14December
Today I finally understood why my mother, eleven years ago, had filled out that refusal form when I was born with a disability. I saw the very document myself while delivering some paperwork to the clinic. The nurse handed me a stack of folders and told me to follow her, then her phone rang and she hurried off, waving me toward the clinic and saying youll manage on your own. She never imagined that, upon seeing my surname on the file, I would open the folder and read my mothers refusal letter.
In the childrens home every youngster clings to the hope of being reunited with their parents, but I stopped waiting. I stopped crying. My heart grew a steel coat that shielded me from other kids taunts, from loneliness, from feeling unloved.
Our home had its own customs. On the eve of New Year, all the residents wrote letters to Father Christmas. The warden passed the letters to sponsors, who tried their best to grant the wishes. Some of those letters even reached an airforce squadron. Most of the children asked for the same miracle: to find a mum and a dad. The people who opened those letters were left scratching their heads over what gifts to bring.
One such day, Flight Engineer Major Chaplin also received a letter. He slipped it into his flight jacket pocket, promising to read it later at home with his wife and daughter to decide what to buy for the child.
That evening, as the family sat down for supper, he remembered the envelope. He opened it and read aloud: Dear grownups, if you can, please give me a laptop. No need to spend money on toys or clothes we have enough of that here. With the internet I could find friends and maybe even family. At the bottom was a signature: Sam Ivy, 11years old.
My word, my wife said, children these days are clever. Hell really be able to find anyone he needs online.
Our daughter, Mabel, frowned, took the letter, read it again and thought. I noticed her lips tremble.
Whats on your mind? I asked.
Father, she said, the boy probably doesnt expect to find his parents at all. Theyre gone. The laptop is his lifeline, a way out of the silence. He writes find friends or family; strangers can become family. Lets take everything from my piggy bank, buy him a laptop and deliver it together.
The Christmas celebration at the home went on as usual. There was a performance, then Father Christmas and Mrs. Claus lit the tree. Sponsors handed out presents, and occasionally a family would take a child home for the holidays.
I, as always, expected nothing. Id learned that only the pretty girls got attention; the boys were left out. Id written that letter simply because everyone else did. Yet today, among the guests, I saw a man in a pilots uniform. My heart gave a tiny jump, but I turned away and breathed quietly. When I received a bag of sweets, I limped toward the exit.
Sam Ivy! a voice called. I turned, surprised, to see the same pilot standing behind me. I froze, unsure what to do.
Hello, Sam, the pilot said. We received your letter and want to give you a present. First, let me introduce myself. Im Andrew Whitfield, but you can call me Uncle Andy.
Beside him stood a beautiful woman. Im Aunt Natalie, she said.
A small girl stepped forward, grinning. Im Mabel. Were the same age, you know.
Im Sam Obrook, I replied, still a little stunned.
The girl tried to ask something, but Andy handed me a box and said, Its from us. Come with us to a room where well show you how the laptop works.
We entered an empty hall where the children usually did their evening lessons. Mabel walked me through turning the machine on and off, logging in, connecting to the internet, and even signed me up on a social network. Andy sat nearby, offering occasional tips. I felt the warmth, strength, and protection of those around me.
Mabel chattered away like a meadowlark, but I noted she wasnt whining; she knew her way around the laptop and was active in the local sports club. When they left, the woman gave me a hug; the faint scent of her perfume lingered, making my eyes water. I stood still for a heartbeat, then, without looking back, walked down the corridor.
Well be back soon! Mabel shouted.
My life changed from that moment. I stopped caring about nicknames and the jokes of other kids. The internet turned into a treasure chest of useful information. Id always been fascinated by aircraft; I learned that the first massproduced military transport plane was the Avro Anson, designed by Sir Geoffrey de Havilland, and that the Ansons later variant was the Avro Anson MkII.
On weekends Uncle Andy and Mabel visited. Sometimes we went to the circus, played arcade games, ate icecream. I was always shy to accept their generosity, feeling uneasy that they paid for everything.
One bright morning, I was summoned to the wardens office. Inside, Aunt Natalie stood, her heart beating louder than mine.
Sam, the warden said, Natalie wants to give you two days off with her. If you agree, Ill approve it.
Its Aviation Day today, he added. Uncle Andy is organising a big celebration. Hes inviting you. Will you go?
I nodded eagerly, unable to find words.
Very well, the woman said, signing a form.
Together we left the office, hand in hand. First we stopped at a large clothing store. She bought me a pair of jeans and a shirt. Noticing my battered trainers, she led me to the shoe department. My feet needed different sizes, so we spent extra time there. She reassured me, Dont worry, after the celebration well visit an orthopaedic clinic and order you proper boots with a special sole, so you wont limp noticeably.
Later we went to the barber and then home to pick up Mabel. For the first time I stepped out of the childrens home into a real house. The scent of a livedin home, the cosy feeling, wrapped around me. I perched on the edge of a sofa and looked around. Directly in front of me was a massive aquarium, fish swimming as Id only ever seen on television.
Im ready, Mabel said. Lets go, Sam, Mum will be waiting.
We took the lift down and walked to the car. Near the playground a boy was shouting, Lanternman, lanternwoman! Mabel paused, approached him and whispered. In an instant the boy slipped into the sandpit, laughing.
The joke was on me, he said, lying on the sand. Just kidding.
Save the jokes for elsewhere, she replied.
The airfield was painted in bright colours. Uncle Andy met us and showed us his aircraft. When I saw the huge silver plane up close, my breath was taken away; its power struck my soul. An airshow followed. People gazed at the sky, waving and shouting joyfully. When Uncle Andys plane roared overhead, Mabel waved and screamed, Dads flying! Dads flying! I jumped clumsily, shouting, Dad! Look, Dads flying! I didnt notice the girl beside me had fallen silent, watching her mother wipe away tears.
After dinner, Andy sat beside me, putting an arm around my shoulders.
We believe everyone should belong to a family, he said. Only in a family can you truly learn love, protect one another, and feel cherished. Would you like to be part of ours?
A tight knot rose in my throat, choking my breath. I pressed close to him and whispered, Dad, Ive always waited for you.
A month later, I said goodbye to the childrens home. I stepped down the steps proudly, hand in hand with my father, barely limping. We stopped at the gate; I turned, waved to the kids and staff standing on the porch.
Were crossing that line now, into a new life, my father said. Forget the bad things that happened here, but remember those who helped you survive. Always be grateful to those whove lifted you up.
Looking back, I realise that the hardest battle was not the physical limp, but the fear of letting others in. By opening my heart to a family, I learned that love isnt given, its received. Today I know that every scar carries a story, and every story can become a bridge to someone elses kindness. My lesson: never let the walls you build become your prison; let them be the foundations of a life worth living.
