Wonder ball

My 7-year-old nephew Aardvark has come to spend the day with us. A is so excited to be out of school for the summer, and when he arrived in his play clothes clutching a light saber in his hand, I just wanted to squeeze his precious, bright-eyed little self.

His mama has post-planning this week. She teaches kindergarten in the city school system, and her students are considered at-risk. Most of them had at least one parent incarcerated during the school year and several were shuffled back and forth between relatives so many times they weren't really sure where they lived. One who showed up at school with fresh belt buckle marks and old injury scars was "repossessed" by DFACS. Ja'Nya, 6, died in an apartment fire. It has not been an easy year, and yet when she was asked to take the EIP class again next year, my sister-in-law said yes without hesitation or reservation.

She is one of my heroes.

On Saturday night, I added a few more to my list.

Geddy and I were invited to the city housing authority's first annual Abstinence Ball, celebrating the commencement of the roughly 200 young people ages 12-18 who participated in the program this year. We were on a panel of four married couples who answered a prescreened question from one of the youths.

Decorations and food were paid for by a state grant. The venue was offered rent-free and a DJ and photographers helped make the event memorable. Donated special-occasion clothing adorned fresh-faced, smiling youngsters and their behavior toward us was beyond reproach.

But when I asked the housing authority's executive director -- another hero of mine -- what chance those lambs have, her sweet smile faltered.

"Truthfully?" she said. "Not much."

She leaned over and pointed out to my husband a beautiful teenage boy, wearing a yellow tie and a big wide grin. He is a Hurricane Katrina refugee, she told him.

Last week, his mother abandoned him.

I sat in a rented folding chair decorated with a white satin bow and watched these children dance and laugh, joyfully eating from a proper party buffet while careful of spills or drips in their secondhand finery. I was ashamed of my new dress and shoes, of my diamond earrings and polished fingernails.

Back home this morning, I listen to the giggling and enthusiastic, if overly ambitious, plan-making going on between my children and their cousin. I ponder the effects of a strong family, a permanent home, a decent education, a love of God and a sufficient honest income on a child's future. I think about the group of lambs who took the Abstinence Pledge Saturday night in a county gym.

I am going to pray that their chances change. That they change their chances. That they honor their pledges and protect a chance at a better future. God is a God of miracles; they can use a few. And I'm going to start asking today.

Right after I go squeeze the babies in my living room.