Articles that I have not posted by Lady (Jonathan's mom)

MEMORIES OF OUR FOSTER BOY............................
With more than a little interest, I read the Oct. 11 article concerning the need for additional foster homes in our area -- remembering and pondering our family's experience.
In November of 1972, we learned of a 5-year-old boy in need of a home. Though neither of us had ever considered becoming foster parents, we knew we would take him, sight unseen.
No child should be without a place to belong, especially at Christmas.
We made the necessary connections through Christian Homes of Abilene to begin the process of filling out forms and passing inspections (a note of assurance: They don't look under the beds.). We joked that there were more requirements for taking someone else's child than having your own!
The agency knew very little of Charlie's background; he was from a distant state, the third of four children. Thankfully, an aunt had notified the authorities of their need.
We gently prepared our children, ages 2, 5, 7 and 10, and waited, with eager anticipation, the arrival of their new brother.
Charlie arrived with a sack of toys and a box of clothes. He was small and walked with an unstable gait, which we would come to recognize.
I bent down and spoke, and he smiled a toothless grin. His teeth were rotted. His huge brown eyes never left my face.
The first night, we learned Charlie wasn't potty trained. Our 5-year-old informed us, with a scream from the bathtub, while bathing with Charlie.
He didn't communicate, but played silently beside -- but not with -- the boys. The girls gently mothered him.
Our family took each day as it came with this strange little creature. It was not what we had envisioned, but we were glad he was there.
Charlie's first word came when I dropped beans on the floor. He rushed over, picked them up and said, "Bean, bean." At last, something familiar.
A month after Charlie arrived, he received a letter from his aunt. I read it to him as he sat still and listened. He took the letter to the front porch swing and sobbed.
He had no words. Nor did I.
That night, he slept with the letter on his pillow.
Christmas was the best ever. We watched our children open their hearts (more lasting than opening presents), learning there is a wealth that surpasses money.
Shortly after Christmas, we learned Charlie had muscular dystrophy, a disease that affects the muscles of the body.
"This cannot be," we said.
But it was.
We saw Charlie's physical health deteriorate as his delightful personality grew and developed. He was stubborn, mischievous and a tease with an infectious laugh. He learned to talk, making up for lost time.
As his body became less mobile, brothers and sisters pulled him in a wagon or pushed him in a wheelchair while embarking on common childhood adventures. Their favorite pastime was to pop wheelies with his wheel chair while he screamed -- in fear or delight!
Nothing could have prepared us for the experience of a little boy named Charlie: the love, the uncertainty, the laughter or the tears. We learned from Charlie to walk slower, look past a wheelchair to the person, not to be afraid, or uncomfortable, with those who are different than us.
We learned not to make assumptions or rely on first impressions. We learned that everyone is the same in the need to be loved.
Charlie died at the age of 23.
We believe he is no longer bound by a weak body and limited vocabulary. His delightful sense of humor must keep the angels chuckling.
That's what his memory does for us.
Betty Davis is a former president of the Abilene school board.