Children's talent to endure stems from their ignorance of alternatives.
Imagine that it is the end of a normal workday. You've arrived home and opened the front door to the smell of onions and garlic simmering in olive oil, the beginnings of your husband's special spaghetti sauce. "Hi, honey! I'm home!" you call as you toss your keys onto the dining room table and begin to sort through the day's mail. Your husband mumbles a greeting in your direction as you flip through the pages of a new catalog. The sound of your children playing a video game in the next room filters into the kitchen.
You are heading upstairs to change clothes when the doorbell rings. As you reach the door to open it, your husband also enters the entry hall. He has a dish towel in his hand and an odd look on his face. You open the door to a tall woman you don't know, wearing a navy blue suit and a kindly smile. Your husband opens the door wide and invites her in as she apologizes for being late. They turn and look at you with an expectation that make you wonder why this woman has come to your house.
As the three of you sit down in the family room, the woman turns to you and says, "Honey, I'm Barbara Perry, a social worker from the Department of Human Services. I'm sorry," she continues, "But we're going to have to move you." She tells you that you'll be moving to a new family and that they are very excited about you coming to live with them. You look at your husband as her words register. "Honey?" you ask, but your husband only looks away.