The Ice Cream Sandwich

My first CASA case was a seven-year-old boy named Eric.

On one of our early visits, I took him to an ice cream shop. He studied the choices carefully and ordered an ice cream sandwich. It wasn’t the kind most kids expect, and I could tell right away he didn’t like it. Still, he kept eating it.

“Eric, you don’t have to eat that,” I said.

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. We can throw it away and get something else.”

His face changed. “THAT WOULD BE WASTING!”

When I said I’d throw it away for him, he got upset and said he would get in trouble if I did.

I asked if I could eat the ice cream sandwich, and then he could eat something else.   I brought him French fries and a hamburger, which he ate quickly.

I filed that moment away.

As we spent more time together, Eric often talked about food and hunger. Because he was in a therapeutic foster home, I assumed he was getting regular meals. A child removed for abuse or neglect wouldn’t be placed somewhere unsafe. That assumption felt reasonable.

It was also wrong.

I documented my concerns in reports to the Guardian ad Litem. She said she’d look into it.

One evening on FaceTime, Eric told me he was hungry.

“Did you have dinner?” I asked.

“Yes. Beans.”

“What kind of beans?”

“Just beans.”

“Black beans? Chili beans? Beans and rice?”

“They were cold,” he said. “In a can.”

I contacted the GAL again, and the issue was addressed. Snacks were provided at school and at home. His teacher kept a basket that he could access freely. The foster mom did the same.

Problem solved—at least on paper.

A week before Eric moved in with his adoptive mother, his teacher gave me a copy of a poem he had written that week.

The assignment was to write an “I am poem.” Eric’s running theme is hunger.

He is 14 years old now. He is safe. He is loved. He is not hungry.

But I still think about a seven-year-old boy, an ice cream sandwich, and how much children tell us when we’re willing to notice the small things.