Wilton and Meremen's first year at home (which is only a few weeks away — they came home in June 2005) has been packed with "firsts." Unlike our biological children, who we were able to watch when they said their first word, or took their first steps, or had their first birthday, or lost their first tooth, Wilton and Meremen's "firsts" have been more unique, more profound to watch and more enlightening to the how different life is here in the United States.
– the first time on an escalator: In the Miami airport, as Wilton and Meremen and I exited the plane and entered the airport, one of our first obstacles was the escalator. I had a backpack on one shoulder and a guitar bag over the other, one hand holding Wilton's hand and one hand holding Meremen's hand. I could tell that they were both scared (in general) of the airport, all the people, the noise, etc., and I could tell that they were terrified of whatever this metal-teeth-people-moving-monster that we were about to step on to. Wilton was the first to step and as he was moving-up, Meremen froze, unwilling to take the first step on. And, since I can only stretch so far, and since I wasn't about to let go . . . as the distance between Wilton and Meremen stretched to exactly 6'0", Meremen was yanked onto the escalator. I am still not sure that Meremen is totally comfortable with escalators. This story may explain why.
– their first time in a car on smooth roads: Haiti barely has a working road system. While I was there, I became the truck driver for the orphanage and the rules are fairly simple, stay on the right hand side of the road (most of the time), watch out for pot-holes (some about the size of a kitchen table), watch out for people walking, honk your horn every 5-10 seconds (usually to let someone know you were there, that they should move, etc), and don't make eye contact (apparently making eye contact gives up your right-of-way). Wilton and Meremen had ridden in the orphanage truck with me in Haiti to go to grocery store or to the fruit market, but coming home, with Mom, Harrison and Abbey (and our Honda Odyssey) waiting at the airport was all new — your very own leather-seated, personally air-conditioned, double arm-rest captain's chair!
– the first time to church: The kids and I came home on a Saturday night and even though we knew there might-should be some time to rest and relax and let everyone get adjusted, we thought, "If there was ever a day for us to go to church – to give praise and worship to our God who brought us through this process, it would be today." Maybe not such a great idea!?!!?? To make a long-story short, somehow the kids broke-out of their church service, dashed passed security (seriously) and came and found us in church. I don't remember all the details, but first they were with us in church, then we took them to their church, they broke-out, they went back, they apologized for running-out, Harrison cried, they all cried, we went back into church, we had to get up and walk out, and then we decided to just go home.
– the first time out to a restaurant: The second day that the kids were home was a busy day. We had planned on having them home almost a year and a-half earlier and had decided that the best therapy during the waiting was to try to move on through life. So Jenny and the kids were working at camp and we were a few weeks into building a new house. So, after a morning of camp (and the first-time Wilton and Meremen had ever played in a sprinkler, or played in grass barefoot), Jenny raced the kids across town to the doctor's office for their physicals. And on the way, she handed the kids back a lunch that she had packed, knowing they would be pressed for time. So she handed each child a pb-n-j sandwich, a small bag of chips and a juice box. So, fast-forward through the doctor's visit (which was not the first time they had seen a doctor, but was definitely the first-time that Jenny has ever had to physically restrain one of our children, while they were screaming at the top of their lungs, while the nurse was drawing blood for testing), through the afternoon and time for dinner. I came home from work, came upstairs and announced to everyone that we were going out to eat dinner. And to anyone who knows us, it is implied, when we say "going out to dinner", we mean "going to eat Mexican food." Since Wilton and Meremen had only been home for three days, I had been speaking mainly Creole to them and so I told them in Creole, "Ou bezwen ale a machine. Nou ale manje." (You need to go to the car. We are going to eat.) Makes sense, right? So, as all four children are jumping and rejoicing (Wilton and Meremen have no idea why really, but at this point have caught-on quickly to copying Harrison and Abbey), they get on shoes and start climbing into the van. Meremen climbs into the back of the car, starts looking around her seat in a mild-panic and says to me, "Dad, I no see my food. I no have any food." Ha! It makes perfect sense, this is how we eat meals at home. It's how they ate lunch and it is exactly what I had said, "You need to get in the car. It's time to eat."
