Anchors of Love

Four fellow teachers and I were talking about our childhoods, and it became evident to me that mine had been much happier than some. One colleague, from an abused home, in terror of her father, had memories much different from my own of a welcoming place where love was guaranteed.

What these woman had in common, oddly, was the memory of a home somewhere on their street that kids gravitated to after school or when upset. It provided an anchor of love for children who had something less than the ideal family. And if ever there was someone who had a powerful and saving impact on lives, it was the woman at such a home. She was someone’s mom, she was always there, and she treated you like one of her own. If you stayed overnight, there was no inconvenience - she simply made more pancakes the next morning.

One of my friends, Darielle, remembered falling into a lake as a child and being terrified of going home to tell her parents. So she went to the neighbor’s to dry off. After warming her up with hot chocolate and calming her fears of being punished at home for going out to the lake-which was forbidden-the neighbor phoned Darielle’s mom and told her not to worry, that the girl was safe and that it had been simply an accident. Here was a peacemaker in the best tradition.

Darielle said she was at her “anchor home” so often the school bus actually picked her up there each morning.

Lynn recalled that when the lady who ran her anchor home died, people came from far and wide, back to the place that had played such an important part in their childhood.

Maybe my own home was an anchor home. My friends would come over, and my mom would have them join us if we happened to be going to the lake or a park, barbecuing in the backyard, or painting on the porch. My sister’s dates would come and hang around, sometimes even when my sister was out, just to talk to my mom. Many maintain friendships with her 30 years after breaking up with my sister. My mom is like a second mother to probably a dozen kids, now adult.

Why? A retired judge, who had dealt with hundreds of kids in juvenile court, once told me that while adoption policy often looks at marital status or income, what matters most is love. Kids have an uncanny sense of whether they are loved or not, and they go where they are loved. When we speak of the tragedy of child poverty, this is not necessarily financial poverty. As the judge pointed out to me, many kids from wealthy homes suffer parental neglect.

You can set up a block-watch program and put a poster in your window that says you’ll be there for kids in crisis. But troubled kids don’t care about signs. They feel you out when they meet you, and if your home exudes love, they will want to come back.

While raising my four kids, I tried to establish a welcoming home for them and was flattered that many of their friends came to our house after school and stayed till supper nearly every day.

One day my daughter snuck off to a coffee shop with a group of girls. I drove there and whisked her back to the van, angrily. Her friends came too, as if I had summoned them as well - which I had not.

A cousin of mine, who also apparently provided an anchor home, found it odd that his kids' friends kept coming back even though he treated them like his own children.

One time, when one of them acted up, he lifted the kid up and said, "Never do that again." Next day, the boy was back, smiling.

Kids don' t really want to get away with things. At an anchou home, they sense not only love but a sense of direction. It' s no fun to break rules if there are no rules, and the greatest shame is if no one cares you' re breaking them anyway.

I became aware my home was an anchor home when one of my son's friends kept coming for lunch every day. We always shared lunch with whoever turned up, or let them heat or serve whatever was in their lunch bag. One day this boy said tearfully, "I wish I lived here."

Kids experience a lot of heartbreaks and I never felt I was a better parent than anyone else. I think no parent is as good as the real parent for that child. But I also feel that circumstances - monetary, marital, career - often take parents away from kids when the kids most need them. Anchor homes are part of an informal network that helps fill that gap.

A few years ago one of my son's friends from about age 12 was accused of a serious crime. I hadn't seen him in years but phoned his lawyer to offer my services as a character referrence. I did this because for several years he'd been one of the kids who was always around: For him, I guess, I was an anchor home. I went to court, he was found guilty and was sent to jail, but his sentence was not the maximum. I'd like to think that my testimony to his earlier good character helped.

My kids have grown up now and moved away. At lunch and after school, a wad of kids no longer comes home and I miss them. I was once a part of their world and heard, however subtly, their revelations: "My parents have gone away for the weekend"; "My parents can't afford a sitter, so we're home alone"; "My dad and mom are arguing, and I was wondering if I could come in"; "My parents kicked me out."

It always strikes me as odd when someone asks, "Do you work?" Being a homemaker is not about the unpaid labor of cooking or cleaning, although these, of course, are work. It's about the much more subtle contribution that love makes to homes. No, it' s not work in the sense of drudgery because love is pleasure. But it is crucial to at least one other person, and often to several. A listening ear, an encouraging pat, cookies, lemonade, laughter and love. Is that worth anything? To kids, nearly every thing.