Lana: Department of Children and Family Services

LANA

CHICAGO, IL

1985

When Lana was escorted to the DCFS office, where a social worker and a psychologist waited for her, the first thing she saw was the solitary frame of a tall African American man. The previous foster families she had met were traditional couples. To Lana, it was intriguing to see a potential single parent, and she wondered if there could be a mistake.

“Here she is”, said the social worker, Mrs. Lynn.

The man turned his whole body to see her.

“Hi”, said he, kneeling to be at Lana’s level.

“Good morning”, said Lana.

“My name is Joseph. Joseph Castillo”, said the man, pronouncing his last name in Spanish.

“Cas-tee-dgo? Not Cas-teel-loh?”

“That’s right. Castillo.”

“Are you supposed to be an uncle of mine, or somethin’?”

“I am your father.”

“My father?” asked Lana with distrust in her eyes. “You look young. How old are you?”

“I’m 27.”

“Twenty-seven! You were young when you became a father, then.”

Joseph smiled with a smile that charmed Lana instantly.

“You are handsome, you know?”

“I have heard of it”, said Josheph, widening his smile one second and restraining it the next.

“I don’t look like you, nor like my mother. See?” pointed out Lana, baring her teeth and making with her fingers a frame around the lower part of her face.  “I don’t have a gap between my front teeth like her, nor dimples like yours.”

“You are gorgeous. You took that from my mother.”

“Do I have a grandmother?” said Lana, excited at the thought of meeting someone who resembled her.

“Not anymore,”  said Joseph with a sudden change of expression.

“Too good to be true”, muttered Lana, looking at the curtains on the right side of the office.

“Do you have a wife?” asked Lana, eyes wide open.

“No, I don’t.”

“No evil stepmother. That’s good,” thought Lana, with a smile that was growing only inside her chest.

“Other children?” asked she, pretending that this was the most irrelevant question in her list.

“I don’t think so.”

Lana kept her eyes on Joseph’s to avoid showing her disappointment.

“Do you have siblings?”

“That, I do. I have a brother.”

“Then, do you have nephews and nieces?”

“So far, only one. A nephew.”

“Where do you live?”

“That’s a hard question to answer.”

“Why? Don’t you know the city, don’t you know geography?”

“A little. And a little.” 

“Explain.”

“I think what you want to know is where I am staying. I am staying at my mother’s apartment on North Damen Avenue. But I live abroad. In Colombia. The city is Cali. I live in Cali, Colombia.

“Never heard of it,” said Lana, her expression suggesting If I don’t know it, it doesn’t exist.

“I understand that.”

“Are you from Colombia?”

“I was born here in Chicago to an American mother and a Colombian father”.

“Why? My mother. Why do you have a child with her?”

Joseph looked at Mrs. Lynn for approval. He knew this was a sensitive issue.

“I believe we got together because we were the only colored mixed-race kids in Lincoln Square at the time,” said Joseph, putting his hands on Lana’s shoulders.

“Just like me?” said Lana, unable to control the shine in her eyes, a line of tears menacing to roll down her cheek.

“Hmn.”

“And why did you leave?” said Lana, holding her breath.

“I was a minor, and my father took me to Colombia to live with his other family.”

“Is this father of yours alive?” asked Lana, targeting her resentment towards this unknown grandfather.

“No, he passed away three years ago.”

“So, you have a stepmother. Was she nice to you?”

“She is very nice to me, always has been, since I was the love child visiting for holidays. She loves me as if I were her own child.” 

“And why now? Why do you show up now?

“I came here to sell my late mother’s apartment and donate her stuff.  And it just happened that DCFS found me by chance”. 

Lana knew that she did not need to ask what would have happened had Joseph not been contacted by DCFS.

“So you like Colombia.”

“Of course, I live there. I chose to.”

“Are there novels about Colombia?”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you answer?”

“Well, in Colombia, there are many novels set in Colombia, just as in any other place in the world.” 

“What about Cali?”

“There must be, but I am not a reader; I am a musician. I read ¡Que viva la música! and Jaulas.”

“What language is that?”

“Spanish.”

“Say somethin’ in Spanish.”

“Hola, Lana. Yo soy Joseph. Qué gusto verte”, said Joseph, shaking Lana’s hand for the first time, and getting up to lead the girl to sit down, an opportunity to study her hands. “Yo soy tu papá. Lamento mucho no haberte conocido antes." 

“Ah, I understand now. You sound like a Puerto Rican.”

Joseph put his hands on his chest and donned an expression of astonishment.

“But I can roll my eres!” said he, raising his voice a bit. “Ratatá-ratatá-ta-tá”, said Joseph while drumming on his chest.

“Lana laughed an authentic laugh, as she had not done in a long time.”

“I thought you were boring, but music is something I don’t know about. Therefore, you might be an interesting person to be around.”

“How come you don’t know about music? You must have some favorite artists. Diana Ross, Donna Summer, Dionne Warwick, Tina Turner, Lionel Richie, Michael Jackson, Stevie Wonder, Kool and The Gang...”

“I don’t know any of them. All those names are like gibberish to me,” declared Lana, indifference made her face look older.

“Why?”

“There was no TV nor radio at my mother’s place. No sound. Mother said it was because of the voices, ...something about voices,” said Lana, shaking her head, like trying to get rid of a thought.

Joseph looked at Ms. Jones, the psychologist, and she closed her eyes and tilted her head to the right for a second. 

“During the time I was with the foster families, I really do not remember music either. The families asked me to watch TV with them, but I wasn't used to it. I had to sit with them, but I almost never paid attention to what was on the screen, whether news or movies... I mean, I asked questions, and they did not like to answer, so I stopped paying attention,” clarified Lana, her expression halfway between honesty and cynicism, again, too old for her preteen face. 

A concern started to grow in Joseph. His experience with children was limited to his nephew, a boy inclined to sports. He realized that building common ground with Lana required a lot of effort, and that he would need help from a woman to reach his own daughter. 

Understanding that Joseph was in deep thought, Lanna added, “I remember nursery rhymes with music. From school. But I don’t like them.”

“What would you... have liked to do with those families?” asked Joseph shyly.

“Reading books and talking about them. But they had not read the books in their bookcases. Only the Bible, and I am not into that,” said Lana with an expression, again too mature for her young face.

“What about sports?” asked Joseph, hiding his fear for the answer because he himself was not into team sports; he was only interested in individual activities that helped him to stay fit without hurting his hands and allowed him to show off his body: running, biking, and swimming.

“One of the parents was going to teach me to ride a bike, but it never happened. It would have been nice. Instead, we only went out for walks to the park a couple of times.” 

“Biking is great, I am sure you will love it.  

“You just said that you’re a musician, not a reader. Do you not read at all?”

“It’s impossible to avoid reading, but I take that when you talk about reading, you are thinking about fiction. That I...    “ doubted Joseph, remembering the psychologist's recommendation of short answers and positive sentences, “ I have little experience with. Maybe you can recommend something for me to read, or for us to read together.”

“Never look down on fiction. Fantasy and mythology are what I enjoy the most.”

Okay, Ms. Lana Walker-Castillo. I’m open to trying something new. You can teach me about novels and stories, and I can teach you something in return. I can teach you about music, and who knows, maybe you can sing like my mother did.”

“Where will the lessons be: on Damen Avenue or in Cali?” asked Lana, looking at Mrs. Lynn with a hopeful smile.

“In Cali, I guess,” said Joseph, looking at Mrs. Lynn.

Mrs. Lynn, who had been satisfied with the interaction between father and daughter, said that they first had to go to court.