Pudgy Boy

Today I've been having some Wyatt moments: little reminders have popped up all day to tell me over and over that my infant is getting bigger. And bigger. This little boy just reached his half year of life without blog fanfare, but his achivement has not gone unnoticed. Wyatt is on my mind. Today I had a first interview with a new client. His story is much like most of my clients in that he came to the States looking for a better life, for greater opportunities. He traveled here alone through a difficult set of circumstances that involved hopping (literally jumping onto) a train and holding on for fear that if he did not, he would die - both metaphorically and literally. Once he made it across the border, he was picked up by Immigration and placed in removal proceedings. Same story, different day. The reason that talking with this client made me commune with Wyatt from across town is because my client is ten years old. We sat in my office looking at one another today, and everything about it was awkward. He is my client, but all I could focus on was his pudgy face while I asked him some of the most startlingly stupid questions. Why did you come to this country? How did you get here? Why can you not go home? What do you want me to do for you? And I swear, I nearly cried looking at him because he is someone's baby boy. I noticed that he doesn't have even a single whisker on his face. His fingers were moving constantly, back and forth as he popped them and re-popped them. He darted his eyes all over the room and allowed them to catch mine only a time or two during the moments we were together. This child walked right out of El Salvador or Guatemala or Honduras or where ever he lived and got himself here. He now has an attorney who tried hard today to explain the concept of confidentiality to him. And I tried to tell him that his only way to stay here forever is to be essentially adopted by his uncle while I simultaneously, surreptitiously, was trying to figure out if his uncle is harming him in some way.
Q: Do you work? [Meaning: are you the victim of forced child labor?]
A: No, it's summer. I just hang out now.
Q: Is your uncle a nice guy? [Meaning: does your uncle hit you?]
A: Yeah, he's fine.
Q: Why did your parents stay in your home country and send you here?
A: I am the oldest kid, so I need to make money for my family one day.
I have done this job for five years, and I have had many teen clients, but I have never had a child this young, this childlike before me. Again, Wyatt. I did not get to see Wy until 5-ish when Paul and the kids picked me up from work. I looked through the car's window at them, and Wyatt started kicking his fat little legs. We went out to dinner, so the next hour or so was spent passing Wyatt back and forth across the table so that one or the other of us could eat. Back home, our whole family focused for a bit on baths and pajamas and new diapers and story books. Finally, though, I was alone with that little boy for the first time since early this morning when he woke up hungry and playful. It was still remarkably light in Wyatt's bedroom even though it was past his bedtime, and I just rocked him and held him and hoped he'd be hard to get to sleep tonight. In six months Wyatt has learned to coo, kick, sit up, jump, eat, and charm everyone around him. He likes to gnaw on books rather than to read them, and he loves to go for walks but not for car rides. Wyatt loves his sister more than anyone, pretty much, and he's already shaping up to be quite the match for her. While I rocked Wyatt just a bit ago, I thought about the baby on my shoulder and that little boy in my office. What a very short time ago that child was in the arms of his mother. Then huddled in a train car. On through the desert. And now . . . I cannot surmise. At six months, I am so grateful for my own pudgy boy. I am so thankful that in all probability, he will never know what it's like to flee his own home. I am sad that while Wyatt sleeps tonight in a soft bed, I have no idea where my new client lays his head. And I don't know if he's safe. I don't know if he's loved. I don't know how to do that for him. In this life, I think we must all find what makes us feel joyous at most, and useful at worst. During the course of this day I have felt both emotions, and it is with great gratitude that I focus my energy tonight on the former despite the difficult day at work. Wyatt is joy, and today I have been reminded of that. Happy six months, little man. I love you.