Family

I am writing this story to tell you about a little orphan boy. His name was Jack and he was my foster brother for two years. When Jack first came to live at our house, he was small. He carried his belongings in a laundry basket and wore jeans with holes in them. He had a scraggly mushroom haircut. When Jack was nervous and scared, he stuttered. He also was confused. One time, we went to my violin lesson at a church; he asked, “Is this my new home?” He would get mad a lot. He’d have temper tantrums and yell. I think he was mad because he felt that nobody wanted him. When Jack first came, I was worried that Jack might have to go live somewhere else, because he had lots of problems. I was afraid that he might hurt somebody. He broke many of my toys. I didn’t know what was going to happen to Jack. I didn’t think he would be adopted. I reassured myself, “Miracles can happen.” One Mother’s Day we were eating a big dinner. I looked over and Jack was hunched in his chair. My mom asked what he was doing. He looked up with tears in his eyes and said “I . . . I lost my mudder . . . I lost my mudder . . . I’ll never see her again.” His face was pale and he was crying softly. After that, none of us felt like eating. I never had a foster brother before. All I could do was be a big brother to him by teaching him and helping him, by playing with him, and by reading books to him. I showed him the real way to play. I made real truck noises—I pretended to make roads At first when we played trucks he would pull his truck off the ground and make a whooshing sound. He didn’t know how to play with trucks. I just played the way I knew how to play and he copied me. I showed him the real way to play. I made real truck noises—I pretended to make roads. With the bulldozer we made ditches near the road and put sticks in for pipes. Jack and I pretended to go on trips and go to houses. We dug holes with trucks. One time we wanted to dig to water so we could have our own swimming pool. We dug and we dug until it was up to Jack’s waist and then we gave up. We were pretty mad. In the summer, we’d go swimming at a little pond about two miles down the road. We liked to play an imaginary game called Dragon. Jack and I would get in the shallow water and we’d splash water on each other. If somebody got splashed more than five times he would die. I often let Jack win. Over the months, Jack started to get better. His speech got better, his imagination improved, he learned to draw, and he didn’t have as many temper tantrums. One day an adoption worker came and talked to Jack about adoption. They looked all over Maine and found some nice people who liked kids. When Jack met his new parents, it was a happy day. They introduced themselves and gave big hugs. His new parents were cheerful and bouncy. His dad had a big laugh, curly hair, and small glasses that sat on the end of his nose. His new mother had big brown gentle eyes, laughed softly, and had a flashing white smile. They talked, gave presents, and looked at Jack’s photo album. Jack played Legos on the rug with his new dad. That night when we were going to bed, Jack walked over to my bed and said, “Peter, I’m going to miss you and I don’t want to leave. I’m scared of moving.” Then he started to cry. He gave me a hug. I said, “They’re really nice people and they’ll be your real parents.” I think that made him feel better. He cried a little and went to sleep. We went on a visit to Jack’s new house. It was a big farmhouse with lots of windows which made a bright feeling. They kept a little turtle in a tank and pottery on tables around the house. I went up to Jack’s room and saw his comfy-looking bed with lots of covers. The house was near the ocean. The day Jack left, his parents arrived in a pickup truck. We had juice and doughnuts. Jack gave me a hug. I looked down and saw my trucks where we used to play. I walked up to Jack and put all my trucks into his bag. Jack jumped into the truck and drove down the driveway. I had my eyes fixed on the truck as it disappeared behind the trees. I kept looking where it had disappeared. There was a long silence. That night in bed I thought about all the good things we did together. I thought of trucks. I thought of swimming. When Jack first came he was just a kid to play with, but after two years living with him, he was my real little brother. Peter Swegart, 10Rome, Maine Lucy Strother, 11Milwaukee,Wisconsin

When I look back now, eighteen months later, at our horrendous car crash, it seems so far away, so surreal. But the harsh reminders are suddenly there. My older brother’s scars, jagged lines across his muscled chest and stomach, and also running down his spine. Still my hero, so brave in his suffering, never a word of complaint during his long healing process. My mother’s stiff neck and hole marks on her brow from her “halo” brace, used to heal her broken neck (what a nice name for such a painful contraption!). One moment my parents and two older brothers, Scott and Tyler, and I were carefree and traveling along a remote country road on the second-to-last day of our family vacation in Australia, my stepdad cracking a joke, hilarious as usual. Everyone relaxed from just playing tennis. The next moment, we’re violently hit head-on by a speeding car. The sound of crashing metal, then everything is still, my family all moaning in pain, smoke in the air, no one seems to be able to move. In a haze, I try to open the van’s side door but can’t. My stepdad groans and rolls out, blood is everywhere, my mom is not moving, shouts to get out of the van, my eldest brother Scott whimpers in agony that he can’t move (broken pelvis and nose), but Tyler, thirteen, an incredible athlete, miraculously moves to the front seat and crawls out, now lying in a fetal position by the side of the hot, dirt shoulder of the road, moaning in intense pain (back broken in three places, severed stomach and severe intestinal injuries, severed leg arteries). Finally I jump out of the driver’s door and see the smoking car that hit us and it seems to be on fire, with an older man trapped inside. What to do? My parents are now both shouting for me to get help, I am the only one who can move. Me, the kid brother, the out-of-it one, suddenly called upon. I have no choice. A lonely country road, I can see no one and no houses. The van is demolished, the other car is crushed, with smoke coming from it. Suddenly I run, yelling “Help, help” until I find a house. Part of me wants to rest and make it go away. Two men and a woman come outside. They are kind and phone for help (they visit me later in the hospital). Fortunately, an ambulance arrives from close by, and soon a helicopter comes for Tyler, who is in serious trouble. Another courageous man, luckily just driving by, rescues the trapped and injured man with a crowbar. I vividly remember my mom, dad and stepdad around Tyler’s bed, each massaging a different foot and hand My mother’s neck is broken, so close to paralysis, but she is going to be OK and is taken by helicopter to Brisbane, three hours’ drive away. Tyler and the rest of us are in the Lismore Base Hospital. He is in critical condition. They stabilize his broken back and work on his insides, removing thirty percent of his intestines. His leg circulation is bad, and many skilled doctors work to save his foot and toe. My aunt and uncle fly in from Singapore. My aunt talks endlessly to a semi-conscious Tyler and holds his hand. He thinks she is my mother, their voices so similar. It is wonderful to have healthy family looking out for us. The doctors and police say we are lucky to be alive; seat belts and air bags saved us. I say a few awkward prayers for Tyler, he is the cool, free-spirited one, now lying powerless in his hospital bed, linked up to all sorts of monitors, while I play endless video games. My bruises and headaches heal quickly. I try hard not to think of the natural athlete, the graceful snowboarder, triple-long-jumper and effortless back-flip diver, without a foot or his toes. I run from room to room telling each person how the other is doing. It is a strange feeling when your “together” parents and brothers are helpless and you’re fine. I imagine my mother lonely and frantic with worry about Tyler, and away from us. She is the one who insisted that we buckle up, immediately, after each of the many stops of our three-week trip, and now she is separated from us. Later, my dad arrives from Canada to be by Tyler’s side. My mom, heavily sedated, is mistakenly put in the overcrowded female “dementia” ward of a public hospital with one woman named Ivy, who is over 90, who never stops talking and thinks she is having a baby. Yes, there is some humor, even in tragic moments. All I can say to anyone who has been in a car crash is that my heart goes out to you. It is a numbing and mind-boggling experience. It is best to focus on the positive things. There are many, and we’re grateful to be alive, and that my baby sister Caleigh wasn’t with us. She was left home with my grandmother, because she was too young to really enjoy what my mom called a more macho trip. And yes, Australia is a wonderful country for a family vacation. We combined my interest in nature and my older brothers’ interest in sports and adventure. We started in beautiful Sydney, saw its impressive aquarium and zoo, and then on to the Blue Mountains, where we hired a biologist for a nature tour, saw wild kangaroos and leaned over the steep cliffs looking down into the ancient forest. We went to an ecological mountain retreat in the rain forest— no phones or TV—and night-time nature walks to see the fascinating animal life. We absailed down a beautiful cliff and explored remote nature caves and trails. We drove up the Gold Coast. My brothers went bungee-jumping. We took a huge ferry over to an island near the Great Barrier Reef, and