Adopt a Parent

Adopt a Parent

How would you like to pick the kind of people who will be your parents? An appealing option if you happen to be an idealistic teen or you’re a run away from home because it was filled with violence.

You say you can’t pick a parent as if they are stacked on supermarket shelves. True, but you can choose who you would trust completely as if they were loving parents. Of course a child who endured unfeeling parents may think they want nothing more to do with a mother or father figure again. That resolution could weaken if they have no one with whom to seek support. 

Oh yes, there is one other person who would enjoy designing the character of a parent––an author who has placed his protagonist, a lonely runaway teenager in a distant part of the country. In my novel, Baggage burdens., that is Jill’s situation when she moves to Camrose, Alberta. No parents––she’ll never go back to her abusive home. No close friends. Robin deserted her. Dave broke his promise of only a platonic relationship. No other family. Her grandmother, Josey, took Dave’s side when he asked for a second chance.

Jill’s immediate expectations are a place to live and a job to be able to buy food. Her life has been really rough. She deserves much more, so I designed an employer/landlord with a strong loving character. I gave her Mary, a character with flaws, but flaws that serve to draw Jill closer instead of driving Jill away. What traits, what actions could Mary do that would win Jill’s complete trust and respect?

“You excited about being here?” questions Mary.

 ‘More like worried out of my mind,’ thinks Jill. ‘I rushed to pack and leave before Josey came.’ 

“Yes, you can say that,” answers Jill.

“I have to tell you, I think you’re a courageous girl. I can’t imagine going out to a strange place myself, especially being as young as you are.” 

Jill thanks Mary for the compliment. 

“What else?” continues Mary. “What did you do for the summer?”

Jill breathes a sigh of relief. ‘The summer. I can tell her about that. I can tell her about working in the play.’ 

When Jill finishes, Mary prods for more information. “What about your family?” 

Jill feels her face turn bright red. She looks down so Mary can’t see her reaction. “I’m sorry, that’s personal, too personal,” mutters Jill.

“No, no. Pardon me. I never know when to stop asking questions. I apologize.”  After seeing Jill nod her acceptance, she adds, “Want another cup of tea?”  When Jill looks up and shakes her head, Mary tries another strategy to move away from her nosiness. “Say, would you like to see where you’ll be living?  It’s just upstairs.” Jill gratefully accepts the diversion.

In the excerpt below Mary shares a very private event in her life.

“You know, when you came to us last fall, Ed and I were so happy. It was as if our daughter had come home from college or something.” 

A puzzled look fills Jill. Mary has never talked about her children. No one had ever said anything about Mary and Ed having a child. 

“You remember when Ed and I said we missed you at our Thanksgiving dinner?” 

Jill nods, wishing that incident had been long forgotten. 

“We had hoped you felt like we were like a family to you. To us, you’re like the daughter that I almost had.”

Mary pauses, takes a deep breath, and wipes the tears that unexpectedly well up in her eyes. Jill waits patiently not knowing from where this is coming or how to respond.  Mary takes another deep breath before she continues with her story.

*   *   *

Jill slides her chair next to Mary. She wraps her arms around Mary. For a while they sit quietly absorbing the pain of Mary’s secret. Finally, Jill finds her voice.

“I take it this is a secret that only you and Ed have?”

“Until now. You’re the only other one who knows what really happened long ago.”

It seems like an hour to Jill before she works up the courage to ask, “I don’t want to sound insensitive, but why share such a private painful memory with me? I don’t understand.”

Red eyes look straight into Jill’s eyes. “Forgive me if I want to look at you as my daughter. I know I have no right. At the same time, from so many things that you have left unfinished or unsaid, I suspect something really painful must have happened to your mother or between you and your mother. Like me, you have no one with whom to confide. I can’t think of any other way to show you that I care for you very deeply.”

“I appreciate it. I really do.” Jill bows her head. “But I, but I don’t deserve it. I’ve done nothing to earn your trust.” Jill pauses before she ads, “or your love.”

Creating a best friend/mom for Jill is like making a birthday present for her.

haiku capsule:                 

mother-like welcome     

daughter in need of a friend

family bond born

    Next blog: Crafting a Parent