CREATIVE NONFICTION
3 UNFOLDING RENNIE Robert Rosen | 3rd Place
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n a Tuesday in 1987, my ofce phone rang. A voice on the other end said, “We have a little boy who needs a home.” The sentence took my breath away. Julie and I had become impatient with nature’s resistance to add children to our lives. Deciding to take an alternate route, we applied, submitted to background checks, and passed the house inspection to become foster parents. Starting with that Tuesday call, it happened quickly. On Wednesday, we met a smiling, round faced 3 ½ year old bowling ball of a boy carrying a frayed teddy bear by one of its arms. René came running into the playroom flled with well-loved toys. It was love at frst sight. René rushed to Julie and motioned for a boost up into her arms. I took a seat on the foor and grabbed a dingy Tonka truck. It took several “brrroom brooms” to grab René’s attention away from Julie’s hair and glasses. Julie put him down and he came over to my spot to play. On Thursday, we bought a car seat, a race car bed frame and mattress, kidsized clothes, toothbrushes, no-tears shampoo, and Raf cassettes. We hit the grocery store and made guesses on what a 3 ½ year-old would eat. On Friday, René’s 17-year-old birth mom, Margo, put a faded plastic elephant toy box into the back of our minivan. She lifted René up, buckled him into the car seat, and kissed him goodbye. “Be good to Mama Julie and Daddy Robert,” she advised her son. Then she moved close to Julie. “The life you’re giving him is what I needed,” she whispered. Margo stepped away and waved as we pointed the van home. We were parents for
the frst time, even We were parents for the frst time, even if it was just foster parents. As we drove home, Julie looked at me, if it was just foster and then back at René. René responded with a big smile. He then took the colorful toy harmonica next to parents. him, held it like a gun and said, “piooou piooou.” Julie and I burst out laughing. A topic of conversation on our way over was about banning war toys from the already growing collection of playthings. Julie and I were the babies in our respective families. We didn’t know shit about kids, let alone what living and raising one was like. All we had were preconceived ideas and a short note from Margo that told us that René did not like green foods and he would tell us what he wanted by pointing. René was an extremely happy little boy. He was afectionate with an easy, quiet laugh and a hearty appetite. He was also quickly comfortable with
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