and had told her supervisor that she felt Katy was ready for the adoption and that we had succeeded in helping her become a healthy little girl in a grand home. While I was happy to receive her department's positive feedback about Katy, our agency felt that it was still too soon for formal adoption to take place.

Katy had been living with the Braidons for only four months, though she had visited overnight for a couple months before that. Children's Garden preferred to give both family and child at least eighteen months and sometimes two full years to weather the initial storms and reactions and to form a genuine and lasting attachment. County Social Services were under pressure from the State to get children off their welfare rolls. Consequently, they tended to move sometimes much too quickly. It was our job to try to get them to understand that what was in the best interest of the children was time to adjust long past the "honeymoon" stages, and to form a strong and lasting attachment. To not do so often jeopardized a placement and interrupted a little life once again – a failure none of us wanted.

My call to Pat Jelsun, the social worker to explain our position was anything but well received. She informed me that her supervisor was "into clearing the decks" and they had paid for expensive treatment and fees for Katy for well over a year, and that was long enough.

"Hey Pat," I cajoled, "you know yourself this child has already failed one adoption. If we move too fast, we're going to scare her and she'll bolt. I'm not sure she'd ever recover if that happened. Please get your supervisor to understand this is not a case of a child with one, or even two placements prior to this. In fact she was placed over 10 times in her first seven years. Her last foster placement separation was a heart breaker for Katy and the couple, and that adoption to the couple who trotted her off to Hawaii a total disaster. We really need to give her the time to learn to trust and to form a strong bond which will last her through a lifetime. This may be her last opportunity."

My pleading fell upon deaf ears. I understood the pressure Pat was under, but I feared it might spell disaster for Katy and the Braidons. At the end of over an hour's conversation, I was given two months in which to prepare Katy and her family for the final adoption in court. It was better than none, but it was going to be difficult.

I made an appointment with the Braidons and suggested that we talk before the next group meeting. I felt they were going to need a lot of support from the group and needed to know the timeline that Katy's social workers had set up.

______________________

My head was in turmoil as I drove to Strawberry Hill the next Friday. I had wrestled with the options all week, unsure whether to talk with the parents and Katy together or separately about the upcoming adoption procedures. I had finally decided it was best to do it with them together and attempt to handle whatever might come up.

The family welcomed me to their sunny kitchen and a glass of wine waited as they asked: "What's happened that we have this unexpected pleasure so soon again?" asked Jack. He was perceptive and looked a bit concerned.

"I had a call from Pat Jelsun yesterday. It seems that her supervisor believes the time has come to finalize the adoption for Katy." I waited for the reactions.

Katy ran into my arms, looked up at me and asked: "Miss Helen is it true? Is this really going to be my family forever now? Is it true I'm going to be adopted? When?"

I held her tight as I watched the two parents look at each other, seemingly astonished. Daughter Kim was also silent looking at them but I couldn't read their thoughts.

After a few moments, Sue spoke: "Well, we are surprised it is all to happen so quickly. We'd been told by Children's Garden we'd be in the training parents group for two years. This seems very sudden. And of course, we are delighted, but --" She looked somewhat pleadingly at her husband. He simply waited for me to respond.

"Yes, you will still be in our parent training group for the two years if you want to be. That's our commitment to you and we will not break it. Timing of adoptions varies tremendously, and while we think this is a bit too soon for all of you, we don't have much choice. Our date in court for finalizing the adoption has been set by San Francisco County as October 30th at 10 in the morning. Our director will be meeting with San Francisco County's Social Service Director next week and will bring up the issue and a request for a change to at least six months, but we're not very confident about getting any extra time."

At this point, Katy was trembling in my arms and turned suddenly to Sue and Jack: "You don't want me? You don't -- I can hear it in your voice." She sobbed and clung to me.

"No, no, Katy, that's not true at all. Of course we want you now and and forever, and don't you doubt it. It's just that we feel we all need more time to get acquainte,-- to get things established."

" Get acquainted! I thought we're acquainted enough!" Katy screamed and ran upstairs, Kim following closely behind her. "Wait Katy, wait for me -- I want you to stay forever. As she climbed the stairs, Kim was trying to comfort Katy. Her words faded as the girls got to the stop of the stairs and went into their room, slamming the door behind them.

Sue and Jack looked at me lost and confused as to what to do now. "Do we go up with them?" Jack asked.

"I'd let them be together for awhile alone," I said, hoping I was right that the closeness between Katy and Kim would win the day and convince Katy that she should stay. I knew the tendency of these children who had been rejected over and over again to run when the adoption process was imminent.

"What are you thinking?" I asked the parents.

"Well, not really thinking much at all," responded Sue. It just feels strange to have this come up so suddenly. We are very happy with Katy. We love her, and recently we've been pretty sure she's learning to love us. But we do want to be sure and we want her to be sure as well. We've heard some pretty gruesome tales around the adoption process from a few of the parents in our group, and bluntly, well... it scares us a bit."

"Yes, I am sure you have heard some difficult tales. Many kids have such conflicted feelings for their biological parents that though they may love their foster homes very much, they still have difficulty breaking the bonds they had with their biological parents, despite abuse and neglect for years. It's often a difficult time for some of our kids. While I don't believe there's a real bond between Katy and her biological mother, she certainly did form an attachment to the last foster couple who wanted to adopt her and couldn't. I'd be surprised that she has forgotten them and her love for them, though I am sure she also loves you. It just does seem very quick, and not really in her best interests or yours. However, I don't have much hope in changing DSS's decision. So I am hoping we can all get through this together."

"All we can do, then, is try, I guess," remarked Jack. "What exactly is entailed on our part?"

As I began to explain the California adoption laws and procedures to them, the two girls came in and sat at the table with us.

"Miss Helen, can I interrupt you?" asked Katy.

"Sure, Katy, if it's important."

"Oh it is important. I have to tell Mommy and Dad I am sorry that I screamed that at them. I just got so scared. Last time someone I loved wanted to adopt me, the social workers and the courts said no, and it scares me. It scares me somethin' awful, it does."

"Oh Katy, come here, sit on my lap," Sue Braidon gestured while Buffy jumped up and barked.

The tension was broken and we all laughed. I knew it wasn't the last time there'd be questions and concerns, but we were at least over the initial hump.

Kim spoke up saying "I told Katy there's nothing to be afraid of. She's going to be here with us forever -- even after we're grown up and maybe have kids of our own, we'll still come back to see Mom and Dad. This will always be our home and Mom and Dad will always love us." Kim ran to Katy and her mother, hugging them both fiercely.

"We couldn't have said it any better, Kim," remarked Jack. "That's my girl." He smiled and got up to join in the hugging. "C'mon Miss Helen, you need to get in on this hugging." I did indeed.

____________________

The following week I received a phone call from Jack and Sue who were wondering about the fact that the Courts had assigned a special attorney to Katy, a "child advocate," they said. While we had talked briefly about this, they had forgotten all about this part of the adoption process.

"Yes, that is expected, and the attorney will likely want to interview Katy at school away from home as well as at home with the family. Most child advocate attorneys are great folks and really do want what is in the best interest of the kids they are assigned to, so try to be friendly," I said. "You will need to prepare Katy for this right away. It's better to come from you than from me. "

"Oh, we were hoping you'd come over," said Sue.

"I can, but really, it is time Katy worked more with you than with me in all these life decisions now. I hope you understand. I'll be here for emergencies and back-ups, but you are good parents. You do it well -- and this is your child to do it with. Katy will be more and more secure as you take over," I tried to reassure Sue and Jack.

"OK, we'll work on that," chimed in Jack. I thought I heard pleasure in his voice at being given permission to take over.

___________________________

Over the next month, I learned that Katy had taken well to her advocate attorney, and the family felt positive toward the experiences they had had with him. He had told them he would certainly go to bat for them when the time came for court – a time that was fast approaching as the fall set in. I would need to get my case notes together and write a report for the Court date myself. This was a chore I never relished though I often had to do it. It's hard to be the "objective" reporter when you are as biased toward a child as I was toward our Nutmeg, but I would do my best.

Chapter 24

"Nutmeg" becomes Katy Braidon of Marin County

It was a cool, breezy October day in Marin as I headed toward the County Civic Center where the Family Court is located. A rather famous Frank Lloyd Wright building with clear arching ceiling and a lovely planted atrium, this was a building I often visited, sometimes with dread, and sometimes with great joy. Hopefully, today would be a day of joy and happiness for the little girl whose life Children's Garden had turned around.

I saw the family, including the new grandparents, dressed in Sunday best, outside the Courtroom's large carved double doors. They greeted me anxiously as Katy ran to me, took my hand, and asked very seriously: "Miss Helen, will everything be all right this time?"

"I'm sure it will." I said giving her a quick hug, and turning to the family. "This is your day to shine," I said. "Just be yourselves and all will go well. I have spoken to the advocate attorney and he's very strongly on your side," I said to reassure both parents and grandparents.

"Things better go just fine," said Grandfather Braidon, winking at us, "Or that judge and I will have words at the next Rotary Meeting."

"Now, now, let's not mix politics and family matters," his wife responded in a joking manner,

"Yes, please," Jack Braidon seemed a bit perturbed by his father's remark.

"Not to worry, now – it'll all go well," I said as the doors were opened and we were ushered in by a court clerk.

We were all seated at a large oak table to the left of the Judge, a rather large balding man with a gentle smile. "Next case" he said from his perch high in front of us.

A small man with round wire-rimmed glasses stood and announced: "Case number 1143, Judge. In the matter of the adoption of one ward of the State of California Katy Millin to Marin County adopting parents, Susan and John Braidon at the request of State of California, City of San Francisco Department of Social Services, sir." The little man looked at the judge, who nodded and the little man sat down.

Katy looked at me, her eyes questioning, and I took her hand under the table.

"So," boomed the large voice of the Judge. "And who is Miss Katy Millin?"

"I am," said Katy with a near whisper.

"Speak up, girl!" The Judge said.

"I am -- I mean I WAS Katy Millin. Now I am Katy Braidon, sir." Katy stood up and spoke in a very confident manner to the Judge."

"Ah, I see. Well, Katy, I am the one who decides that. Would you like to come with me to my chambers and tell me why you want to be Katy Braidon?"

"If I have to---" Katy responded slowly. We had prepared her to go to Judge's chambers and assured it was all right, but she was still a bit shy and untrusting about this.

The Judge laughed, lowered his voice, and said: "Indeed you have to Miss Katy. I promise I will not hurt you." And he came off the bench toward us, hand extended and a big smile on his face. "Come along now." He nodded to the parents, "We won't be too long."

Katy took his hand, went with him behind the courtroom, and we waited for what seemed hours, but by the clock was only 20 minutes. After the Judge returned Katy to her seat at the table where we all waited, he went to his Bench and sat down, rifling through a stack of papers.

"Miss Helen Kelly, I have read your report. Have you anything further to say to the Court concerning this matter?"

"No sir, we strongly believe that we have secured a fine and lasting placement for this child, with parents trained to help her through her growing years, and we urge the Court to accept our recommendation."

"And Miss Jelson, your comments, if any?" he asked of the San Francisco DSS Social worker.

"Only to say, sir that we did consider the issue of race in this placement, but were convinced by Children's Garden that this placement was best for this child. She has previously refused a Black placement, Your Honor."

"Seems to me all that is irrelevant to this case now, Miss Jelson." The Judge spoke rapidly and rather harshly.

"Yes sir." Pat answered somewhat meekly.

"And Attorney Peterson, your report indicates that you as this child's Advocate to this Court, feel that she wishes and is in fact placed in the home which is in her best interest for the remainder of her minor growing years?"

"Your Honor, having spent over 30 hours with the child and her current foster parents, Susan and Jack Braidon, and meeting with the extended family as well, I find no fault or danger for this child. Katy has been quite adamant to me that this is her wish and desire, and in fact, that she wishes no other options ever in her young life. I concur with her and her current family that the love and guidance available herein is what Katy wants and needs and that she should, finally, be granted the adoption she seeks today from this court."

"OK fine, enough verbiage," The judge intervened.

"And Miss Katy, will you stand please?" Katy did so, her knees shaking.

"Now Miss Katy, is it your wish and desire to become the adopted forever child of Susan and Jack Braidon and to join in this family as your family now and forever?"

"Oh yes, Judge, Oh yes, now and forever." replied Katy loudly and proudly. I'd never before heard him use the word "forever" in these proceedings and could only conjecture that he had heard it so much from Katy that he felt it important to use for her sake.

"And Mr. and Mrs. Braidon, please stand." said the Judge with a grin growing bigger by the moment.

"Now, Sue and Jack Braidon, do you take this child, Katy Millin, as your very own forever, and give her your name, that she may be known today and forever as Katy Braidon?"

Both parents answered together "We do, Judge."

The Judge stood, smiling broadly, "And one more thing -- I don't suppose, Doc Braidon, there's anything else I should ask?" he asked looking at Jack Braidon's father with a twinkle in his eye.

"No, Judge, just do your job."

At that the Judge had a hearty laugh, came around his podium to embrace Katy and Jack and Sue. "So I now pronounce that Katy Millin is no longer a ward of the State of California and has today become Katy Braidon, the legally adopted daughter forever and ever of Susan and John Braidon." With that, he planted a large kiss on Katy's forehead and said, "Congratulations, kid, you got a nice family here."

"Oh thank you, thank you, Judge." Katy threw her arms around Judge Bradley and then ran to her family and shouted "We did it, we did it! I am forever yours ...we DID it!"

"Yes, darling, we did it," spoke Sue softly. "And we couldn't have done it at all without Children's Garden and Miss Helen. So won't you all come back to the house now for a little celebration?" she asked as Doris, our director joined me and the family up front. Doris, always one to be there quietly for her staff and kids, had quietly snuck into the back of the Courtroom after we were seated and we'd had no idea she was there for the event. We were very glad, though, as we all knew that without her incredible healing agency, none of this would have happened.

We were a bit teary, including Doris, when we heard Katy ask her sister Kim "Why are all the grownups crying? This is a HAPPY day, not a sad one."

PART TWO

Chapter 25

Katy Speaks

Miss Helen was my very best friend while I was at Children's Garden and for a year or-so after I went to live with my family. She became a very important person in my life, and one with whom I would connect off and on for many years to come.

Miss Helen moved with her husband and family "back east," as she called it. Now, having lived in Connecticut for a few years as I got my law degree, I know where "back east" is. I didn't know then, and it seemed to me, then only ten years old, that it must be so far away I'd never see Miss Helen again.

Miss Helen knew from me some things about those years in-between ten and grown up when I returned to the San Francisco Bay area, but she didn't know it all. I want to tell you in my own voice what some of those experiences were really like.

I don't believe any adult raised in a good family, a family that did not abuse their children and who loved and cared for and respected them as they grew, can ever really know the depth of agony, pain and self recrimination that the abused child does – or at least I did. Perhaps you can try to imagine being both delightfully stimulated in places on your body where it feels really wonderful and then experiencing at the same time horrible pain, stabbing, hurtful, making you want to shriek and run, but you know you cannot shriek or run because you will be hurt even more. Or if you are a young baby, say just three months old, you don't have knowledge about not screaming or running away, so you scream because it hurts -- and then you are hit, slammed against a wall. Your bones are broken, your spirit as well. You know even then you are not worth anything; that you must be "bad." You hear that word over and over for years every single day several times a day, and you very well know by the time you are five that you are an evil, BAD child that no one really wants, that there is no hope for you.

Foster Care

By the time I arrived at Children's Garden, I had been in foster care for almost seven years and had learned from foster homes, all nine of them except for the last one, that I was a no-good, evil, bad seed. While I didn't know what a "bad seed" was, it was surely horrid and I was it. So I deserved the slaps on my face, the verbal hurts and strapping blows to my backside. I remember feeling so alone as a baby. I'm told now I must have been between three and four months old when I was placed in a crib in a darkened room and left. I howled and howled. I was wet and hungry and mad and no one came to hold me, to change me, to cuddle me in a soft blanket. That was the beginning of a sad and frightening existence in foster care. It never got better until I was six. I went from home to home, always with a social worker from the "County." I learned to hate social workers: they were always speaking kindly, "making nice," then dumping me in yet another household of nasty kids, abusing parents who continued to call me bad names, to tell me I was evil, to bat me around like a baseball.

I remember when I decided it was really true so I might as well really behave like the evil brat that I was – they clearly knew it. I'd better live up to it. I was almost four, and I decided then and there to brutalize anything smaller than me and to lie, cheat and steal from anyone as big as or bigger than me. It was a very conscious decision, and I worked hard to be the "baddest" I could be. Of course, I suffered the consequences of all that acting out -- my rebellion against a world I had learned to hate. It only made me hate more and act out more. I didn't know much else: though as I look back now, I think there were a few genuinely caring people who tried to help. I know now they didn't know how to help: they were as confused about my "badness" as I was about being labeled as a "bad seed."

Then, when I was nearly seven, I got a family, a new Mom and Dad (they all wanted to be called my mother and father) who really were special.

Becca and Steve lived in Carmel and were wonderful to me. I was the only child in their home. They never hit or hurt me in any way, and when I tried to steal from them or hurt them in some way, they'd hold me and tell me they loved me too much to let me behave that way. They were a lot like the people at Children's Garden and I began to really care about them, and to believe I might have a kernel of goodness somewhere deep inside. Steve, the dad, always said I could reach way down deep inside me and I'd find a wonderful good person inside me. He and Becca were always hugging each other and me. I loved the warm, safe loving feelings I felt with Steve and Becca. It was a wonderful home, and the one I wanted to stay in forever.

However, it was not to be. I learned in later years that the Department of Social Services in charge of my State of California wardship strongly believed in those days that a child who was "even a tenth black" should be placed in a black family. Consequently although Becca and Steve had wanted to adopt me, they could not. They were both white and I was from a black mother and a white father, making me, I thought "brownish": I didn't know the word "biracial" then. The world said I was a black child. Consequently, according to Social Services, I had to be adopted by a black family.

The social worker came again and told me she had a wonderful new Mom and Dad who were "black like me, and that I would be their child forever. Wasn't that nice?" It was the worst time in my life. I got my horrid kid out again and I let those people know I wasn't like them and I didn't want to be black and live in a black neighborhood. I had grown up that far in white families, in white neighborhoods and with white upper class family values, and I could not relate to these people at all. I remember feeling really horrible about calling the new couple bad names and acting out every day, running away, even when they took me to Hawaii with them. I hated the whole thing. I hated them, everything they stood for, everything they were or wanted in life and I let them know it every chance I got. They figured it out within a couple weeks of my most nasty self and took me back! I was delighted not to be with them, but totally afraid of what would be next. I wanted desperately to go back to Steve and Becca in Carmel where I had felt belonging and love, but the social worker said I couldn't go there ever again. I know now that I had begun to attach to Steve and Becca, and this was yet another broken attachment which would make it hard for me to ever trust again.

I was in a detention warehouse place for awhile, and that was no picnic, either. Basically, it was a young juvenile jail. We had our own small rooms with a cot, a small dresser and a tiny barrel window. We were on a schedule daily for eating, going to the bathroom, and having "recess". Recess was walking around the yard outside with adults who made sure we didn't get too close to another kid. If we were "good" and got three stars on our charts, we got to see a movie with the other kids on Friday night. Big deal. That place was hell and I cried myself to sleep every night, wondering if I'd ever get out and plotting what I'd do if I could figure out a way to escape.

On to Children's Garden

After a few weeks, the social worker came again, told me to pack my few belongings, and that I was being taken to Children's Garden. She said it was a beautiful place where they would try to find out why I was so bad and help me to learn to be a good person instead. I remember thinking to myself (I had learned not to verbalize my feelings by now) "Oh yeah? We'll show them!"

So I did. As soon as I saw that goldfish in the bowl and that radiator near it, I knew this was my opportunity to let them that I could hurt them worse than they could hurt me. To my surprise they didn't react much when I burned the goldfish on the radiator. "Hmm... maybe they are as evil as I," I thought. Now that was a scary feeling. It was the first time I hadn't been hit for a "bad thing to do" in years.

Helen seemed to understand I was scared, but she didn't really know the depth of that fear for a very long time, if ever. Here she was - a nice white lady social worker again. I knew that if I didn't please her, there'd really be hell to pay. So for a long time I did what she said and played up to her. But it wasn't long before I began to feel genuine warm safe feelings with her. When she hugged me close, I could feel something warm and wonderful inside me begin to melt. It was a strange feeling and it scared me. I got the same feelings from my "housemother," Marci, and later even from the teacher at the Children's Garden school. I had to see a psychiatrist, Doctor Bob, every week for a very long time. I developed a crush on him in my early teens. I just loved it when he hugged me, and I remember trying to get him to touch me more, but he never did. Dr. Bob also became a wonderful friend and ally as I grew up and I still occasionally seek his advice. Today, as a child advocate attorney, I often use him as an expert witness in court cases where I am a child's advocate. Beyond his extensive knowledge of children, he's a warm and caring human being that judges tend to trust, as I do.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

When Helen told me I was to have a real family of my own, all I could really think about at first (but never say) was "NOT AGAIN!" I had learned the game of being "good" however, and acted as though I was really happy about it. At another deeper level, I was happy and frightened of yet another failure. I was scared to death. I remember feeling so conflicted that I actually felt that I was split in two as I talked to myself. I remember calling my inner "real self" Nutmeg, and my "other self" Katy, which was what the world called me now. My inner conversations went something like this:"

Nutmeg: Oh no, here they go again. Just when I get safe and comfy they go and move me into another family again ... and with another kid. Dammit! Why can't I stay at Children's Garden forever? I like it here. They don't hurt me and I get to do nice things, and have nice clothes and my own room. I don't want to go!"

Katy: "But maybe this time will be good. You trust Miss Helen and Children's Garden. They wouldn't put you in a bad place like the social workers at the County do."

Nutmeg: How do you know? They can't keep me here at Children's Garden. It's too expensive. And I'm not worth the money to be allowed to stay here."

Katy: Now Stop that. You know what Dr. Bob says. When you have those bad feelings about yourself, you have to just stop and tell yourself you're a kind and wonderful girl and you deserve to have the best."

Nutmeg: Will I be able to see Dr. Bob when I go to my new family?"

Those conversations went on every night in the solitude of my bedroom at Children's Garden. Many nights I'd just hug my pillow and my teddy bear as hard as I could and cry myself to sleep. It wasn't until I had had many sleepovers with my new family and a lot of heart-to-heart talks with Dr. Bob that I began to feel some sense of caring and safety with my new parents and sister. But you know this story from Helen's telling. I just want to say that I experienced something incredible for the first time in my life at that courthouse during the adoption. Everyone was, so far as I could tell, on my side, approving of me and my family. Everything was right. My heart was so full of joy I thought it would burst. I'd never had that feeling before and while I loved it, it also frightened me. Was it too good to last? Would this really be my home forever?
Chapter 26

Becoming a Daughter and Sister

So here I was, Miss Katy Braidon of Strawberry Hill, California, daughter of Sue and Jack Braidon and sister of Kim. Little did I realize that day in the courtroom how many ways my life would change and become a dream I was to live as I grew up, and still do. As I think and feel my way back to those early family days, I remember the sessions of talking to myself sternly and telling myself I must be "the good Katy" and never revert to the "old bad Nutmeg." Dr. Bob explained to me sometime around my 10th birthday that I had experienced what he called a major identity crisis. I wasn't sure then what he meant by those words, but I did know that I was feeling strange and very conflicted feelings. Sometimes I loved my sister Kim, and we really did get along well. Other days, though, I wondered if she had something special I could never have because I wasn't "really" theirs. I wondered if someday I'd hurt them all and become, like my biological mother, a crazy person and have to be locked up in a hospital as she was. I wondered who my real father was: I would never know, and still do not to this day.

When I felt strange and confused, I knew I couldn't really explain to Kim or my parents, so I would escape into reading a book. I was an avid reader of biographies, always trying to understand the author's life and whether there was anything I could learn about how to live mine. I read Laura Ingalls Wilder's books avidly, and while I was taken into the world of Laura Ingalls while reading, I could only wish to be like her in Little House on the Prairie. I was living in a very different time and place. I didn't have a prairie or a farm and farm animals. But I did have a dog and a cat and all those wonderful birds. And I had parents I was learning every day to love more. In those ways I could identify with Laura. I loved her seemingly happy disposition, but worried about her moving from place to place. I fantasized about riding the western stallions her father bought, and I learned about making friends as Laura made friends. Laura was my friend and idol for several years until I was nearly 14 years old. I tried to be like her, and even wanted long pigtails like her. Unfortunately my frizzy black hair wouldn't do pigtails very well.

I also loved to read the encyclopedia. Call me strange, but an afternoon sitting in the pretty blue velvet barrel chair in my bedroom by the window with the Britannica or World Book was a quiet time I thoroughly enjoyed. My sister Kim really never understood my need for books and knowledge. She was an outdoors kid and loved to be with her friends racing through the countryside, the nearby national seashore, far more than I. At times, though she and I both enjoyed the seashore, the park nearby, and we did have many friends in common.

Kim and I had many things in common which allowed us to enjoy each other. To this day we both love to fly kites in Golden Gate Park. We both loved going to the Pier with our parents and loved the street food, the sights and chance to see all kinds of strangely dressed people who spoke languages we did not understand. We'd guess where they might be from and fantasize long ocean voyages to strange lands and adventures. We both had vivid imaginations and made up stories which entertained us and our parents on these weekend jaunts together as a family. Today I take my own five year old to many of the same places and tell her how Kim and our parents and I used to watch the people go by. I tell her how we watched people in different styles of dress as we did then. Today most everyone wears jeans and tee shirts or business suits and ties. We don't see the wide varieties of dress nor hear the music of many languages.

Many favorite memories and special times of my growing up years are those of times spent in the sunny yellow kitchen of our Strawberry Hill home. My mom was a gourmet cook and loved to share her skills and talents with Kim and me. Just remembering being there with Mom brings back wonderful stories and the sounds of laughter shared, exquisite smells of chocolate ganache and brewing split pea soup on Sunday nights. We learned a lot from her about using spices in our food, and loved to go with her to the Tyler Florence shop in downtown Mill Valley, where the exotic spicy smells pricked your nose. To this day the smell of cardamom or lavender reminds me of Mom. Go into her kitchen today and you'll still smell those wonderful aromas. Isn't it strange what each of us remembers as we go back to our childhoods? Those were warm and wonderful moments. The other side of those moments was the fact that when Mom cooked, I swear she used every bowl, pot and pan in the kitchen. It was Kim and my jobs to clean up after all the cooking, and that wasn't so much fun as we squabbled about who got to wash and who got to dry and put away the mirage of cooking necessities. Mom always made us do the pots and pans and bowls by hand: they were never put in the dishwasher because she might need them any minute as she thought of something more to eat!

When Dad would arrive home from work we'd run and jump at him, and he'd catch us both, toss us in the air and carefully catch us on the way down. He didn't do that so much as we grew older, but we got great bear hugs, and secretly he'd often palm a chocolate truffle from the wonderful Rocky Mountain Candy shop in San Francisco near his office. I suspect Mom knew he was doing that, but she never let on. It was just our delicious secret.

School Years

Kim and I graduated with honors from Pleasant Valley Elementary and went on to the Mill Valley Middle School where we were both enamored of our 7th grade science teacher. A tall dark handsome guy with sparkling eyes and a swaggering walk, we just thought he was gorgeous and fell totally in love, both of us. It never occurred to us then that we couldn't both have the same man: we both planned to marry him! Kim and I daily shared our fantasies: we'd all live together in one house and raise a dozen kids, have a happy home life and lots of chocolates. We learned he liked chocolates, too, and each of us saved some of the truffles Dad brought home for us and left them on his desk, anonymously, of course. You have to admit, sharing chocolate truffles is real love.

In Middle School I got into gymnastics, volleyball and a beginner's debate team. I don't know whether I enjoyed volleyball or the debate team more. As I look back, I realize that these activities gave me a sense of competence and competitiveness that allowed me to go on to gain more and more skills. I loved to argue in those debate team events, and I often won. As an advocate for children today, I still use those skills and I still love to win!

Kim began to seriously develop her artistic skills, and was a favorite of the art teacher, Miss Johnson, who spent a lot of extra time with Kim after school hours. She began submitting her paintings and art work to various shows which allowed students to enter, and she often won best of show.

Though many of our interests were different, we were both eager to win in our activities, and we still are. Kim today takes prizes in national gallery shows and gets commissions from some pretty famous people.

We both entered Tamapais High School and here we did not see as much of each other while in school. My schedule of advanced academics precluded spending much time in the same areas and classes as Kim, who was majoring in the arts, but we enjoyed sharing our experiences at home evenings. We continued to share a bedroom and were often told to hush late nights as we chatted on and on. We loved the same movies, had crushes on the same Hollywood stars, but now occasionally fought over who would get which one. Kim was a blonde, blue eyed, tall beauty and was extremely popular in her class. She had a bevy of boyfriends in high school while I did not. Instead, I ran with a small group of high achievers on the debate team, both boys and girls. We weren't ready for exclusive dates and going steady, while Kim was continually going steady, breaking up and starting another relationship. We continued to share a few friends we had known since grade school, and continued to feel close as sisters, seldom fighting. On our sixteenth birthdays a year apart, we were honored with "sweet Sixteen" parties in Golden Gate Park. I remember writing to Helen then, begging her to come back to California for my sixteenth birthday. She could not, but we sent her a video of the party and she wrote back that she was delighted.

My parents remained in the group of other foster parents they had first trained in for all the years of our schooling, and I think that even today they occasionally meet some of them for sharing "how the kids are doing." During our high school years, Kim and I really got close to several of the kids in that group of foster homes. We looked forward to the group picnics which were held every couple of months on the National Seashore at Inverness. Kim fell in love in her senior year with one of the foster boys. They ended up going to the same college, though they ended that relationship in their sophomore year.

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Not everything was rosy and delightful during those high school years, however. I got into a real funk during my 15th year. I was determined to see my mother, to try to find out who my biological father was. I had learned to use a computer pretty well by then and I tried everything I could online to try to discover more about my heritage. Looking back, I cannot imagine how my parents put up with my wailing and crying some days and nights, but they were incredibly understanding about my need. I even ran away for a couple weeks during a spring break from school. I know now my parents would have understood and tried to help me with this problem, but I felt guilty when I thought about talking with them. They were wonderful parents, and I loved them dearly. I felt somehow that expressing my anguish, hurt and curiosity about my biological parents and roots would somehow hurt them, and I didn't want to hurt them.

I emptied my bank account unknown to my parents and even Kim, took the bus to San Francisco and got myself a room in a very seedy hotel. Little did I know that the Mission District was where the pimps sent their girls to find their johns for the night. I learned my way around the city those two weeks in ways I'd rather not discuss, but I did manage to stay invisible to the cops, so that my frantic parents had a terrible time.

Of course my parents called the police when I didn't come home on Thursday before Good Friday after school. I learned later that they gave Kim a really hard time, assuming that she knew something about my whereabouts, which she did not. I saw my picture on TV and my pitiful parents begging someone to bring me home. Apparently they'd decided I'd been kidnapped. I called home then, and they were ecstatic to hear my voice. They said they'd come and get me. I refused, saying I was on an important mission I had to do by myself and I'd be home within ten days. I refused to give them the public telephone number from which I was calling, as well as where I was staying. I promised if I had any problems I'd call them. Kim got on the phone and pleaded with me to come home now, but I was determined to do this alone.

During the next ten days I spent a lot of time in the library on Bartlett Street trying to learn about black history and trying to find genealogy that might relate to me. I did learn a lot about blacks in America, about slave trade, the Civil Rights movement, and the lives of blacks in America for two hundred years, but I didn't find anything relating to me. I was not only disappointed, I was angry. And I was hungry for my mom's good cooking and homesick for my home and sister. When I did go home on a Saturday morning, I was greeted with warm hugs, and too many questions about where I'd been and what I'd been doing. I didn't want to share my excursion into black heritage, but Dad finally got it out of me a week later. It was then that he and Mom decided to try to help me to see my biological mother who was in Langley Porter Psychiatric Hospital.

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You cannot imagine my fear of finally meeting once again the mother I had not known since early infancy. I'd no idea what she looked or sounded like, who she might be, whether she wanted to meet me. I was intensely curious and frightened out of my mind for the weeks between my heritage jaunt to the city and my trip to Langley Porter with my parents. I saw Dr. Bob several times in those few weeks, and later after my visit with her. He helped me to begin to face the reality of a mother unknown, schizophrenic and really out of contact with the world much of the time.

It wasn't easy meeting this frail, pitifully thin, skin and bones, bent over woman with wild unkempt hair in a faded blue bathrobe and old silk slippers – this was my mother. Somehow I'd imagined a pretty woman, with sparkling eyes and good energy. She was not that. Her dark shadowed eyes, mostly cast down to the floor, occasionally peered up at me, without recognition. The nurse told her I was her daughter Katy. She did not respond, but sat silently on the chair where she'd been led by the nurse. And then she began to wail. To this day I will never forget that keening sound, so pitiful. I couldn't stand it and ran to my Mom for comfort. The nurse nodded toward the door and we left quietly as the nurse said: "She's not here with us today. I'm sorry." That scene still plays in a bad dream now and then, but for weeks after meeting her, I relived that scene every night in my dreams.

My parents still believe they should not have taken me to meet her, but I was an insistent 15-year-old who wouldn't take no for an answer. And how do I feel about it now some 27 years later? I still shudder at the memory, but that experience left me intensely aware of the pain of mental illness and the effects it can have on a child. That pain drives me to protect children who go through our courts, and to work very hard to ensure that they find safe, loving, lasting homes. That experience along with my awareness of other foster kids and their families led me to my current profession as a child advocate attorney.

For many months and a few more years I worried about becoming like my mother. I seldom talked about those feelings with my family, but I did a lot of exploring and wondering with Dr. Bob for several lengthy sessions. I couldn't get forget the deadness in those dark eyes, the keening wail of a woman in pain. I didn't want to ever be like her, yet I wanted her somehow to love me. It took a lot of years for me to be resigned to the fact that she'd never know me, nor I her.

Today I am mother to an adorable five year old little girl named Cynthia, after the grandmother she will never know. My husband, the nephew of Dr. Bob, who remains in our lives now as family member as well as advisor, both professionally and personally, is also an attorney, and shares the care of Cynthia. We live in the City, but still not far from the home where I grew up __ where my parents still live in the same wonderful home, and we visit often. Cynthia is already learning to cook and "do dishes" with her grandmother, and I smile as I watch Dad pick her up and swing her around, dropping a chocolate truffle secretly into her little hands. Life has been good to me, and the good really began when I met Miss Helen at Children's Garden. I only wish for every child the chance I had.

The End
