How often we hear this question:
“Are you planning to hire only Christians to care for these helpless little ones?”
I find myself recoiling from the hushed tone that creeps into people’s voices when they refer to retarded children, almost as though they are a species set apart, not quite human, but created by God for some dark, mysterious purpose.
“Not if we can help it,” I interrupt before Paul can answer.
We sometimes wonder where in all this world we can scrounge up enough red-blooded Christians who will care for all these children, who often drool, frequently mess in their pants, many of whom can neither walk nor talk, and some who eat with their fingers.
But, strangely enough, the applicants keep coming; word of mouth, friend of a friend, or “just wonder if you need anyone to help” type of approach.
We hire college dropouts, Peace Corps “disappointees,” runaways, young people who are homeless, those who prove aimless, graduate students asking for child care duties, housewives, grandmother, and volunteers from the Christian Service Corp. College students desiring in service training in the area of their profession fill out our ranks during their three month off campus job experience.
And many come and many go, but there are always those faithful one, with more heart than most, who prove to be the small thriving nucleus around which Melmark derives its strength and life.
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Pretty, blonde haired Cyndie was a college dropout who after spending her first day observing the children and the rigorous routine at Melmark, decided that maybe after all she would return to college again.
Bright eyed and bubbling, she left on the train for Philadelphia College of Bible in downtown Philadelphia. We sadly watched her go, for she had much to give us and much to offer our children.
That same evening, holding small Terry in her arms, her blue eyes reddened from weeping, Cyndie knocked on our apartment door.
“ I just couldn’t leave, Mrs. K,” she stammered. “I’m here to stay.”
I made a few mental reservations. Here, I thought , until some handsome youth comes dashing along on his white charger and discovers you.
We welcomed her back with open arms, however.
Now, almost five years later, Cyndie is still with us, proudly wearing her hard-earned L.P.N. pin on her crisp white uniform. But suddenly the handsome youth on the white charger has appeared on the scene and stands ready to gallop off with her.
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“We sure live in a goldfish bowl!” Diane complained after the third person had hailed her on the intercom that Saturday to inform her that, “Ron is in the driveway.”
“Hey, Dee, Ron is here. He’s parking his car. Is it new?” And then a sing-song voice announcing, “Ron is on his way up to the apartment, DeeDee.”
Poor Ron!” He was hard put to it for a place to court Diane!
But life went on even though it was hard for us to adapt to our see-through way of life. since the geographical location of our apartment is such that we must ascend or descend the carpeted steps leading from the third floor to the second, we had to pass right by their open bedroom doors. Invariably the girls flocked out to the hallway to greet us.
“Where are you going, Mrs. Krentel?” “What are we having for dinner?” “You look pretty tonight.” “When is Diane coming home?” ( Now that Diane was away in college most of the time, her visits home for holidays or vacation were gal events; she was like a movie star in their eyes.)
Melissa in particular gave her big sister instant and fervent adoration. ‘she followed in her wake like a dinghy at too close haul. Much to my chagrin, Melissa said “Dee-Dee” long before “Mommy” was intelligible at all. And “Daddy” was so easy for her, it slipped right out of her mouth. I think she was planning to call me “Daddy “ too but I nipped that little scheme in the bud right from the start.
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That fall, our friend Charles from Dallas, Texas, visited us on his way to a speaking engagement in New York. We traipsed him up and down and around the miracle of Melmark. When he got outside in the walking garden, after viewing the splendor of the pool and surrounding countryside, he looked up at the arched linden trees and threw back his head and laughed. “Only you Krentels would have thought of such a gigantic scheme to keep your Melissa home with you!” And we laughed with him.
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Living as close as we do to so many of our staff we find that, along with their joys, we have acquired their personal problems. Take Dot, for instance!
Dot’s life had been so confused that she had run away from her fine Christian home in Ohio and was trying to make her way on her own. Like the prodigal son, she had lived in the very septs and had partaken of all that the world had to offer.
“ I’ve had it—-up to here!” Dot said. “You give me a chance at Melmark, and I’ll prove to you that I’ve changed!”
Dot had many personality problems which made it difficult for her to keep the friends that she so quickly made. Now there was a vacancy in one of our staff rooms which Dot wanted to move into. But two of the three girls involved had just left my apartment, begging me to keep Dot from moving in with them.
“What did they say!?” Dot demanded, her eyes dripping black mascara down her cheeks, and filling with tears for herself over this new tragedy in her life.
“They don’t want you to move in with them.” Was there any other way to say it?
“I knew it. I knew it, Mrs. K.! I just don’t get it. I try so hard to be nice and, beside, I didn’t even say I was going to move in yet or even wanted to.”
“Well, you must have given them some indication of it, Dot.”
“No, honest, I didn’t. All I did was just knock on the door yesterday real friendly like and asked to see how big the closet was.”
I exploded with laughter.
“You’re as subtle as roquefort cheese. Hang loose, we’ll think of something!”
“Am I that awful?” she wailed. Her torn pocket on her bedraggled blue and white striped uniform was held together by a large blue diaper pin. One stocking sported two large runs racing down her leg side by side. She saw me surveying the situation and immediately began to make excuses. I cut her short, for we had paraded her alibis many times.
“Look, Dot, just go downstairs and report for duty. Here let me fix that pocket.” I tore it neatly off , and began to pick at the threads. “And don’t burden yourself with getting bitter. Give the problem to God. he surely can think of something better than we both can,”
A faint smile appeared——but only for a second.
I kept believing right until the very day that she left, that somehow Dot was going to make.
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When dark-haired, dark-eyed Mary joined our staff that very first fall, I wondered how long she would last. For Mary was a quiet reserved girl of twenty-one. she had written a beautiful letter, faultlessly penned, telling us of her desire to work with handicapped children.
I met her at the train station one early afternoon soon after Cyndie had joined our staff. She climbed into the Volkswagen and placed her two suitcases on the back seat. After I had exhausted the usual pleasantries about the health of her mother, the state of her father’s business, and “How was the train ride, anyway?” We rode for a while in uneasy silence. Finally I said, “Mary, what church did you attend?”
“It was just a little one.” She sounded apologetic.
“OH?” I waited for her to volunteer more information.”I used to be a Catholic. But then I went to this little church with a friend of mine. I heard something that I never knew before. They said that all I had to do was to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ.”
She was breathless and seemed a bit embarrassed.
And do you believe that too?” I asked, giving her no indication which theological position I favored.
“Yes, I do.” She continued to look straight ahead.
I reached over and laid my hand on her folded hands resting quietly in her lap.
“Good for you!” I smiled at her. “So do I.”
It was a tremendously courageous thing for her to admit to a brand-new employer, and I secretly applauded her.
And Mary has proven to be another one of the small faithful nucleus who has served our children for the past five years.
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And what can I say of the others—-those who come faithfully, day after day, working fiercely with every limb and muscle at a task that tomorrow will only have to be repeated all over again, where the successes are infinitely small and the monetary rewards insufficient of themselves—-to these keepers of the helpless, these leaders of the lame, what shall I say? Only Christ can say, “In as much as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
IT’S ALL IN A DAY’S WORK!
By Carole Schauermann
(Carole worked the 7:00-3:00 shift in the GreenRoom1)
I walk straight in at 7:00A.M.
And stand for a minute and look at them.
“Hello kids!” with a sigh, I will say,
For after all it’s the start of the day.
“TV please,” says Dave loud and clear.
The set better work, I think, with a fear.
I flick on the set and hope there will be
A cartoon to keep David quiet for me.
I find one fast and fill with joy;
But Dave, with a freon says, “I wanna toy.”
With the toy in his hand, after not too long,
He throws it away and says, “Sing me a song.”
And after the song is nearly complete,
He states very frankly, “I wanna eat!”
I throw up my hands and turn away,
There are other kids to take care of today.
Johnny is waiting and so is Toddy,
And off we go for a round at the potty.
I think these kids are quite confused,
For bowels are held tight when potties are used.
The banging I hear—-that comes from a bed.
I better burry’ they want to be fe.
Everyone wants to be first on the list.
And I take Jo off to the Gingerbread Room.
I feed them well and when they’re done,
I dress them neatly, one by one.
When the last one’s finished, I count to ten,
‘cause the first one needs to be changed again.
But quickly I move, no time to fool.
Soon these kids will be late for school.
Down the steps, stumbling all the way,
“Hold on to the rail or you’ll fall!” I say,
If I raise my voice, its sure to appall
The inevitable guest in the center hall.
Once in the playroom, our aim without mention
Is to give each child a little attention.
With Bubby, I’ll look at a book or so
While Andy is gurgling at David O.
David, in turn, tells him all his troubles,
Not in words, but in well-blown bubbles.
Play with them, teach them, one by one,
Making it interesting, making it fun.
Patience for this is a gift from Heaven
As on we go from nine till eleven.
Next, round them up in a nice little bunch
And take them up the steps for lunch is due.
That breakfast, just finished, now lunch is due.
Two more have eaten, it’s drawing near noon,
And across the room comes a flying spoon.
A plate full of food goes down with a flop,
And someone is running to fetch the mop.
It’s time for those guest, that I spoke of before
To appear in the doorway and stare at the floor.
The mess once cleaned, the last one fed;
I potty and change them and put them to bed.
There’s sheets to get and diapers to fold;
I sadly regret there’s a sick child to hold.
Soon everything’s done and the room is all straight.
The carpet is clean and the bathroom looks great.
The socks are all sorted; I’ve answered their cries
And routinely cleaned up Jo’s daily surprise.
A whole two minutes will pass by and then
I’ll get them from bed and start over again.
And as I do, I cannot conceive,
The one baffling thing I find hard to believe;
They’re the only skids all over the map
Who get dirty faces while taking a nap!
