The Great Cookie Escape
It’s a family tradition. Every Saturday, we head to the Farmer’s Market (located at the intersection of Gillian’s beloved neighborhood store) for a sweet treat and to listen to live music. Over the years, depending on the ages and stages and numbers of foster kids in our family, the shape of our “parade” has changed a bit: baby joggers, baby front-packs, baby back-packs, tricycles towed by ropes, red wagons, bikes on training wheels … No matter the mode of transportation, the important thing, in Gillian’s mind, is that the hoopla results in a cookie.
The morning of The Great Cookie Escape was a Saturday, like most others. Gillian got herself dressed in record time and waited impatiently for the rest of us. She paced up and down. She sighed melodramatically. She stamped her feet like a Thoroughbred racehorse. Then she put on her backpack -- an indicator of trouble-to-come -- and *poof*! She vanished, marching off to the market solo, her first perfectly-executed clean escape. Within moments Peter and Cody were dispatched and sent off in hot pursuit.
Trouble is, hundreds of other folks also go to the market on Saturday mornings for treats and music. Finding her was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Cody came home empty-handed. For the first time in 25 years of parenting, I made the dreaded 9-1-1 call. “Um, could you help us find our little girl at the market? She’s probably eating a cookie ... Yes, she’s 8. But she looks like she’s 4! … yes, obsessed with cookies … no, hasn’t exactly done this before. But she’s been TRYING for years …” By the time I got off the phone with dispatch, Peter had already found her, our slightly deflated adventuress. Turns out escaping is not all that its chocked up to be (1), when you turn around to find that no one is giving chase this time and you’re – gasp! -- all alone; (2) when you’re not carrying $2.50 for that cookie! (3) all your efforts have resulted in nothing but a series of lectures from everyone ranging from the policeman down to your 3-year-old sister.
However, a very good thing happened later that same day. An acquaintance who works in the fire department overheard our 9-1-1 call. She phoned to suggest that perhaps Gillian would be a good candidate for Project Lifesaver …
And so our history with Fireman Randy began. On the second Tuesday of every month, he parks
out front, greets his fan club of little ones, clears a path off our kitchen
table and spreads out his gear. He
removes Gillian’s tracking device, cleans and inspects it, installs a new
battery, and then goes through a series of tests to be sure it’s working
properly. He makes a series of inquiries
about Gillian’s most recent antics and behaviors: learning about and developing
a relationship with the client -- whether she’s 9 with autism or Down Syndrome or 90 with Alzheimer’s
-- is an important part of the program. He
shares a few tales from the trenches and then grabs a handful of freshly-baked cookies
as he heads out for his two-hour ride home.
To Randy, volunteers of Project Lifesaver, grant donors to their program: We cannot thank you enough for “watching over” our little girl – and her fellow wanderers/adventurers -- and providing families peace of mind, an invaluable gift. If one cookie introduced us to you, a million cookies could not repay you.
An After Word
Across the ocean, on the other side of the world, children just like Gillian are staring at their institutional walls which are the only walls they will know, day after day, year after year. They are rocking to and fro because they have nothing else to do. They do not dream of escaping because they’ve no knowledge that a world outside exists. They are not pining for beaches. They are not anticipating camping trips. They are not wandering off for cookies.
They have no choices.
They have no voices.
They have no rights.
They have no future.
With any luck, Melody will soon be joining our family. She will learn to walk. She will learn to trust. She will blossom with the love of family. She will benefit from the support of community. She will learn that the world is her oyster.
Will she be wearing a white tracking device upon her wrist? I honestly don’t know. But I daresay if that day ever comes, she’ll wear it with pride as a band of her freedom.
Gratitude
To all of you who have stepped forward to express interest and offer encouragement, please know that your support means the world to us. Those of you who have contributed to Melody’s grant or our adoption fundraiser, we are so humbled by your generosity and can only promise to one day pay it forward … and forward ...
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