They didn’t get to play very much. Maybe they didn’t get to
play at all.
When we first brought them home they could not speak a word
of English but the language barrier was not the reason why they didn’t “play”. For so long they were more concerned with scrounging
for food and securing a place to sleep at night than they were about toys and
games. Having clothing to wear was a higher priority than fun and silliness.
They did not have shoes nor did they have a safe haven they could call home.
This is part of their early childhood reality that brought them to the place of
adoption.
It has been 4 years since they have been in our family. We
try to go about life as any other family would: busy, chasing, schedules to
keep. Despite how long we have been together, there are still surprising defining moments of overwhelming
gratitude. Both of my adopted children struggle immensely at school with academics.
My son comes home exhausted every day and as we pull out his homework he asks, “Can
I just play?” Maybe he is attempting to avoid his work and is trying to get out
of it. But perhaps he is trying to make up for the lost years, regaining the
days he was not given the freedom to just
be a child.
He has learned to play. He watched other children and followed their lead. Now he laughs and giggles and loves the opportunity to build. He constructs
and creates imaginary places, stories and adventures. He may not recognize it
but he is given the pleasure of just being a kid. Although he still has to do
his homework, I recognize the privilege as his mom of being able to tell him, “Ok. Now go
and play!”
Oh, what a
gift it is.
Photo: Courtesy of my son's imagination & a passion to wage wars with little green army men.
