When Larry found out that he was going to get to go to a farm and be around some cows, it was a near Marty Moment—not the nine-year-old kind but the attempt to be grown-up, thirteen-year-old, just entering puberty kind. It demonstrated itself, not in explosions of excitement but in a fumbling nervousness that had him dropping socks, packing underwear twice and then realizing that second batch should have been tee shirts—that sort of thing.
They were milking when Henry got the boy to the barn. Actually with 800 cows in production, there were milking almost around the clock but in several different locations. Milking parlors were a relatively new innovation in the middle 70s and both Henry and Reind were proud of theirs—four of them in total, in various locations on Henry's 3,000 acres, each accommodating twelve cows at once, six on a side. People came from as far away a Washington state to see this new and efficient innovation.
Reind had been almost as excited as the boy. He had gone to the group home to get Larry's shirt, pants and shoe size. Reind left the milking to his assistants and took Larry into the house and gave him his uniform: a white denim shirt with Larry embroidered on the left breast and Grünfelder Farms on the back, white denim pants that were held up with galluses so as not to hide the logo on the back of the shirt, ankle height shoes and gum boots. If anyone ever looked like a bona fide Grünfelder Farms herdsman, Lawrence Witte did, and was he proud!
Reind put an arm around Larry's shoulder and led the boy back to the milking parlor. Before the last cow went through their station, Larry was proudly washing the udder, applying the cups and noting the cow's number and the weight of her milk on the tote sheet, a proud Reind always watching but seldom having to correct the boy. Larry was quick to learn and he obviously loved what he was doing. A very proud and happy man and boy went in for supper.
The meal was great and the evening relaxed. Larry could tell that Reind and Betje liked having him in their home but they didn't fawn over him. That made it easier. Larry had been in several foster homes and always on the first night everybody tried too hard. Larry knew that this wasn't a foster home and he was glad. In regular foster homes you can get too comfortable and when you're a little kid you can even start to love those people but then you wet the bed or break something or they just get tired of you and off you go. He was thirteen now and too big to get suckered into that love thing again. That's why he liked the group home. Ces and Myrt didn't try to be his parents. They just took care of him.
He did get a slight pang of yearning to be a regular kid when Betje tucked him in and kissed him on the forehead. He was thirteen and thought himself too old to be tucked in but he went to sleep with a kind of glow.
If Larry thought he'd seen cows that night, he knew for sure that he'd seen some when he went with Reind to check on the other milking parlor sites the next morning. Betje and Reind had decided to let the boy sleep but Larry heard them rustling around, preparing coffee at 4:30, and came wandering into the kitchen. When it occurred to him that he had on only his underpants, he rushed back to the bedroom in tears. "Damn!" he thought, "I fucked this up the first day." Reind, having noticed the boy's embarrassment, came into the room, put his arm around the boy and said, "Larry, we're Dutch. We got places in Holland where people, big and little, swim naked. If you want to have a coffee in your underwear, that's fine. I know some families in Holland where the boys your age probably have their morning coffee naked."
Larry thought, "What the hell?" and went back into the kitchen. "I never had coffee. Could I have a glass of milk instead?" The boy then wondered if he had messed up again. Maybe he should have just drunk the coffee. You could never tell with foster parents. Sometimes the most innocent question pissed them off.
But Larry got his milk and seemed not to have offended. He then got dressed and went with Reind in the pickup to the other parlor sites. All of the guys doing the milking were dressed as Larry was—in the Grünfelder Farms whites. At one of the locations Larry could tell that Uncle Reind (Did Larry rally think that? Was he really beginning to feel that close to Reind? He'd have to watch himself. He wasn't gonna let the love-and-get-dumped shit happen again.) was chewing one of the guys out. There must have been a lot of Dutch guys because Uncle—eh—Reind talked Dutch a lot.
Reind turned to Larry. "Show this domkop how to wash a cow's bag right."
When Larry had completed the job and Reind had directed some further emphatic Dutch to the now red faced kid (he looked about twenty), he placed his arm on Larry's shoulder. "I don't know how that kid can be in college. He grew up on a farm in Friesland. He should know how to get the shit off a cow's bag. I wonder that he can find his way back to Madison. "You're a good boy, Larry."
Reind gave the boy a slight squeeze and Larry couldn't help himself. He glowed inside.
Larry and Marty had a minor spat that morning. After Reind had checked all the parlor sites and he and Larry had helped finish the milking at the main barn, they went to the house for breakfast. Larry never knew that people had anything other than dry cereal or oatmeal for breakfast. He had always finished breakfast still a little hungry—even the times he'd been in foster homes. But he left the table that morning fully satisfied, well maybe too much more than satisfied. He had never in his life been given enough food so that he could eat until he was uncomfortable. He hadn't realized that three helpings of ham, eggs, fried potatoes, toast with raspberry jelly, orange juice and milk made you feel this way. He knew that he wasn't sick but it almost felt like he was. When you don't feel like you usually do, you must be sick—but if this was being sick he'd like to try it again sometime.
While he was eating, Uncle Reind (Larry couldn't help it. He really liked the man.) was telling Aunt Betje (Might as well. She was as nice as he was.) what a good job Larry did and that he was on the farm only one day and he knew better how to get a cow ready for milking than that college boy from Friesland, Barent VanHasse. Aunt Betje stroked Larry's hair and even kissed his cheek. Larry could get used to this.
After breakfast, they had gone back to the barn. Reind gave Larry a calf bucket, showed him how to prepare the milk replacer and told him which calves to feed. The bucket had a thing on the side of the bottom that looked like a cow's tit. Uncle Reind called it a nipple. You just held the bucket and let the calf suck. It was interesting and fun.
Reind had forgotten to tell Larry about Ferdinand. Marty arrived at the barn to see his calf just as Larry was about to feed Ferdinand.
"That's my calf! I want to feed him."
Larry had been told to feed the calves and he intended to do as he was told. "Uncle Reind told me to feed the calves."
Both boys pulled at the bucket and their dispute became angry and loud. Larry, being the bigger, was able to pull the bucket away from Marty, but in doing so he lost his balance, fell backwards, and found himself soaked by what was supposed to be inside Ferdinand.
Marty stomped off toward Uncle Reind. "I'm tellin'".
Larry was sure that he had really messed up now. He had gotten into a fight, he had wasted milk replacer, and he had made Marty mad—and Marty was the one they really liked here. Why did he always fuck every thing up? He just lay there knowing what he had really always known. He was worthless. No wonder no one ever wanted him. He didn't even realize that he was crying.
He heard Uncle Reind and Marty coming—Marty still loudly recounting Larry's character flaws. Larry steeled himself for the tongue-lashing and banishment that he knew was coming.
What Larry got, however, was a worried Reind, kneeling beside him, lifting the boy into his arms and anxiously asking if he was hurt.
Now Larry sobbed. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I always fuck up."
"You can't say them kind of words here!"
Reind spoke more firmly than he had ever spoken to Marty before. "Marty, you be quiet. Larry, you didn't fuck up. I did. I should have told you that Ferdinand was Marty's calf."
Reind looked at Marty. "And maybe you should have told me you were coming down to feed Ferdinand this morning. You're usually still sleeping at this time. And, is this any way to treat a guest? You live here, Marty. This is Larry's first time here. Don't you think you should have just told Larry nicely that Ferdinand was yours instead of fighting with him about it?"
Marty was somewhat subdued, but he was still Marty. "I guess. I'm sorry, Larry, but Ferdinand is my calf." And then added, "I got a calf and you don't. Ha, ha."
"Marty, if you don't act nice you'll have to go back home. Now, say you're sorry to Larry and really mean it. And, Larry may not have a calf now but he will in about an hour. Grünfelder's Laura is about ready.
"Now, Marty, feed your calf and Larry you go to the house and take a quick shower; Betje will give you clean clothes. Get back here as soon as you can. I don't want you to miss seeing your calf born."
Larry got his slightly more sincere, "I'm sorry." It was frustratingly ambivalent.
Could these people really be this nice? Could he trust them? God, he wanted to, but he had been dumped too many times. He hated it when they were nice like this. It made it that much harder when they dumped him. But this could be the one. He'd thought that before, but you never knew. He had to take the chance. He'd stick it out. He was thirteen now. Maybe getting dumped isn't so bad when you're a teenager.
Betje saw the red eyes and hint of tears and embraced the boy as soon as he entered the house. "What's wrong, jongen?"
"I messed up. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Looks like you had an accident. Go wash off. I get you dry clothes."
When Larry stepped out of the shower, Betje was there with another Grünfelder Farms outfit his size. "I got two stuff like that?"
"You got three. Some day you might get two dirty the same day. You can't run naked until I get one washed. This isn't Holland, you know." She handed him the dry clothes and kissed him on the forehead. Only after she left did it occur to Larry that he had been naked. But it didn't feel funny. It felt kind of like he thought you might feel if your mother saw you naked.
Larry's calf was a heifer and it wasn't a first calf. Larry didn't know the significance of being given a calf that would probably grow to be a valuable cow. He just knew how much Marty loved this place and that he was being treated just like Marty. He got to name his calf. He called her Grünfelder Laura's LeAnn. He had to think about that. He thought LeAnn Murphy was the prettiest girl in his grade. He wished that she was his girlfriend but a foster kid doesn't ask the prettiest girl in the school to be his girlfriend. Anyway, do you name a cow after some girl you really like? But he liked the girl and he liked the name and he loved his calf, so that was it. His calf's name was LeAnn.
Larry fed the calves again that evening and again Sunday morning. He felt more comfortable with the Friesemas and at the same time more confused. He couldn't stop himself from liking them. They were too nice. They were different from any foster parents he'd had before. He'd always felt that most foster parents just acted like they loved him—that they wanted him to love them more than they wanted to love him. He'd felt like kind of a toy or a pet, but Uncle Reind and Aunt Betje made him feel like a… well, like a son. It scared the shit out of him.
Marty had a good weekend with Uncle Henry. He too had some ambivalent feelings. He'd been the cute little kid that everybody loved here. He wanted Larry to be happy but he hadn't thought about Larry taking part of his eminence. But he forgot about his jealousy when Uncle Henry took him to Milwaukee to the zoo. It was neater than Chicago. It looked like the animals were in the jungle.
Uncle Henry's friend, Art, went with them. Since he was about Uncle Henry's age, Marty called him Uncle Art. He was always asking Marty questions. Most of them were about why he got words mixed up but some of them were kind of hard. Sometimes Uncle Art asked things like, "Is that deer more like a cow or a horse?" Or, "Is that emu more like a giraffe or a chicken?" Marty knew a deer was like a cow because both had horns. He knew that an emu was like a chicken because they were both birds. That long neck didn't mean nothin'. There were a lot more questions and Marty kind of got tired of them. He was glad when Uncle Henry let him go ride the train all by himself.
Arthur Conrad was a highly qualified, well-respected child psychiatrist. He and Henry had been friends for years. It wasn't just a chance meeting. Henry had arranged for Art to check out Marty regarding his malapropisms.
"Nothing to worry about. He's a very bright kid. He's got a memory like the proverbial elephant. I think he probably remembers every word he's ever heard. He hasn't, however, had a very enriched environment so his vocabulary is limited. When he hears a new word he connects it in his mind with a similar sounding word he's heard before. Actually, if he weren't so intelligent, he couldn't do that. He'll be fine. As you broaden his horizons, he'll not use malapropisms quite so often. But, Hank, you need to back off a little, too. He loves you deeply but he's a mischievous, smart kid. I'm convinced that some of his malapropisms are intentional—to tease, to test, or just to harass you."
The Marty Moment of the weekend came after the zoo. Uncle Henry took Marty to Jimmy's Cyclery. Marty's new bike was red and blue and had 10 speeds.
As with every weekend, the Henry Moments were those when a sleeping Marty was cuddled into his lap and the man was glowing in that blessed feeling. Actually, going to sleep in Uncle Henry's arms wasn't a bad Marty Moment. Maybe for Marty it was the best kind. Most of his Marty Moments were for anyone to see. This kind was just for him to feel.
Reind and Betje were at Henry's as soon as supper was finished Monday evening. "We want that boy. What do we need to do?"
"It's a little soon to make that decision, isn't it? I'll tell you what, you apply for a foster parents' license. Kate Burtch will have a conniption but I can get it done. You foster the boy for a while and if you still feel the same in three or four months, we'll talk adoption."
"We need to make him know that if he makes a mistake we won't be angry at him. He's a very scared jongen. Do we have to wait that long?"
"Let's do the fostering thing. We can decide how long after he moves in."
Copyright © 2004 Gordon Klopfenstein
Posted 11 December 2024