No Place Like Home

What You Best Day?

Just weeks after my husband’s funeral, I received a call about three siblings needing foster care. I didn’t hesitate or make excuses, although I had plenty. A day later, two boys and a baby girl arrived, and I thought I was ready.

I was not ready at all.

The children came with no possessions, no routine, no boundaries, and no assurance of what would come next—whatever that would be.

The first night, I made a kid-friendly dinner, uncertain what the older boys liked. They were startled when I called them to the table.

“Why we have to sit here?” asked the four-year-old, obviously confused.

“Because that’s what families do,” I explained. “Dinner time is the best time to sit together and talk. Families share a table, share food, and share the best and bad parts of the day.”

“Like anyone cares,” muttered the nine-year-old, rolling his eyes.

I wasn’t ready for the boys’ heavy sadness or the language and opinions they were raised with. I wasn’t ready for their fear of the police, their fear of the dark, and their fear of me.

I wasn’t prepared for any of that.

Whenever children are removed from their home, there is a documented history that precedes that. Hotline calls and a failure to care is what brought these three to my door. The children were loved, but they were no one’s priority.

Now they were mine.

The boys were quiet at the table that first night. I filled their plates, and they stared at the food that wasn’t ramen noodles. We sat in silence until the youngest asked, “What we talk about?”

“This is when we ask each other about our day,” I said.

The little boy paused, then shyly asked, “What you best day?”

“My best day was when you walked through my door,” I said, meaning every word.

“What you bad day?” I was asked next, all eyes on me.

“My bad day is when I see how sad you are,” I answered, as honest as I dared to be.

“I not sad no more,” said the little boy, showing me his smile.

I smiled right back before I asked him, “What was the best part of your day?”

“Right now!” the blue-eyed wonder shouted, raising his arms in the air.

Then I braced myself for the answer to the next question. “What was your bad day?”

With that, this little boy’s face filled with something that was surely hope as he declared, “I have no bad day!”

And that was his answer to that question every single night after that.

This little boy, who had seen dark things no child should see, still found a way to see the light.

I carried that sweet child’s words with me every day. Dinner time became my best time, simply because of the small people who shared my table and my heart.

If a child without a childhood can find hope, surely, we can too. I learned that lesson at a time in my life when I thought all my lessons were learned. Then, when I needed it the most, someone needed me.

My house was again filled with purpose and promise and a perspective on life that we all can learn from.

“What you best day?”

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This column was originally printed in the January 2026 issue of Missouri Life.