God Makes a Family

This was a final project for one of my divinity school classes on Spiritual Autobiographies/Memoirs 

God Makes a Family

Introduction

            I am talking with my seven-year old son Isaac after I just picked him up from the school bus stop. The conversation is the normal, “How was your day? – Do you have homework? – Who did something silly at recess?” - The same after-school conversation that we have almost everyday.

            The mind of a 7-year old is certainly something to behold. I can honestly say I’ve never experienced something so random! He can be so random that sometimes I think I should have him pick the numbers for the “Mega-Millions” lottery for me. He just might be random enough to pick the right numbers to usher me into early retirement on some tropical island where I can be “king of my own castle.”

            The randomness comes into play just as we are talking about how his friend Diego combined the words “sweet” and “awesome” to form the new term “SWASOME!” It’s best that I don’t ask…I just smile and agree. Randomly, we take a “turn to the left” – “Dad, tell me about my brother.” Thankfully, this is randomness I enjoy discussing.

            Biologically, Isaac doesn’t have a brother. Biologically, he has a sister, Clara, who will be home when my wife finishes work and picks her up from daycare in about an hour or so. But, Isaac does have a brother in the truest sense of the word – and he has two more sisters.

            Does biology define family? Does love define family? Does God define family? You would get a different answer depending upon the person you ask. Of course, biology determines family, but I’m convinced after everything I’ve gone through that God and love determine true family and that I don’t just have two kids – I have five that I love with all my heart.

            And so, for the third or fifth or fiftieth time – who’s counting at this point? – I tell Isaac about his brother…and his sisters. I just hope one day he’ll meet them again now that he’s at an age where he can remember them.

Congratulations – It’s a Boy (Dayton, Ohio – 2003)

            I was the music teacher at an inner-city school for students in grades K-8. For the most part, I loved my job. I hated how the system had forgotten these kids. The state ignored and continues to ignore urban students because of “failing test scores” on statistically invalid “standardized” state-mandated tests. The Ohio Supreme Court even deemed school funding “unconstitutional,” but still refuses to enforce or even define what would make it “constitutional.” So urban youth are basically on the school-to-prison pipeline.

            Some teachers and social workers for foster children dubbed me a “pain in the ass.” – I was “too emotional.” I was “too involved in the lives of the students.” I “cared too much.” I never realized that was a character flaw – I thought it was “loving my neighbor as myself.”

            My principal would send me the students she couldn’t handle or the ones she thought would respond better to me when they were booted from their other classes. I could make most of them cry just by shaking my head and saying, “I’m disappointed.” I even had my own “posse” of students – my own personal “groupies.” I rarely had to deal with my own discipline problems – My “posse” took care of them for me at recess. One day, I honestly had to tell Lavada that she didn’t have to be that hard on some kids to make them actually bleed just for misbehaving in music class. For the record – I never asked her to take care of my problems. She did it out of a sense of loyalty. I helped her with some problems, and she had many problems, and she felt she owed me.

            Then, one day, in came Rion. He was in third grade. I’ve rarely had trouble reaching any child. I could always seem to connect at least on some level with any student, but the only type of reaching I wanted to do with Rion from the first time I met him involved reaching and then strangling! He was sneaky. He called the girls names just to get them upset. After a few classes, I flat out told him that if someone tried to beat him up, I was going to sit back and watch – it would be his own fault anyway.

Each time I had Rion in class – two times a week - he became a little more annoying than the previous time. I separated him from others, but somehow he would creep his way over to the rest of the class and become the “mosquito” irritating them. After a while, I tried a different technique that teachers use – rewarding his good behavior…He never earned the first reward.

I resorted to my last and most desperate step. I got him alone. I found a part of the hall that echoes. I used my loud voice – my very loud voice reserved for the chosen few. I can’t remember everything I said, but I believe some of it involved something to the effect that I didn’t mind “going back to prison,” so he could either “get it together” or “try me” and see what happens.  Well, long story short as the weeks passed, prison didn’t seem like such a bad option!

            One day, Rion’s class was on a field trip, and to my “shock and amazement,” his behavior prevented him from going. He came alone to music class with some books. I said a silent prayer, but I fear I may have taken God’s name in vain more than I prayed. As he walked in, he grabbed my sweater that I kept on my stool. He wrapped himself in it and went to the back of the class and started to quietly read. “Praise God!” I think what I uttered was a real praise. Then, I heard his small voice, “Mr. Hallberg, would you read this book with me?”

            Well, I thought, this would be a good time to get to know him on a personal level. Developing relationships is how I got the other “tough” kids on my side. Let’s see if this works. We looked at pictures of dinosaurs and sharks. We read a little. He was 7 or 8-years old at the time. His mind was also random.  “Can we sing?” “Why not,” I said.

            We got half way through a song that we learned in class, and randomly, he asked, “Could I come to your house sometime?” It was an odd question, but I figured it didn’t really mean anything. So, I said, “Sure, we’ll find a time.”  Suddenly, his music class time was over, and I managed not to be charged with homicide. He went back to the class where he was staying for the day. I had to remind him to give me back my sweater.

            I didn’t know it, but that day, I gained a son - my first son.

Oh Wait – You have a Daughter Too

            Rion had a sister in Fourth Grade named Shayaunna. She was one of my favorite students. It took me several months to even know they were related. It took almost the whole year to believe it. The worst problem I had with her was that sometimes she would talk too much during class. I’d ask her to quiet down, and she would. Sometimes she’d pout, but she was never a behavior problem. Shayaunna sang in my school chorus.

            As the weeks went by, Rion kept asking when he could come to my house. “Damn…this kid was serious,” I thought.  He forgot other things I said – like “sit down,” “don’t hit the girls,” “stop hanging from the light fixtures…” I thought he’d forget about this by now. I was wrong – very wrong. And, I was wrong about how I dreaded seeing him come through the door. I quit praying for him to catch the flu or a cold or Ebola. In fact, he actually became tolerable, and sometimes even enjoyable. The “trick” was that when he came in, he was allowed to grab my sweater and wrap himself in it. If he had that, he would behave. I suppose if I knew he was my “son,” I would have said, “That’s my boy!” with a big old grin, but I didn’t know yet.

            Rion went from asking to come to my house to begging to come to my house. One day, I held an afterschool chorus rehearsal because we had an upcoming special concert for some city dignitaries, and I got permission from his mom to allow Rion and Shayaunna to come to my house for a pizza party after that rehearsal. I was worried. What will my wife, Misty, think? Will Rion behave himself? I hope he doesn’t hurt the dogs! Please, God, don’t let him break anything or kill the cat (was that a prayer?).

            It may seem odd that I, a teacher, had two students to my house. At that time, it wasn’t uncommon for teachers to do that as long as parents gave permission. We didn’t worry about lawsuits or accusations. It was a great chance to show students other parts of the city and to get to know them in a new light. Many teachers did what I did.

            The pizza party went well. Rion was actually polite. The cat survived. I think Shayaunna had fun too. 

            I didn’t know it, but that day, I also gained a daughter – my first daughter.

Just Wait – One More

            Our pizza party turned into regular weekend visits. The phone would ring on a Friday night or Saturday morning. My wife or I would answer, “Hello?” Rion would be on the other end. There was usually a period of awkward silence. This is how we knew he was the one calling us. “Can me and Shay come over and play?” Unless we had major plans, the answer was always, “Yes!”

            I’m not sure who got more out of the visits – Did I or did they? We rarely did anything extraordinary. Our agenda usually consisted of playing in the yard, playing with the dogs, conning them into thinking yard work is fun, or playing video games. We’d end the day with a trip to a restaurant and we’d take them home.

            As our visits became more regular, I told Rion and Shayaunna that their older sister, Shardanae could come with us if she wanted. I didn’t have Shardanae as a student – she was in her early teens and in a middle school. At first, she was reluctant to join us, but quickly she got over her reluctance and tagged along. I even conned her into thinking yard work is fun.

            Yet again, I didn’t know it, but I gained another daughter – my second daughter.

Family Isn’t Just Blood

Rion’s behavior in school had dramatically improved. In the cases he did revert to his “old self,” he would get sent to my classroom. That was not a good thing for him.

When I was a child, I had a friend whose mom was a substitute teacher. I always felt bad for him when she had to teach his class. Imagine your mom teaching your class. It must have felt that way to Rion when he got sent to my room. I was no longer just his music teacher. I was also like a custodial parent who he’d see most weekends.

Sometimes I’d make a surprise visit to his classroom just to check up on him. His mom stayed in touch with me and we worked together to keep him on track. She told me how much her kids loved me…especially Rion. I told her I loved them too, but I felt strange. How could I love children who had a loving mother as if they were my own? My wife and I hadn’t yet had our own children. We were planning on having kids…just not yet.

            Time passed, and we all grew closer. I once took Rion to see a NASCAR Truck race while my wife spent the day with Shayaunna and Shardanae shopping and watching movies.  He loved watching the trucks speed around the track, but I think he was much more excited that I let him get “real coffee” on the way home from a truck stop. Wired on his coffee, he asked me if I’d let him drive as we neared my house. “No way!” I said.

“Pleeeeeaaaaaassssseeeeee????” he pleaded.

Despite my better judgment – or the fact that it was almost 2:00 AM, I capitulated and let him hold the steering wheel from the passenger side while I ran the pedals. How much harm could he do? My question was answered as I saw us careening directly towards someone’s mailbox at 50 miles per hour.

“Shit. What the hell???” I screamed as I jerked the car back into its proper trajectory. “We won’t be telling my wife about this…Do you understand?”

After he could stop laughing, he agreed. Apparently, however, not telling my wife did not mean that he wouldn’t wake up his sisters who were asleep at our house and tell them loudly enough for my wife to hear. We both got “the look” from my wife.

At the time, I was the choir director of a church in Dayton. We started bringing the three kids with us to church. They would go to Sunday School, and then come into the worship service. The church loved them too. That isn’t to say I didn’t have some awkward moments. One member came to me and whispered, “It’s so nice of you to bring black kids to our church.” “Is it a problem that they are black?” I asked. After an awkward silence – “Of course not…um…I…just…well…you know…this church…we’re…” “Good,” I said. To this day I wish I continued with what was in my head – “It’s good to see that you bring your white wife too.” Maybe I was naïve. Maybe I was shocked. Maybe I was off guard.

            Eventually, I was able to talk Shardanae into joining the church choir. They lived between our house and the church, so we would pick her up for choir rehearsal and bring her home. One Easter Sunday, her mom and some of their relatives came to worship and hear her sing. I hope that gave everyone a vision of Heaven. There isn’t a Heaven for whites and one for blacks or any other race. If God created us all in His image, God must have an amazing image! That day made a huge impression on me. I don’t remember any of the songs we sang, but I remember the diversity in the church. It was beautiful.

            My students had become my family. Ok, technically Shardanae was never my student, but she counts as family too. My wife and I had no blood relatives in Dayton. It was where we were hired together after college. “Home” was six hours away in Pennsylvania. Now that we had these kids, we had family. They came to our house for holiday meals. Their mom would invite us to their house for meals. When they came to our house, we didn’t have to entertain them anymore. It was their second home. To some people, having unrelated kids feeling at home in their house would be a burden. To me, this proved that blood isn’t the only factor in making a family. God decides who is family. Love decides who is family. We had both – God and Love.

Don’t Let This Be the End

            I will always remember that day, although I forget the exact date. By this time, I was at a different school. My wife and I had our first biological son - Isaac. He was nine months old. Two years prior, I transferred to a school to be where my principal had been moved. The kids were now at different schools, but we were still family. We saw each other as much as ever.  I walked into school on that day, and I knew what I would hear.  I was prepared. I had made my peace.

            I went to my classroom, put down my belongings, looked around, and I smiled. Then I did what I had to do. I walked to the cafeteria where I knew I would find my principal supervising the students at breakfast. “Good morning,” I said with a smile on my face.

            “What’s so good about it?” She answered. “I need to talk to you in my office.”

            “I’ve already figured it out. I’m one of them. Right?”

            “Yes, but let’s talk,” she sighed.

            “I’ll be ok, you know.” She gave me an uneasy grin as we walked to her office.

            Dayton Public Schools was forecasting a $30 Million debt. After the voters failed to pass a tax levee, 300 teachers had to be laid off among other cuts. Obviously, there were no upper administrative cuts – That would make sense and not hurt students. If they did that, the Superintendent wouldn’t have gotten praise for great financial management during a crisis and hired in South Carolina with a huge raise the following year.

            My principal and I had developed a mother/son type relationship over the years. We could talk openly and honestly. She tried making small talk. I’m not sure if it was to make me feel better or to make herself feel better. “I’ll be ok,” I repeated.

            “I know you will, but why do I have to get rid of you and keep an asshole like…” and then she burst into tears. I knew the teacher of whom she was referring. She was right. He was an asshole. But, he had seniority – and no teaching skills even after twenty years on the job. I had teaching skills – and no seniority. The union sided with him.

            I got up and just hugged her. She hugged me. There were no words.

            My wife got the same news the same day. We knew she would too. We had already planned that when we were laid off, we would put the house up for sale and move to North Carolina where her parents had recently moved and there was a “job boom” for teachers. That’s exactly what we did.

            There was nothing right or good about any of this. Our faith came to a point where both my wife and I had a conversation where we said that either what we said we believed was real or it wasn’t. This would prove it. We said we’d be ok. We had no clue if we would. We doubted more than we believed, but I guess that’s what faith is…believing in something before you ever see the results…believing God cares even though everything shows that no one cares.

            Before we left Dayton for good, we stopped to say “goodbye” to Rion, Shayaunna, and Shardanae.  I promised Rion that I would take him fishing that summer. We never had the chance, so I brought him the fishing pole that I bought for him and I gave him mine too. Shayaunna was in Tennessee with her dad for the summer. I didn’t want to say “goodbye,” but I knew we had to. I didn’t want this to be goodbye. I wanted it to be “see you soon.” The idealistic side of me said we would stay in touch as much as possible. The realistic side of me said that we’d keep in touch, but this very well could be the last time I’d see my kids.

            It wasn’t fair. None of us did anything wrong. Why did God bring us together, and then we were ripped apart? Did we make a difference in their lives? Would they grow up and be ok? Would I be ok without them?

            The actual “goodbye” is a blur in my memory. I remember it happening, but I don’t remember many details. My wife and I went into their apartment. Rion was playing some tune he learned on a friend’s electric guitar over and over, and the next thing I remember is that I had my wife drive as we left and I was crying in the passenger seat. The rest is in some eternal sea of memories known only to God – if such small details are even important to God.

            We moved to North Carolina. That summer was a whirlwind, and yet it seemed to drag. We stayed with my in-laws for most of the summer until one week when both my wife and I were hired by two neighboring counties to teach. That gave us exactly two or three days to find somewhere to live and to start our new lives.

            I started that school year with the attitude that I was going to do my best, but there was no way they could make me like it. I wasn’t supposed to be there - I was supposed to be in Dayton. They could make me work, but they couldn’t make me enjoy even one minute of it. Basically, I was being a spoiled brat.

            I’m sure God had something to do with my quick change in attitude. I didn’t have a vision. I didn’t have a glorious dream. I did have a realization. My realization was that kids everywhere need teachers who cared about them. They need someone who cared about them more than just as students but as people – as children of God. I grew to love my new job. Yes, I missed Dayton. Dayton was still “home.” I felt like I was in exile, but I could seek the peace of the city where I was, because in that city was my peace.

            I kept in contact with the kids through phone calls and then Facebook. Eventually, I joined the “texting culture,” though I still have to admit that’s my least favorite form of communication. We’ve had months where we stay in close contact, and we’ve had months where our lives get in the way. The beauty is that we’ve stayed in contact. I’m proud of the people they’ve become.

The Trip (Summer 2013)

            My best friend got married in the summer of 2013 in Erie, Pennsylvania. It was a Catholic wedding, but he asked me, since I’m a licensed Methodist Pastor, to assist in the wedding. A trip from North Carolina to Erie is about ten hours of driving. I don’t like driving that long. My wife, who couldn’t come because our son still had a few weeks of Kindergarten left, helped me plan a drive so that I could stop in the middle at a hotel for a rest. She also helped me plan a trip back home via Dayton so I could visit the kids.

            The wedding went well, but really, can you say otherwise about a wedding? My friend and his new wife were happy together. I was happy for them. This was the first time I met her. Distance makes meeting people tough– even important people.

            After the wedding, I set the GPS for Dayton – a five-hour drive. The kids knew I was coming. I organized it through Shardanae. She is now in her 20’s and has a 2-year-old son. Shayaunna is in college. Rion is finishing high school.

            I’ll have to admit that this was drive was like taking my emotions, rolling them up in a ball, and beating the hell out of them. I was excited to see my kids, but I knew it would be another goodbye. I knew I was going to the one place that was “home,” but only for two days. I had so many people I wanted to see, but I couldn’t bring myself to let them know I was coming. I didn’t want any more goodbyes.

            I got to a hotel that evening. I called Shardanae who immediately invited me to her house for a barbecue she was having. I made an excuse that I was too tired, but I would take them out for breakfast tomorrow. I wasn’t too tired. I wanted to go to the barbecue. I couldn’t. There is a threshold of how much emotion one person can take at one time. In any other circumstance, I would have accepted the invitation. This was different. This was a direct attack on my heartstrings. Of course, she meant no harm. She meant exactly the opposite, but my emotional threshold had been crossed by that point and I had to say, “no.”  She understood.

            The next morning came, and I got in my car and made the short drive to pick up my kids. I got to Shardanae’s apartment first. I could have cried for all the happiness I felt when I saw her. She looked like the Shardanae I left seven years ago, but grown and with a son - My “grandson?” We joked about that.  The years were good to her. We hugged. She put in the car seat for her son, and we went to pick up Rion and Shayaunna.

            The door to their house opened, and out came a grown man. He was at least a foot taller than I am. It was my “little boy,” Rion. He tried to be “macho” and shake my hand, but I was having none of that. He was going to, and did give me a hug! Next came Shayaunna. She was a beautiful young woman now. She gave me a hug too. Unfortunately, she had to work and couldn’t go out to eat with us. We talked there in front of their house for a little while, and then we got in my car and found a Waffle House.

            There isn’t much that would interest anyone about a teacher and his former students meeting over breakfast at Waffle House. Some may be more interested to hear about a dad and his kids reuniting after seven years. How much can be said about a waffle, some bacon, and eggs? However I describe our breakfast, the conversation was ordinary but “other-worldly.” This simple breakfast was a normal meal, yet it was a Holy Communion. We were eating with each other, but we were eating with all the Company of Heaven. I have no doubt God was in the middle of our breakfast. I wanted it to last forever, but I knew it couldn’t.

            We decided to go to the mall just to spend some more time together. Malls are empty in the late mornings. We didn’t care. We played, “remember when…” We went into different stores. We passed the time like we had never been apart.

            Technology can be the bane of our existence and it can be a wonder that holds life together.  We took a break from walking in the mall, and we called my wife, Misty and kids, Isaac and Clara (who they hadn’t met in person) and used Facetime, something similar to Skype, so Rion and Shardanae could talk to them on video. My son, Isaac, was especially excited and I supposed a little embarrassed when Shardanae reminded him that she used to change his “poopy diapers.”

            Eventually, it was time to take them home. I had to start my drive back to North Carolina, and they had to get on with their day. Just like the last time, the actual goodbye is a blur. I remember bits and pieces, but the majority is in that cloud of memories lost somewhere in time. I’m sure there was a lot of hugging, promises to stay in touch, plans to visit, and everything else that goes with a “too soon” goodbye. I remember helping Shardanae get back to her apartment. Her son was being clingy, so I carried the car seat. “You’re a good mom,” I told her. “It’s obvious.” I was so proud of her. She hasn’t had an easy life, but she has done well for herself! She is raising a nice young boy!

            She walked me back to my car while a friend who was at her apartment watched her son. I didn’t want to drag out the goodbye. I couldn’t handle it. I didn’t want to rush the goodbye.  “I love you,” she said to me as she hugged me. “I love you too,” I said.

My Brother

            I’m sitting in the living room reading while Isaac is playing on his Nintendo Wii that he got for Christmas. He has a game where he can make characters that play the different mini-games.  I think he likes making the characters more than he likes the actual game. He has at least two-dozen characters.

            So far, he has made a character for everyone in the house, including the dog – made into a person. There is one of Santa Claus. Grandma and Grandpa are characters. He’s made characters of his favorite WWE Wrestlers. His best friends at school are on the game as are his favorite people from the TV show Duck Dynasty.  It’s a mish-mash of reality and a dream world…but I guess that’s why video games are made.

            This time, when I look up, he’s making yet another character.  “How many characters do you need?” I ask him only half jokingly.

            “I don’t know, but I need this one.”

            Sometimes it’s best not to ask a seven-year old a question if you don’t want a long drawn out answer. So I stop and just watch. I can’t figure out what character Isaac is making. He’s making a tall, black, character.  “What’s my brother’s favorite color?” Isaac asks me.

            Then I figure it out. This brother he has – this brother he doesn’t even remember meeting – this brother who only saw him in person as a baby – has some impact on his life. “I don’t know,” I say, “What do you think it is.”

            “I think he’d like red. Do you think he’d like red?”

            “I think he’d love red”

            Now, there is a character of Rion on my son’s video game wearing a red shirt. Ever since he’s made that character, he’s played using Rion more times than he’s played using his own character.  When someone asks Isaac who that character is, Isaac answers as if everyone should know. “That’s my brother.”

            It is his brother.

            They both are my sons – Isaac and Rion.

            I also have three beautiful daughters – Clara, Shayaunna, and Shardanae.

            God makes a family…Not just blood.