Dear Diary,
Eleven years ago my mother, after learning that my brother was born with a disability, filled out a refusal form. I saw that paper myself when I was delivering personal files to the infirmary at the children’s home. The nurse handed me a stack of folders and told me to follow her, but the phone rang and she fled, waving me toward the infirmary and saying, You sort it out yourself. She never imagined that, upon seeing his surname on a file, I would open the folder and read my mothers refusal letter.
In the childrens home, every child clings to the hope of being reunited with parents. I stopped waiting, and I stopped weeping. My heart grew a steel shell that shielded me from cruelty, loneliness, and neglect.
Our home had its own customs. On the eve of Christmas, all the residents penned letters to Father Christmas. The director passed them to donors, who tried their best to grant the wishes. Some of those letters even reached the Royal Air Force squadron. Most children asked for the one miracle they could imagine: to find their mum and dad. The staff who opened the letters were left scratching their heads over what gifts to give.
One day, Flight Engineer Major Clarke received such a letter. He slipped it into his flight jacket pocket, intending to read it later at home with his wife and daughter to decide what to buy the child.
That evening, as the family sat down for dinner, he remembered the letter, opened it, and read aloud: Dear adults, if you can, please give me a laptop. Dont waste money on toys or clothes. We have everything we need here. On the internet I could find friends and maybe even family. It was signed, Sam Ives, 11 years old.
My goodness, my wife said, children are so clever these days. He could really connect with people online.
Our daughter, Poppy, frowned, read the letter again, and paused. I noticed a tremor at the corners of her mouth. Whats wrong? I asked.
She replied, Dad, the boy isnt really hoping to find his parents. He cant they arent there. The laptop is his lifeline out of solitude. He writes find friends or family; strangers can become family. Lets take every penny from my piggy bank, buy him a laptop, and deliver it together.
The Christmas celebration at the childrens home went on as usual: a little show, Father Christmas and Mrs. Snowflake lighting the tree, sponsors handing out presents, and occasional families taking children on holidays. I never expected to be noticed. Usually only the pretty girls got attention; the boys were ignored.
Id written the letter simply because everyone else did. That night, among the guests, I spotted a man in a flight uniform. My heart fluttered, then I turned away, breathing quietly. I accepted a bag of sweets and, limping slightly, headed for the exit.
Sam Ives! someone called, and I turned. Standing behind me was that very pilot. I froze, unsure how to act.
Hello, Sam, he said. We received your letter and would like to give you a present. But first, lets get to know each other. Im Andrew Clarke, but you can call me Uncle Andrew.
Beside him stood a beautiful woman. Im Aunt Natalie, she said. Their daughter, Poppy, smiled. Were the same age, she added.
Im Sam Obb, I replied, using the nickname Id earned.
Poppy handed me a box. Its for you. Come with us to a room and well show you how to use the laptop.
We entered an empty hall where the children usually did evening lessons. Poppy demonstrated how to power the laptop on and off, log in, browse the web, and she registered me on a social network. Uncle Andrew sat nearby, offering occasional tips. I felt his warmth, his strength, his protection. Poppy chattered like a magpie, but the boy in me noted she wasnt a whiner; she handled the laptop expertly and even took part in the sports club. As we left, Aunt Natalie gave me a gentle hug; her perfume brushed my nose and eyes, and for a heartbeat I held my breath before stepping down the corridor.
Well be back, Poppy shouted.
From that day my life changed dramatically. I stopped caring about nicknames and stopped listening to the other kids. The internet opened a world of useful information. Id always been fascinated by aircraft; I learned that the first massproduced military transport was the Avro York, designed by Sir Geoffrey de Havilland, and that the Avro Anson was a later variant.
On weekends Uncle Andrew and Poppy visited. We went to the circus, played arcade games, ate ice cream. I was shy and often declined their offers, uncomfortable with them paying for everything.
One memorable morning the headmistress called me into her office. Inside, Aunt Natalie waited, and my heart thumped uncomfortably. Sam, she said, Natalie asks if youll be allowed two days off with her. If you agree, Ill grant it.
Sam, today is Aviation Day. Uncle Andrew will host a big celebration. He wants you to attend. Will you go? the headmistress asked.
I nodded eagerly, unable to find words.
Youre all set, Aunt Natalie signed the paperwork, and we left handinhand.
Our first stop was a large clothing store. We bought me jeans and a shirt. Seeing my battered trainers, Natalie led me to the shoe department. My shoe size was mismatched, so she promised that after the celebration wed visit an orthopaedic clinic to get custom boots with a special sole that would level my feet and hide the limp.
Next we went to a barber, then home to fetch Poppy. For the first time I stepped out of the childrens home and into a regular house. The scent of a livedin home, the cosy atmosphere, wrapped around me. I perched on the edge of the sofa and looked around. Directly in front of me was a massive aquarium, its fish swimming just as they did on television.
Im ready, Poppy said. Lets go; Mum will catch up with us.
We rode the lift down, walked to the car, and passed a sandbox where a boy was looking around. He shouted, Lamppost, grandma, lamppostgrandpa! Poppy paused, then turned and the boy tumbled into the sand.
Whats that about? I asked, lying on the sand. Just a joke, he replied.
Make jokes elsewhere, Poppy answered.
The airfield was painted in bright colours. Uncle Andrew met us and showed his aircraft. My breath caught when I saw the gleaming silver plane up close; its sheer power struck my soul. An airshow followed. People gazed at the sky, waved, shouted with joy. When Uncle Andrews plane roared overhead, Poppy waved and shouted, Dads flying! Dad! I clumsily jumped and yelled, Dad! Look, Dads flying! I barely noticed the girl beside me who was silent, watching her mother wipe away tears.
That evening, after dinner, Uncle Andrew sat beside me, placed his hand on my shoulder and said, You know, we believe everyone should live within a family. Only there can you truly learn to love, protect, and be loved. Would you like to join our family?
A tight knot rose in my throat, choking my breath. I pressed against him and whispered, Dad, Ive waited for you forever.
A month later, I said goodbye to the childrens home. I stepped down the steps proudly, holding Uncle Andrews hand, limping only slightly, and walked toward the gate. We stopped, I turned, scanned the building, and waved to the kids and caretakers on the porch.
Were about to cross that line into a new life, Uncle Andrew said. Leave behind the bad things here, but remember those who helped you survive. Be forever grateful to those who gave you a chance.
Tonight I realise that a steel shell isnt needed when you have people who truly care. Ive learned that love and support are far stronger than any armor.
