It Takes a Village

Over the holidays I spent a glorious three days with one of my oldest and dearest friends and her husband. In the midst of our catching up she mentioned that we had to go pick up Justin. I asked her who he was and she told me the story of their meeting. He was a seven year old that went to school with one of her friend’s children.  Turns out Justin had it a bit rough to say the least.

Justin’s mom spent her teens and early twenties pregnant. Because of that, and other reasons, she wasn’t able to graduate from highschool and ended up getting herself in a bit of trouble.  She spent some time in jail and then came home on house arrest.  The little bit of trouble she got herself in must be repaid.  Currently she is pregnant with her sixth child, on house arrest, and made to pay a fine that will result in a parole violation if she doesn’t.  I don’t think anyone really knows where their father is.  It is a sad story that unfortunately has been told too many times.

On the way to pick Justin up, my friend told me about how horribly behaved Justin was at school.  While making dinner, I wondered how this sweet little boy  - putting way too much cheese on the quesadillas – could create havoc in his class all day and be so smiley and full of life in my friends’ home.  It couldn’t have had anything to do with the fact that he had the undivided attention of three adults watching him pile heaps of cheese on the food, I’m sure.

Justin and my friends did lots of really fun things on their evenings together.  They explored the woods for his first time, practiced basketball because the season was about to start, and cooked dinner, which it turns out, he likes to do.  That night we talked about his goals for the new year. He decided that he wanted to be a really good basketball player, and we helped him write down some ways that he could do that.

After we dropped him off at home, I asked my friend a bit more about how she got connected with Justin.  It turns out that some of his brothers are also finding themselves in similar positions an evening or two a week, in the homes of folks who can give them a bit of attention and some experiences that they may not otherwise have.   The big thing this month was the beginning of basketball season.  I can just see them all now, my friend and her husband, some other families, and the boys, as they take the court for their first game.

Over the course of the few days I was there, other conversations took place about how to help the mom find a job and make sure the kids’ needs were met.  It struck me how collective the whole thing was.  Different people involved in different aspects of helping this family out.  You know that old saying, “It takes a village to raise a child.”  It seems to me that this is true and that, for those boys, there is a little village forming around them to help them grow into men.  I began to think of my own life, wondering where I can find a village to be a part of too.