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CORPUS REPORTS
MARCH/APRIL 2010
The Year of the Married Priest you like kids but LIVING on site with them? I recall saying to my daughter, a close friend “The kids will either keep me young or send me to an early grave.” Well, four years later, I am more alive than I have ever been. I am a surrogate grandpa for 24 abused and neglected kids at a place called the Children’s Village in Santa Rosa, CA. I live on-site in a small apartment, as a full time volunteer, being a grandpa to a bunch of beautiful kids who have had some pretty major trauma in their young lives. As I write, I can see from my apartment window two of the older boys tossing a football. Alice and Sandy are playing jump rope. Six-year-old Alex, with considerable pride in his newfound skill, is riding his bike solo for the first time. Living as I do as a grandpa I’ve come to know these kids, not as foster kids but by their names. I am amazed at how well this generational mix is working. The kids accept us old folks seamlessly into their young lives. As for me, life has changed dramatically. Living so close to these kids has enlarged my heart and stretched me in more ways than I thought possible. In the past weeks I found myself listening to the sounds of rap and R&B music, learning to like Justin Timberlake’s songs, giving “the talk” to a 13-year-old boy, watching at least a million soccer games, figuring out how to download music from my computer and how to instant message on my cell phone. You might say I have been dragged out of my comfort zone into a new world. I laugh a lot, like when Tony asked his house parent to “tuck him in like a burrito” at night or when little Mikey asked me “Does God have a telephone number?” I also cry a lot, especially when Andy’s mom misses still another visit or when I see first hand the fear and loss of innocence in the eyes of a kid that has been sexually abused. Our experiences as grandparents bring us close to our village kids. We become trusted older friends who they can talk to. Our gift is the time we are able to give them. They come to us just to “hang out” or have some “me and you time.” The kids, in turn, have taught me invaluable lessons about God and life. Here, in this unlikely place, almost fifty years after my ordination to the priesthood, I am finally learning what it is to be
a priest. The kids have taught me…Just the other day, a tenyear-old boy, at the Children’s Village where I live, knocked on my apartment door asking to talk to me. “Sure Jake, come on in,” I said. “Do you want a soda or something?” “No, I’m good,” he replied. So we sat down, or rather I sat down. Jake was much more comfortable jumping off and on the beanbag between sentences. I won’t go into the issues that weighed on the young kid’s mind. Suffice it to say he had experienced the kind of abuse—physical, sexual and emotional—that would move a robot to tears. I listened. Boy, did I listen. Then I started to offer what I hoped would be words of wisdom, but Jake interrupted me. “That’s okay, Grandpa Hank, I just needed to have someone to listen. I’ve been trying to get someone to hear me but they’re all too busy.” Just like that, Jake brought our little session to a close. I guess ten minutes of sharing feelings is a lot to ask of a ten-year-old boy. He got his soda and potato chips and as he was leaving, I said to him, “Jake, you know that I love you, right?” He broke into a laugh. “Grandpa Hank, I know. You told me that 100 times already.” He laughed again. “You don’t have to keep saying it, you know. I get it.” It took a ten-year-old kid to help me to get what being a priest is all about. My vocation is to love others and continue to love them until they “get it.” Being a priest is not about running a parish or preaching a sermon or leading a liturgy; it’s all about love.
I laugh a lot, like when Tony asked his house parent to “tuck him in like a burrito” at night or when little Mikey asked me “Does God have a telephone number?” I also cry a lot, especially when Andy’s mom misses still another visit or when I see first hand the fear and loss of innocence in the eyes of a kid that has been sexually abused.