A phone call from Little Biker Boy, at last

It’s been more than three years since the night that the little neighbor boy, in barefeet and boxer shorts, rode his bike to my house in the dark because his mother’s abusive, alcoholic boyfriend was attacking the family in a drunken rage. It’s been more than a year since Little Biker Boy, his sister Ponytail, their baby brother, and his mother were evicted from the trailer down the street.

I taught Little Biker Boy my phone number, and so we managed to stay in touch, even though his mother moved several times. He’d call me whenever he could grab someone’s cell phone. Our phone calls usually ended with the sound of an adult yelling, “Hey! Biker Boy! Is that my cell phone?” and him saying hurriedly, “I have to go now.”

For the first year, I managed to see him about once a week. We’d get a slice of pizza or ice cream, and I’d take him somewhere outside to play. He’d tell me about his mother’s latest boyfriend – usually yet another abusive man. I’d buy him new sneakers if he needed them or clothing or the plastic wrestling figures he so loved. But there was little else I could do.

In February of this year, the phone calls stopped. At Easter, I bought egg dye, hoping I’d be able to dye eggs with him – he loves traditions like that. But he had disappeared.

This week, I’ve finally got news about Little Biker Boy. I’ve talked to him on the phone, and I’m planning to see him this Sunday.

He’s in a foster home.

I talked to his foster mother on the phone, and she sounded calm and supportive. She talked about his issues with anger, and I filled her in on some of his background. She didn’t know anything about his siblings, except for what he had told her. She said, “He keeps talking about you, so I promised that he could call once he got settled here.” She invited me to visit. If I fill out the paperwork and get screened, I can be approved as someone who can take Little Biker Boy for outings.

 It sounds like he’s in safe place. Finally.