Investigating New Territory Through The World of Writing
After our chat with Brother Tom we headed across the parking lot to the school. It was two stories with a recreation room filled with pool tables and a flat screen T.V. The halls were filled with black and white photos of the home back in the thirties and forties. All I could think of, walking through those halls was the fact that the school and the home might be shut down before Christmas. Where were those boys going to go? Who would be taking care of them. Would they be out on the street. Or would brother Tom find a creative way to keep them coming to him.
Finally we ended up in another one of brother Tom’s offices. This one was bigger than his home office. There was a huge desk, fancy leather chairs (all donated, I’m sure) and art. After we walked inside, he looked at us, his eyes lighting up like that of a child, “Face me, don’t turn back around. Did you see a statue in the corner? Describe it. What was it?. Mark said there was a mother carrying a child. I said I thought there was a mother with a child on her back. Both of us were wrong. It was a maiden with an angel looking over her shoulder. Then we stopped to agree about how hard it was for people who were in line ups to be at the mercy of people who may or may not have seen what they think they saw.
It was getting closer to the time we had to get to the airport, so brother Tom insisted we grab some t-shirts from St. John’s day, because he had extra. Brother Tom drove us to the airport, weaving in and out of traffic in his Honda Civic, refusing to talk on the phone as he drove. But because the phone kept ringing he took it on speaker. So, we listened to the person who was in charge of running the resale shop ask him how much he should sell some lamp for. Apparently, some lady had been coming back waiting for Brother Tom to show up and give a price for this lamp. He came up with a price that the lady could afford. In the hour and a half we had been with him, he had received five phone calls and one visit. He never stopped working. Constantly, people were calling him, needing to meet with him for behavior, consultation, advice. Even though, they weren’t his children, he got up in the middle of the night to go to crazy places in the middle of New York City to pick up these kids who lost their parents. During the day, he ran a school and a store, struggled with funding, acted like a parent, a friend, an administrator, and a cabby. Then I thought about my week of indulgence. I was going to miss the museums, the restaurants, the people. Its always relative. Going back home to my life with three healthy kids, a house, a cottage, a job friends and family was going to be a piece of cake.