Mother smokes in the car. Jesus is fine with it, but don't tell dad.

This takes place long long ago, maybe 10 years, as I was skinny, and hopeful still. I had worked at the group home long enough that I was doing well with the kids, but not long enough that I realized I was not "helping youth succeed" as much as I let myself believe. It was before they began calling 2, 3, 4 years after they'd left to update us on where their life had taken them. The foster home we'd told the social worker would be detrimental, (but never told the child of course) was indeed just that. The natural parent that had completed what the courts had told them they had to do, (finally) but for all the wrong reasons, so it was only a matter of time before the 13 year old was out on the street, the sweet 10 year old was removed again, all of them, back to where we (them and us) had worked so hard to get them out of. All the skills we taught them to use are worthless when the adults don't even use them. But I digress. Before my bitterness descended upon me, I had even bigger dreams. They played around in my head, flitting in and out, making me wonder. Until finally they burst out in an hour long tirade. I spilled all that was in my heart, all that I hoped to do, out to my ex. I explained that I loved helping the children, but it wasn't enough, I needed to do MORE. Knowing I didn't really have any marketable skills, (still don't) I had decided my arms would have to do what I'd never trained my brain. I'd go to Africa, (Not sure why there, I'd seen commercials maybe? It's nice and hot?) I'd volunteer at the orphanages. Where all those babies long for someone to hold them. I'd pick them up and cuddle them as they cried out against the injustices of this world, the sorrows they don't deserve. I couldn't do much, but I could do that. I tell this to him, as best I can, from my soul of wishes, not letting him get a word in edgewise until the end. I take a deep breath, let it woosh out, and wait for his response. He looks at me. Takes me in. And says; "Well. Ok. But you can't be on one of those commercials, because they'll think you're one of the starving children." Then turns around and walks away. I watched him go, glancing down as my childish daydreams clatter to floor around me. Then sighed, picking up the broom to sweep them into the dustbin with so many other things, and went about my day.