Let 'Em Wonder

This morning, I accompanied one of my foster kiddos and his foster dad to his pediatric endocrinology appointment up at OHSU (the clinic was conveniently located right down the hall from my sister's clinic, so I got to have lunch with Dr. Bickley after the appointment! Fun!) This kiddo has been diagnosed with Adrenoleukodystrophy, an extremely tragic, terminal, degenerative brain disorder. He's 13 and will be fortunate to see his 15th birthday. I needed/wanted to be at this appointment because I am this kiddo's legal guardian, and his foster dad needed/wanted to be there because he has all of the information about the kiddo's daily functioning. The appointment was at 10:15 and we met there at about 10, so we had a good 15 minutes to sit in the sizeable, bustling waiting room...with all eyes curiously peeking and all brains furiously analyzing our perplexing trio.

For good reason.

I neglected to mention that "foster parent" is about the last profession you would guess when looking at this man (second only to "Catholic priest" perhaps). I am ashamed to admit that I would probably cross the street and walk on the other side if I saw this guy coming toward me. To start, he is covered with tattoos. Covered, people. And I don't mean Kurt's and my gentle little dove and "trust" and "honor" tattoos. Skulls. Dragons. Busty women in what could only be toddler sized clothing. He has several piercings on both ears with big, chunky, spiky earrings. I've never seen him in anything other than his baggy jeans and his black hoodie with skulls and flames on the back along with, of course, a big silver chain slung from one belt loop down to his knee and into his front pocket. A black backward baseball cap with a silver stud through the bill tops off his ensemble.

Then there's me. Trim brown corduroy pants, trendy white blousy shirt, denim jacket, chunky brown heels, funky beaded necklace, diamond stud earrings (thanks to my darling husband!), and a sleek brown leather tote bag. Poster woman for casual, urban, middle-class American 30-something. True, I do have a tattoo. A) it's not visitble when I'm clothed; B) it's a dove. If you can think of something more demure and non-offensive than a dove to tattoo on your body, I'd like to hear it.

And my foster kiddo? Hispanic.

Let 'em wonder :)

(I should note that, in case you are making assumptions about what kind of foster parent this man is, he's one of the best I've ever worked with. He has five foster children, four of whom are non-verbal and confined to wheelchairs and one of whom loses more and more of his daily functioning every week and will most likely die in his care. He attends school meetings and doctors appointments and is a strong, articulate advocate for his kiddos. He works on hot rods and faithfully takes his kids out cruising, regardless of the hassle of getting them in and out of the car. And he's been doing this as his sole means of earning a living since his mid-twenties. I love it when stereotypes are absolutely obliterated!)