I am lucky enough to know one of Julius’ sons.

Julius himself is sort of a legend. He was the oldest of a large group of siblings that were raised in a government run orphanage. Somehow he made it through those years determined to keep his brothers and sisters together.

In spite of the fact that institutions separated siblings in order to house the children by age groups — regardless of the fact that they had different bed times and day time routines — despite residing in separate cottages that were far apart on a large and lonely campus, Julius never let this little cluster of children forget that they were a family.

They all grew up. Julius became a well known, all-American type softball umpire – the kind that created stories for the players to tell for years. And there are now children and grandchildren. When Julius died, he was a great grandfather. Even though he is gone, he left a large, sometimes boisterous extended family who go to church, have important careers, raised their own children, and enjoy big reunions with an annual golf tournament.

The son I know became a mental health professional and a child welfare supervisor. He is a father and grandfather through birth and through foster care adoption.

We enjoy a healthier community because a boy in an orphanage … a mere boy … knew the power of family.

Barbara loves order. She is always neatly dressed, and you’d swear she just came from the hairdresser. When she worked at The Adoption Exchange, her office was always clean. I still find files with her beautiful handwritten notes.

But Barbara says that families don’t have to be just like each other (and they certainly don’t have to be like her) to be perfect parents for the children.

She remembers the couple who asked to adopt Paul. They lived in a tiny house in a very ordinary neighborhood. They liked to run barefoot in the summer. They weren’t joggers or dieters. Their little house was pretty cluttered, and they didn’t work out in the gym.

When she visited them after Paul came into their family, she was moved. It was impossible to tell which of their children was the adopted child. No one seemed crowded by the size of the house. There was a lot of healthy hugging, and she could see Paul was drinking in their affection.

Paul’s parents are grateful that he is in their lives. And Barbara says he got just what he needed.

Those are the words she wrote. But it didn’t begin that way. Shanté came into foster care when she was eight years old. But she blossomed with the care and love of her adoptive mom. They met at school, where her mom-to be was a social worker.

“On August 28, 1991 we went down to the courtroom and everything was finalized. I was finally in a home to call my own. That’s where I stand now – in a blessed family and with friends.”

“I enjoy my family. I am a blessed child and it shows in everything I do, If there is anything in life that a child needs, it is a family. I think o child is to be lonely in these days. It only leads to destruction of a child’s life.”

Shanté is grown now, and a mother herself.

The children and youth are often our best teachers. One such teacher materialized at an awards ceremony in Chicago.

Martin looked very handsome and a little nervous. He was dressed in a suit and tie and stood next to his mom at the podium. They had been asked to say a few words about their adoption and to assist in the presentation of a couple of awards.

Adoption professionals in the audience beamed as they spoke. Everyone was proud, and the pride was well deserved.

After the fanfare was over, Martin turned to me and asked, “Can I look at the picture book?” Of course the answer was yes. He was referring to the photo album filled with pictures and profiles of children who were waiting for families.

I guess the time to gloat was over. Enough of that – let’s get to work!

Martin went straight to the “D” section of the alphabetically organized book. He was looking for someone in particular. “I want to know if DeShawn is still in the picture book,” he said.

Martin was a good teacher. He kept my focus where it needed to be.

I asked him to tell me about DeShawn. “He was my foster brother, and he still needs to be adopted.”

I’ve been reading through some papers I set aside. There are notes from children and youth and from social workers and from parents. Teenagers use superlative language in liberal amounts. We often hear their annoyances expressed in aggressive tones. But they are equally effusive about good things in their lives.

A couple of years ago this is what Kirsten wrote:

Hi! My name is Kirsten and I am on this Adoption Exchange! I am so happy with the outcome…I have found a family that I love…well, you guys found them. They are so good to me, and I feel so loved and cared for…

….Seriously, I am not too happy with a lot of things that come about the foster care system but I am glad I had high hopes and did not give up….I am so welcomed and loved here! ….

….I was in foster care five years….I have hurt a lot….and I strongly believe that foster are is o place for any kid to grow up in….I am so lucky and privileged to have a family! I honestly couldn’t ask for me! They are wonderful! You guys have found a wonderful family and I thank you so much! I am so happy here…happier than ever!

They say it takes a village. And I think it has taken a entire population to raise me. Fortunately I’ve had some great coaches. I’m deeply grateful to each one of us.

Some of you know who you are because you had to grab me by the collar to get my attention. Others of you have taught me by the way you’ve lived your lives.

Bob has been one of my teachers. In the first decade of The Adoption Exchange, he made his legal services available pro bono. For anything we needed.

And then he volunteered his time to help raise money, plan events, and develop corporate policies and procedures.

Bob spent many, many hours, always smiling. He didn’t have an adoption history that I knew of. And he didn’t have self interests to protect. He just did it. So one day I naively asked him what motivated him.

“It’s the right thing to do,” he said.

Myron is now on his own. He was raised by a system, not a family. And, thanks to a few people who went beyond the minimal expectations, he worked through the worst parts and grew into a fine young man who is now in his late twenties.

When he spoke to a room full of people, he had our undivided attention.

Like a number of adolescents, Myron tried running away from foster care, and he had some brushes with the correction system. “There is no such thing as a pillow or any kind of comfort on the street,” he said.

“On the street we were all looking for a family. We found “friends” on the street, and we became family to each other, until one of us got put in jail …..or drowned.”

At a time when he needed more than anything else to have someone in his life who’d see the possibilities in him, Myron remembers a probation officer saying, “You’re just another 50 cents in my pay check.”

“When I graduated [from high school] I wanted to find him and rub his nose in it.”

And then Myron shared his memories about some key people who “respected me and let me be myself.”

There is a family who eventually took him into their hearts and remain a steady force in his life. “I have someone there now – for back-up,” as he describes it.

And there was one very special caseworker. Myron dares to think there were two things that made her happy — to see him graduate and to see his brother get out of jail.

At last, as he was about to leave the child welfare system he discovered that he was in fact important to a tiny selection of people who wanted the best for him. And that is what it took for him to see the best in himself.

“I wondered if she [his caseworker] would be there for my graduation. And she was. I saw her there waving! Afterward I ran over and gave her such a big hug.”

In the news we hear about the times when people who work in child welfare mess up. Myron’s caseworker is like lots of others who strive to give the best the system can offer to the children it serves. They get up on week day and weekend mornings, put on their work clothes and stand in for absent parents on birthdays, at court hearings and at graduations.

The fantasies of teenagers aren’t much different than those of the younger children. They long for loving parents “who won’t hurt me.” They want to grow up knowing that they matter to someone. They want to play sports and enjoy sleep-overs with friends. They want grandparents for their own children yet to come.

Nonetheless sixteen-year old Frank wasn’t just hesitant when it came to having his picture taken. He stubbornly resisted. A failed adoption had left him wary.

So his caseworker asked him what he thought about putting his portrait in the annual Heart Gallery to draw in a mom or a dad (or both) who might get interested in another child in foster care.

“Okay,” he finally said. “But I don’t want one.” He made his opinion known the photographer and his caseworker, and then he combed his hair.

The photographer asked him to climb up into a tree, and caught a shot of Frank in an unguarded, vulnerable moment. That’s the shot that was selected for the Heart Gallery.

And now you know what I’m about to say…within weeks Frank moved into his permanent, adoptive family.

Smart caseworker. She knew “no” meant “I’m afraid no one will want me.”

James called it his “quick bag.” When he was in foster care he always kept it within reach. He kept socks, shoes, and a pair of jeans in that bag – ready in case he was told he’d be moving at a moment’s notice.

BBC News recently reported results of a study in the U.K. which found that in 25% of the cases children in foster care were given no notice at all that they would be moving from one home to another.

I’m not aware of any studies about this in the United States. But over and over again children like James tell us the same story. Obviously every time a move like that happens, it adds one more trauma to a fear-filled life.

It may be a good decision. But whatever you call it, it’s one more move in a series of hurtful separations. Better keep a bag handy, just in case.

It’s no wonder Sarah said that being adopted is “like finally being able to sit down after standing up for a long, long time”.

We are planning the next adoption party – it is a place where waiting children and prospective families can meet and spend time in a fun environment.

The venues change from time to time, but the purpose doesn’t. Josh was feeling lonely when he attended one such party. But his face lit up in a big, big smile when he recognized his older brother who was also there. They’d been separated in foster care years before. But the emotional bond had never been severed.

The older brother came to the party with his adoptive parents…who wanted to adopt another child. You can imagine our delight, and theirs as well, when they found one another.

Those two boys spent the whole party together, playing and talking and enjoying the games. Then, over Thanksgiving, Josh traveled to the home of his big brother to spend the holiday weekend with him and his family.

Well, he just stayed.

They all knew in their hearts that they were meant to be family.

I love those parties!