Life is not about waiting for the storms to pass- it is about learning to dance in the rain.

Saturday, April 05, 2008



Families!!
(Names are changed to protect the guilty)


Characters: Francisco Vega (Our 25-year old foster son)
Nancy Soto - his girlfriend
Rev. Vega (Francisco's father)
Rev. Soto (Nancy's father)
Hubby and OF COURSE, me, the screaming woman in red.

Scene 1
Hubby: Dear, here's some food Rev. Soto dropped by. He brought it for Francisco. It seems Francisco called his dad (Rev Vega) and said he's been sick for 24-hours and hasn't eaten. So his Dad, (who lives in Central America, but is visiting family in Texas) called Nancy and said that we are not feeding Francisco. He's sick and hasn't eaten in 24-hours so Rev. Vega ordered Nancy to make some food and take it to Francisco. The Rev. Soto just delivered the mercy package

Me:

He said what?? I'm gonna go ask Franscisco what he said to his dad.

"Knock, Knock" on bedroom door. A bleary-eyed Franciso appears, obviously has been sleeping and looks like he has a headache. I'm about to add to it I fear!

Me: Have you eaten today? (Demanding voice)

Francisco: Si. Si Comi este rato. (Yes, I ate a little while ago)

Me: Do you know where the food in this house is? (In the voice one says, "Where have you been since midnight!")

A confused Francisco: Si, Si. En la nivera. (In the fridge)

Me: Do you ever have to go hungry here? Do you know you have the freedom to fix yourself a meal whenever you want?

Francisco: (Looking around frantically. I'm not sure if he was looking for the usually normal woman who run this household, was looking for an escape or was wondering if he'd awakened in a nightmare.) Si. Y se donde esta la comida. Si. Si. Si. (I know where the food is. Yes.)

Me: Well, your dad just called your girlfriend and told her that I'm starving you. That I won't give you anything to eat and you haven't eaten in a day. Her dad brought over food for you. It's on the stove when you want it.

Francisco: Que? (What?)

Me: Francisco, I don't care if your girlfriend fixes you food and brings it. She can cook you anything special she wants and bring it her. But I really don't like your father calling her father and telling him I'm abusing and mistreating you.

Francisco: Que? No. Seguro que Nancy no mas me cocino algo. Se que puedo comer cualquier cosa aqui. Me trata muy bien. (What? No. I'm sure that Nancy just cooked something special for me. I know I have freedom to eat here and you treat me very well.)

Me: Okay. Your food is on the stove whenever you're hungry.

Francisco: Gracias

Scene 2
THEN . . . My granddaughters had witnessed this conversation. They understand about two words of Spanish.

8-year old: Gramma, why were you yelling at Francisco.

Me: I wasn't yelling. I just asked if he'd eaten.


6-year old: Gramma!! You were yelling. Why were you yelling at Francisco. What did he do?


me: He didn't do anything


8-year old: (mystified) But if he didn't do anything, why were you yelling at him? Are you mad at him?


Me: No. I'm not mad at Francisco. I'm mad at his Dad.


8-year old: What did his Dad do?


Me: He called our friend, Rev Soto and said I wasn't treating Francisco right. That I wasn't feeding him. I just asked Francisco if he had eaten today. I just really don't like his Dad.


6-year old: Why don't you like his Dad?


Me: (Beginning to realize that I'm in over my head. I'm being double-teamed by my Granddaughters and I haven't a clue what to say that's appropriate.) Okay. Suppose you have somebody in your class that you know. That's sort of a friend. One day this friend shows up at your house and says, "I'm coming in to play." The friend goes and takes your favorite toy away from you, messes up some stuff and says, "I'm staying until tomorrow."


6-year old: I wouldn't like that at all.


8-year old: I think I'd tell them to go home.


Me: Well that's kind of what happened with his Dad. So I just don't trust him very much. I make sure he comes to my house for a short period of time.


But the 6-year old won't be distracted.


6-year old: But Gramma. You were yelling at Francisco. Why would you yell if it was his Dad you're mad at?


Me: (THINKING ONLY: Do you want to be the therapist? I think I'm waay out of my league here). ALOUD: Does your Mommy ever yell at you?


Both in a nonchalant voice: Oh sure!


Me: Do you ever get yelled at when it's not your fault.


BOTH: Yeah!


Me: Well Francisco is like my son. Mom's always yell at their kids. It's just the way it is.


Both: Okay


AND THAT WAS THAT!!!

Synopsis
Now let me get this straight. Francisco's father called Francisco's girlfriend to order her to cook. Nancy's father brought the food to us with the message that Francisco's father thinks we're mistreating his son. I respond by yelling at Francisco because I'm mad at his Dad and think Francisco said something to spark this. Who needs therapy most? Me, the therapist?

6 comments:

Ann said...

Oh the drama! I get a kick out of your granddaughters :) And I also am remembering my own grandma who, anytime I mentioned I was hungry, would sincerely respond with, "Don't they feed you??"

Linda said...

Oh how I miss coming here but love getting caught up! Too, too funny! And I posted about the gluten thing, if you're interested in my riveting symptoms.

marina said...

Love it PJ you are a good storyteller!!later amiga,marina

truth said...

Is Jose the same person as Francisco? (I couldn't tell from the names at the top of the page.)

You are a great writer. The whole thing makes ya shake your head, though, doesn't it?

Sarah said...

I think I would have reacted the same way. I love those girls though!

PJ said...

Truth, you caught me!! I changed the names a couple of times...his real one is very distinctive. Jose just didn't do it!!! (Neither does Francisco..but better!!) So, yes. He's Francisco. There is no Jose--just a figment of my imagination. A splinter that wouldn't leave.

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