Dani's Story: A Journey From Neglect to Love (26 page)

On the other hand, we were also contacted by a national television show that was famous for its ugly confrontations between its guests. The producers either wanted us to appear on the show with Michelle Crockett or observe from a studio while they confronted her on camera. We were appalled that they would think for a minute that we were the kind of people who might do that. They kept asking the same question in different ways, but our answer remained no.

And then that fall along came Oprah. One of the producers who worked for
The Oprah Winfrey Show
contacted Carolyn, who knew her from her earlier work as a local news anchor. Because Carolyn trusted her passion and professionalism, she put the producer in touch with us, and, over several months, we came to trust her as well.

I had never seen Oprah’s show, but it was nothing personal. I rarely watched television and never during the day. The show was on either when I was running to get kids to school, taking them to something, or marshalling their homework assignments. But you would have had to be living under a rock on Mars during the last twenty years not to know how crazy popular Oprah’s show was. The power of her influence and the vast size of her audience could really make an incredible impact on the issues we felt so strongly about.

But in just the brief amount of time since the
St. Petersburg Times
article had run, we knew how media attention could turn our lives upside down and how much of an invasion of our family’s privacy it could be. We felt enormous pressure to weigh the merits of the former with the disadvantages of the latter.

We didn’t have our pastor in Florida to turn to, and we didn’t really know anyone in Tennessee, so we had many frank conversations with Carolyn and relied on her to help us through.

The producers had several thoughts on how to handle the story, but what we wanted more than anything was to make clear the damage that Dani and other children like her suffer from the extreme neglect inflicted on them—not only by their families but compounded by tragically dysfunctional children’s services agencies. We did not want drama—which meant no appearance by Michelle Crockett. And no live interviews with Dani.

We wanted viewers to see how far she had come and how much difference love and attention had made in her life. We wanted viewers to see how much she had had an impact on our lives. But our primary goal was to raise awareness of the needs of children in the foster care system, right here in America, and to convey the joys and rewards of adopting.

The producers of the
Oprah
show were very open to our concerns, and when they told us that Dr. Bruce Perry—an expert in the field of severe child neglect—was going to be a guest on the show, we agreed to do it. We hoped that we would have an opportunity before or after the taping to sit and talk with him privately about Dani.

Once we said yes, things moved quickly. We spent a little more than twenty-four hours in Chicago, but we made the most of it. Willie’s favorite part of the whole experience was the limos. One came all the way to Lebanon to pick us up, then took us to the Nashville airport. We had never ridden in one before. We were so naïve, we wouldn’t let Willie have a bottle of water because we thought we would have to buy it, and we were saving our cash for Chicago, not knowing what we would be responsible for there, either.

The plane ride was uneventful. Dani looked out the window, but she didn’t seem to think it was all that unusual to be flying through and above the clouds. She liked the cup of juice and the bag of pretzels the best. At the Chicago airport, we were picked up by another car; the driver was so friendly that when we told him it was our first time in Chicago, he drove us all over the city and pointed out all of the sites. I was leaning out the window like a total hick, taking pictures of buildings. We definitely felt like “country comes to town.” I don’t think Willie’s mouth closed during the entire ride.

After we settled into our rooms, Dr. Perry called to introduce himself and tell us how much he was looking forward to meeting us. I had read so much about his work with children that it was as much of a thrill to meet him as it was going to be to meet Oprah.

The next morning when we were having breakfast in the hotel dining room, Dr. Perry came in from his run and joined us for coffee, so he got to observe Dani for about twenty minutes. She was doing so well—using her fork, drinking out of a cup, sitting still beside Bernie. Just as Dr. Perry remarked on how well she had attached to us and how comfortable she seemed, I saw her eyes turn to an elderly couple sitting across the room from us. She popped up, walked very deliberately over to their table, and plopped on the banquette beside the woman, looking at her as if to say, “Well, what are you going to feed me?” Dr. Perry was laughing and asked if she did that a lot. I told him no, but that the couple probably reminded her of the elderly friends we had left behind in Florida, whom we all missed so much. He seemed impressed that Dani had made real attachments to people. Bernie and I have always maintained that she does not suffer from attachment disorder, which many people presume.

The taping of the show went by in a blur and about six hours after we walked off the set and got in the car to take us to the airport, we were back in our simple little home in Tennessee. I scrubbed off my makeup, changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, fed the dogs, and made lunches for the next day, while Bernie got Dani showered, into her pajamas, and settled down on her bed with Lullaby Gloworm. I sat on Willie’s bed as he said his prayers, and I kissed him goodnight. I picked his dirty clothes up off the floor, stopped in the bathroom to pick up Dani’s, and went downstairs to the laundry room. Back to reality. Thank God.

On the day the show aired, Willie, Bernie and I sat down to watch it in the family room. Since it wasn’t
Sponge Bob
or
Sesame Street
, Dani had absolutely no interest and went off to her room to play.

It is a very strange and surreal experience to watch yourself on television. The show started with segments about some pretty infamous cases of children who had been severely neglected. Then there Bernie and I were on stage in a semi-circle with Dr. Perry and Oprah. I remember thinking it would be cheesy to hold Bernie’s hand so the two of us sat there looking stiff as boards.

In between talking to us, the producers inserted pre-taped interviews with Detective Holste, Garet White, and Lane DeGregory, and Oprah Skyped with Dr. Armstrong. Oprah asked us questions about Dani, about our home life, our hopes for her, and what we wanted people to know. I had totally forgotten everything that we had said and what had been said to us while we taped the show, so it was interesting to actually sit and take it all in. We sounded smart enough, even if we did look like deer in the headlights!

It was especially gratifying to hear Dr. Armstrong and Dr. Perry talk about how we instinctively knew how to care for Dani—allowing her to be a baby, making her feel loved and safe, and helping her learn and progress. I guess “instinctively” meant “not professionally.” That didn’t bother me. They were not judging us, by any means. In fact, they were very kind in their observations and very encouraging. When Oprah asked Dr. Perry what advice he would give us, he kind of smiled and shook his head. “Just keep doing what you’re doing because it’s working.” Coming from someone with his experience and reputation, those words just made me tear up, and Bernie patted my knee.

The only comic relief came at the end of the show, when Oprah was talking about what a great big brother Willie had been and what a “remarkable young man” he must be and then asked for him to come out and join us on set.

When Willie was led to the stage he didn’t look nearly as terrified as we did, just totally confused and maybe a little bit nervous that he might be in trouble. He climbed up onto the platform, and Oprah grabbed him and put him in her lap. His feet dangled above the floor, his eyes popped as wide as saucers, and a blush rose in his cheeks. I glanced over at him sitting on the sofa on the other side of Bernie and he was blushing again!

Oprah shared with him that she had been telling the audience (and the millions now watching at home with us) what a special boy he was and how much she admired him for everything he did for Dani. On camera, Willie looked even more puzzled, simply shrugged his shoulders, and remained mute. As Oprah wrapped up the show, she leaned over and asked Willie if he would say good-bye. “Good-bye,” he squeaked.

Three days after the show aired, Carolyn Eastman sent us an e-mail. “Just wanted to be sure you folks knew this. Dani’s site has received more than 45,000 visitors since the
Oprah
show ran!” I called Bernie over to see. “45,000 visitors?” he exclaimed. “Let’s hope they all don’t send us an e-mail!”

Chapter 24

Big Brother

Though our family and friends were initially enthusiastic about our desire to adopt a child, when the semi-formed idea became the reality of a child like Dani and all of the issues and the challenges she carried with her, they became concerned. Some were quite vehemently outspoken also. Even our pastor told us that if we had any doubts, God would not look unkindly on us if we changed our minds.

As usual, Dorothy was the most outspoken, predicting that the demands of taking care of someone like Dani would ruin not only our lives, but Willie’s, too. That seemed a bit overly dramatic to Bernie and me, but we appreciated her honesty. Yet we didn’t wander into this blindly. From the time we first saw Dani’s photo at the Heart Gallery event and learned of her condition, we talked it up one side and down the other, night after night.

We shared everything with Willie. We were as honest as we could be in letting him know that Dani would not be the kind of little sister or brother he had imagined. The one he would toss a ball with, race his bike against, vie with to see who ran the fastest and jumped the highest, helped with homework, the one he would share everything with—secrets, jokes, tricks, and fears. Dani would not be that sibling.

If at any point in the process of the adoption, Willie had come to us and asked us not to do it, we would have stopped. Nothing would have been worth hurting our sweet boy, the one child whose creation we shared. But we were pretty certain that wouldn’t happen because we knew enough about the character of our son to know that he would respond in exactly the way he did—with unconditional love.

Willie was born with that nurturing gene, which was passed along from Bernie and me as surely as his blue eyes and small frame were. All of our boys have it, but in none of the four is nurturing as inherent to his character as it is to Willie’s.

That empathy for others was a big part of what drew me to Bernie, particularly after my two marriages to rather self-absorbed men. Not long after Bernie and I became friends, but before we were dating, we were driving back to the contractor’s office from working on a job together. It had been a yucky day, cold and drizzling, and we were dead on our feet. All I could think about was home and a hot shower before making dinner for Paul, Steven, and me. We passed a park, and Bernie noticed an elderly man sort of aimlessly walking about, not dressed for the weather.

There might as well have been a bumper sticker on the back of his truck. “I brake for hurt animals, lost children, senior citizens, and anyone in need.” He made a U-turn in the middle of the road, and we drove back to the park. Bernie got out of the truck and carefully approached the gentleman so as not to startle him. It was clear that the man was not homeless but had wandered off from wherever he was supposed to be and, sadly, could not remember where that was. Bernie took off his own jacket to put on the man and urged him to get into the truck with us. Bernie asked him questions, trying to figure out where he might belong, but all that the man knew was that it was a place with other people. We drove to a service station to get a Yellow Pages, and we looked up assisted-living places. Thankfully, we were still in Tennessee and not in Florida, or we would have been driving around for days.

There was a senior citizens’ center not too far away, so we drove there, and both of us walked in with the man. It turned out that he had not walked off from the center, but the folks there knew him. They suspected that he had left his home on foot, heading to the center, and had lost his way. They promised to get him safely home and thanked us profusely. That incident showed me the man Bernie Lierow is. He wasn’t doing it to impress me, and he didn’t ask whether it was okay. Helping others, taking the literal shirt off his back, came as instinctually to him as breathing, and that not only filled me with admiration for him but played a big role in moving our relationship to something more serious.

I was always the person to take in the blind dog with the broken leg that was left on the side of the road; to love the broken, dirty doll more than the most beautiful one in the display case; to sit at lunch in the cafeteria with the kid whom the others left out. Our need to nurture extended even to houses. Bernie and I were both drawn to rundown, abandoned buildings that we were sure just needed a little TLC—supplemented by huge amounts of elbow grease and manual labor—to be restored to their proud and dignified selves.

Willie’s personality was nothing out of the ordinary in our family. In fact, it was quite normal. If he had reacted in any other way, we would have wondered where the heck we had gone wrong and whose child he was!

We were so very proud of him. We always hear parents boasting about their “gifted” children, and we usually nod and smile at them. Willie worked hard but struggled academically because of his ADHD and a reading disorder, and his size means he will never be a star athlete—or even a competitive one. But he is supremely gifted in the ways that matter the most to us, and he is everything that a little girl—any little girl—could wish for in a big brother: protective, patient, kind, thoughtful, helpful, entertaining, strong, and loving.

The first time Willie met Dani in her classroom at Sanders Elementary, he was afraid of her. We could see it in his face, and he later admitted it was true. That room alone was a lot to take in, especially for a young boy who had never been exposed to anything like the children in Mr. O’Keefe’s care. But Willie didn’t run from it. Instead, he spent the few hours we were there picking up toys that other children dropped, reading stories, and helping the teacher aides. He kept an eye on Dani but didn’t get too close to her. He sat beside her at the lunch table but didn’t try to feed her. Maybe he was afraid she would bite! But as we were telling her good-bye, he chimed in, and the empathy he had for her was evident in his voice.

When we got in the car, it was Paul who was weeping. It was Willie who had one question: “When is she going to come visit us?”

We believe Willie bonded with Dani subconsciously the minute we came into the classroom when she grasped him by the forearms and stared deeply into his eyes before running away, squawking. It simply took the rest of him a few hours to catch up with the part of him that she had already touched. Once that happened, he never had a second thought, and loving Dani became as natural to him as loving us, his stepbrothers, his dogs, and that annoying parrot.

Readers of the newspaper story were especially touched with Willie’s answer to Lane’s question about Dani taking up so much of our time: “She needs them more than me.” I don’t think Willie has ever really felt deprived of our time, attention, or love since Dani came. He is not getting less of that since she came to live with us. As any parent who worries about finding enough love or time for a second child—or a third, a fourth, a fifth, or a sixth—knows, the well is bottomless when it comes to your children.

I think that seeing Willie drive Dani around in that little red jeep, and how much he loved being that guy for her, convinced Dorothy that everything would be all right between the two of them.

The only time I have ever seen Willie get even a little upset over something Dani received that he didn’t was when we were able to get her signed up for therapeutic horse riding at the Naples Equestrian Center. Her sessions were once a week, and we all went together. I could see the longing on Willie’s face as Dani sat on the horse and was led around the rink. Willie has always loved horses and wanted so much to ride, but the program was only for special needs children. Lessons for non-special needs kids were well out of our reach financially, especially during the last few months of the time we lived in Florida. Bernie and I wanted so much to give that to Willie, but it just wasn’t possible. Instead, while we were there, he climbed up on the stalls to pat the other horses and helped the therapists carry gear and get Dani ready to ride. He never once whined about it.

In Tennessee, we couldn’t recreate the life we had in Florida. Not the pool, not the dock and the manatees, not the beach, the neighbors, or the bike rides. Bernie and I knew we would have to create a new life from what we had to work with. Dani and Willie were just going to have to become country kids.

One of the first things we did when we moved back was sign Willie up for 4-H Club. It was a special activity he could do that was his own. Either Bernie or I took him to meetings, while the other stayed home with Dani so that Willie could have some time to himself.

He immediately took to the agricultural lifestyle, probably because it had so much to do with animals. Even as we settled into the Gilbert Valley house, we knew it wouldn’t be permanent. Our dream was to purchase some acreage farther out in the country and build. I suggested to Bernie that we ease into the farm life while we were still on Gilbert Valley Road. Because it was too late to plant a summer garden, and we didn’t have the pasture or a barn for a horse or a coop for chickens, I proposed that we get a couple of goats. Bernie raised his “what-are-you-crazy” eyebrow at me and asked where I thought we should keep them. “Don’t you raise that eyebrow at me, Bernie! There’s plenty of fenced grass in the back, and they can sleep in the garage.” The eyebrow went higher. “My garage? You want to make my workshop into a goat barn?” I pointed out that it was big enough to share and that I bet that Dani would love having goats to pat. End of discussion. I tried not to pull out the “Dani would love . . . ” card too often, but it was always effective.

The Wilson County Fair—the biggest in the state—was just a week away. It’s about as good as it gets if you’re interested in agriculture, farm animals, and machinery, not to mention funnel cakes, cotton candy, Ferris wheels, and merry-go-rounds.

The fair had a big goat barn, and I just knew that when Bernie saw the goats—all prettied up for the fair—he would fall so in love that getting some would become his idea.

We found out that the fair designates a morning for special needs kids on the midway. It’s not easy to take full-grown teenagers with no muscle control out of wheelchairs and situate them safely in a ride. Experience has shown us that not everyone has patience when it comes to the physically or mentally disabled, who are not as mobile or agile as they are, so the Special Needs Day was a great opportunity for families with those members.

It can also be disconcerting to be in a crowd of three hundred people, and more than half of them are in a wheelchair; are unable to speak, see, or hear; or can’t control their limbs. I was struck again by how truly lucky we were and how minor Dani’s limitations seemed sometimes, in comparison to others’.

Bernie was thrilled to get a free pass to be a ten-year-old, and Willie was just beside himself with excitement. For once, having a special needs sister was going to pay off! I am not a big amusement ride person and was more than happy to fill the role of the parent standing on the sidelines, waving each time they came into my view. Dani seemed skeptical at first, but when she climbed into one of those old-timey Model T’s with Willie at the wheel, it put a smile on her face that didn’t come off the rest of the morning.

Bernie went with her on the faster rides or the ones that went higher in the air, but she wasn’t afraid of anything. To her, it was just a bigger, louder, more colorful version of the playgrounds she loved, and for the first time since we left Florida, she had the unrestrained joy on her face that we had not seen in months.

Right before the midway opened to the general population, we headed toward the agricultural side of the fair, my favorite part. I loved everything about it—the blue-ribbon pies, jams, and hams; the animal barns; the quilting exhibit; the educational exhibits of historic rural living. Bernie and Willie were hypnotized by the shiny new farm equipment, from tractors to combines. The Wilson County Fair was better than Disney World to us.

Almost as soon as we walked into the exhibit hall with the food competition, we had to do a 180 and walk back out. Dani thought that all of those cakes, pies, and cookies were for her, and as her last teacher at Spring Creek Elementary in Florida pointed out in a note home, she is fast. I barely got between her hand and a gorgeous coconut cake, and that was the end of the blue-ribbon baked goods portion of our outing to the Wilson County Fair. On the way to the animal barns, we stopped for lunch and got Dani her first corn dog. It struck me that if I could just figure out a way to put all of her food on a stick, we’d have it made at mealtimes.

As delighted as Dani was on the rides, it was the animals—especially the goats and the sheep—that seemed to bring her an inner peace, a calmness and a contentment I had not seen before. As we went up and down the aisles, watching the farm kids tend these animals that they had raised since birth, Dani was spellbound. We stopped at a few stalls and asked if she could pet them. She giggled at the feel of the sheep’s coat and laughed when a goat nibbled at her shorts. I didn’t even have to look at Bernie to know that he would soon be sharing his workshop with goats.

Chickens are Bernie’s peculiar fascination, and the breeds of fowl at the Wilson County Fair are astounding. He picked Dani up to look at the particularly unusual ones, such as the Polish chickens with their gaudy plumes of head feathers.