Yielding to Hope

 

October-November 2015

From A Grace Refined

Roma reinserted himself right back into his community where he had left off, ignoring the difficult couple years we had just endured. I was more than willing to forget them too, and pray that they not be repeated.

Being an extreme extrovert, Roma is happiest hanging out with people. He has always been confident he is valued and loved, even before he became our son. He never met a stranger. Seven-year-old Roma asserted his personality and was bossing us around before he could speak English.  That mode of operation never waned. I always said he had great leadership skills, when the little guy grew into them, and that a bossy little boy could grow into an assertive young man.

Everyone got to know little Roma quickly in 2002 when he took over our family and then his school and beyond. When they would meet me later, they would, always with animated smiles, “Are you Roma’s mom?” Roma, the boy who needed no last name.

I would answer playfully, “Maaaybe. First tell me what you know about Roma!” But it was always in jest, for I was so proud to be known as this precious boy’s mother. Even if he wasn’t behaving himself, I felt that no one judge me because he was “adopted at seven.” People thought we were such “nice people” for rescuing an orphan. I knew full well, and readily admitted to many, that Roma was the one who God used to rescued us.

When he was welcomed home as the returning celebrity by the community in October, he revived his people skills. He reconnected with friends he had lost touch with, and he went out of his way to greet adults he had known. “Come here, I need a hug from a pretty woman,” Roma would approach woman at church who had watched him grow up. It was as if he slipped right back into the role of being the kid everyone loved. He went out of his way to respectfully interact with adults he hadn’t seen for a while, acknowledging their importance in his life. Roma had a gift of making people feel like they were his favorite.  

He even hung out with us occasionally. Roma was home, enjoying the benefits and safety and love of his family.  

Often when he decided to stay home for dinner, he would come close to me, hang his arm about my neck and say, “Mom,” like he had just had a great idea. “You want to fix me some potatoes?”  Of course, I did.

Potatoes were always Roma’s favorite comfort food. The first evening seven-year-old Roma arrived at our house like a boomerang on steroids, he was going through the refrigerator once we finally confined him to the kitchen. He found potatoes in the bottom drawer. “Patoshka”  he said delightedly, standing up, holding one in each hand. I was more than happy to fix this man-child of twenty-one his cherished fried potatoes.  I would sit, happy to engage in conversation with him before a friend came to fetch him until curfew.

Roma was trying to save money for a reliable used, old car and insurance. Weekly he handed me a wad of bills from his handy-man helper job, asking me to save it for his car fund. Then he would borrow some back for an outing with his friends. Sometimes the car fund was barely enough to cover the activity fund, but I didn’t worry. Roma was staying busy. He played volleyball on Monday nights, basketball on Thursday nights, pick-up games of basketball and football when he could entice enough friends to play, as well as working. He hardly had time for misbehaving!

He registered to play on a “semi pro” football team. Those practices were on Sunday afternoons. I got to drive him to practice too, sometimes, and pick him up. His chauffeuring needs were considerable and exhausting.  “Mom, remember, you said God said our time in the car was precious.” That was enough to snap my heart back to a condition of gratitude. And patience.

Roma was euphoric about football. He had played quarterback in little league and public high school, but at Fork Union Military Academy, he was switched to be a receiver,  starting on offense and defense. He played on ESPN, and was an All League receiver for pro-hopeful, Penn State’s quarterback, Christian Hackenberg.  A newspaper in Virginia had called them the “Dynamic Duo.” in their Fork Union days.   

Roma’s early exit from Fork Union, six weeks prior to graduation in 2013 because of multiple tobacco infractions and uncharacteristic disrespect put him in a subsequent tailspin and caused a pause in his college football career. His chosen college didn’t care, for he met graduation requirements, but we refused to pay any college costs because  we didn’t trust him to go off to college and work at college goals other than football.  There is no major for partying. At least not one we’re willing to fund! Or Roma would be getting his PhD! We insisted he come home for a year and earn our trust. Instead he took that circuitous route of the past couple years, and hasn’t made it to college yet. And he may never. But I haven’t given up hope. He is certainly smart enough. Even Taylor, five years Roma’s senior, got a late start in college.

  “Mom, I’m so excited to be playing football again,” he would say as he held his arms and fists close to his chest, as if in an effort to keep himself from exploding from pure joy. And I was genuinely pleased for him. And about him. Sweet Roma was back, the same enthusiastic boy he had been, before the boredom and rebellion of the teen years dulled his bright spirit. There was an innocence, an other-worldliness about Roma that scared me. But I pushed all fear aside, because fear is the enemy.

I watched him with curiosity and listened with interest as he talked about his dreams for his future. His physical beauty was mesmerizing. He was always a beautiful child, now a handsome man. I was captivated by the symmetry of his striking face, his enviable complexion, his manly stubble (when did he lose his soft fuzz?), his dark wavy hair, and those dancing green eyes, so full of hope and promise. It was contagious, for I grew hopeful too. 

Continue. . .