Second Time Around

GROWING NUMBERS OF GRANDPARENTS ACT AS PARENTS AGAIN

Sydney Rankin Odell showed off a leather key chain bearing a photo of
Santa Claus sitting next to a dark-haired young woman holding a baby.

"My mommy's in North Carolina. She's never coming back," Sydney, 5,
the baby in the picture, explained matter-of-factly.

Sydney's grandparents, Pat and Jim Odell, are among the 35,818
grandparents in Kentucky who are raising their grandchildren,
according to recently released 2000 Census figures.

When it comes to grandparents living with their grandchildren,
Kentucky has a higher percentage, 51.5 percent, who are responsible
for them than the national average, 42.3 percent.

The story of the Odells, who live comfortably in one of Lexington's
old, nice neighborhoods, demonstrates how drugs, death or other
circumstances force grandparents from all economic backgrounds into
second-time parenthood.

Like many grandparents raising their grandchildren, they have fought
and won legal battles to keep Sydney, who's overcome fears of
abandonment.

They have struggled with Sydney's mother, who is in prison after years
of drug addiction.

They have swallowed guilt over having a daughter unable to care for
her child.

And now, they're dealing with the day-to-day stresses of being parents
again.

"It's like everything that a mother faces. You just add 30 years to
your life and then deal with it," Pat said. "We don't have the energy
we had when we were in our 30s."

Pat, 60, thought she would have retired by now from her job in her
husband's law office. She thought the two would be traveling to Europe
and reclaiming the closeness in their 37-year marriage.

Doing Things Differently

It was 7:05 a.m., an hour past time for the alarm.

Jim, who usually gets Sydney to Maxwell Elementary by 7:10 a.m., had
forgotten to set the clock.

The couple scrambled out of bed and roused Sydney.

Wearing the T-shirt she slept in, Pat pulled on a pair of shorts,
grabbed Sydney's book bag and hurried out the door. For Sydney,
"breakfast was juice and a cereal bar on the way to school," she said.

After work, the pace continued. Pat picked Sydney up from school and
headed to Central Christian Church, where Sydney participates in the
Kids Sing program each Wednesday.

For the last few years, the family has attended the church; even Jim,
who is of a different denomination, goes. It's part of the couple's
effort to ensure they don't repeat whatever failings they had with
their children.

In raising Sydney, Jim, 64, is "still in the grandfather mode," says
Pat, the rule-enforcer. He's a composed, easygoing guy.

Pat, on the other hand, is-often harried.

"Our own personal relationship suffers," she said. "It's hectic. I
lose my temper sometimes. We're not perfect."

A Wild Middle Child

Less than two years after their wedding, Pat and Jim became parents
when Ann was born. Later came Patricia, called by her middle name,
Davis. Finally, there was Sarah.

All three girls went to Sayre School. Ann and Sarah graduated from
college. Ann started a family in Atlanta and works for Georgia
Lighting. Sarah lives in Charleston, S.C., and works as a research
assistant in the paper industry.

But Davis was different.

As a teen, she was angry. She lied to her parents.

"We would kind of look at each other and go 'where did this come
from?'" Pat said.

Davis, 33, attributes her anger in part to her mother's decade-long
battle with alcoholism. Pat has been sober for more than 10 years.

"I was the only one who saw it. My sisters ignored it," she said from
North Carolina, where she is in prison for forgery. "I took care of
her when she was drunk. That's just something I have to get over."

Despite eight years at private and public colleges, Davis didn't get a
degree. She got a taste for cocaine.

She was pregnant with Sydney -- and temporarily drug-free -- when she
married Robert James Combs III on May 8, 1997, the day he went to
prison for violating his parole. He had been ordered in 1995 to serve
five years for possession of a controlled substance.

Expecting to be released this month, Davis is divorcing the husband
she hasn't seen since last summer. She said she'll avoid drugs, get a
job and move in with her fiance, a roofer who lives in North Carolina.

Davis' parents have told her that if she stays off drugs for two
years, is stable and employed, they will consider letting her be "back
in Sydney's life," though they won't reinstate her parental rights.
Neither Davis nor her husband has any contact with Sydney.

"Nothing's worth losing her," Davis said tearfully. "Hopefully, she'll
do more with her brain than I did with mine."

Hurried and Harried

At home after Kids Sing, Pat rushed to the kitchen to get dinner --
peas, tender beef and wild rice -- on the stove.

While Sydney carefully poured pretend tea into bright ceramic teacups
in her bedroom upstairs, Pat set the table and tried to keep the
family's Great Dane, Molly, under control. Raising the big dogs is
Pat's hobby, and Molly is her fifth.

Just after 7 p.m., Sydney and "Papa" sat down at the table on the back
porch; Pat brought in milk for one, wine for the other.

Finally, she appeared with her own dinner: a bowl of cottage cheese
and pineapple.

"She'll do anything for peace and quiet," Sydney said, rolling her
eyes as her grandmother removed Molly from the dinner table area for
at least the sixth time.

Honest About Her Mom

Recently, a waitress at-Hunan asked a simple question at the Odell
table: "Sydney, what does your mommy do in North Carolina?"

She got a simple answer: "Drugs."

Pat and Jim have been honest with Sydney about her mother. The two
have played a big role in Sydney's life since she was born in December
1997.

Sydney and Davis lived with the couple until July 1999, when Robert
Combs got out of prison.

Within weeks, Pat said, problems began. Sydney's parents would leave
and stay gone overnight. Eventually, they moved out.

When they gave the Odells temporary custody of Sydney in 2000, she
couldn't sleep alone or stay in a room without her grandmother for
even short periods.

"She's so normal now," Jim mused recently.

After a court battle with Sydney's paternal grandparents, the Odells
won permanent custody. They adopted Sydney last November and wrote
Davis out of their will. The money she would have gotten will go into
a trust fund for Sydney.

Pat's experiences with the legal process and her daughter have left
her wanting to connect with and help other grandparents who have
become parents again.

"It was so scary," Pat said. "So many of the grandparents have no idea
what their rights are, what they should do." Her best advice: "Get a
good lawyer."

'She's Really Special'

It was 8 p.m. and time for Sydney's bedtime routine, a prelude to the
quiet time Pat saves for herself.

But first, a mishap.

"I can't imagine where the cats are," Jim said. Paisley and Peter
Thomas hadn't been seen all evening.

Sydney abandoned her cookies and milk and emerged from a bathroom
closet with a large, longhaired cat in her arms.

Molly, in her excitement over finding Paisley, accidentally stepped on
Sydney's foot, eliciting tears from Sydney and kisses from Papa.

A look of exasperation crossed Granny's face.

"Oh, Syd, sweet angel," she said, sighing. "Are you injured beyond
belief?"

"She's really special," Jim said quietly after Sydney had been calmed
down and tucked in for the night.

"Good night," she called down the staircase.

A Little Carbon Copy

Although she was angry at first, Davis said she understands the
judge's decision to give Sydney to her parents.

She said she talks to her mother about once a week, but not her
dad.

"He wanted me to be a lawyer, and now I'm in prison," she
said.

Pat said she's learned to talk to her daughter without believing what
she says is true.

"I can never trust her again," Pat said. "I'm not going to live long
enough."

More than anything, she is angry at the drugs that wreaked havoc on
her family.

"I've learned a lot about crack," she said.

She said the problem crosses all socioeconomic boundaries, and her
family is the perfect example.

"Jim is a former prosecutor," she said. "It's not a white thing. It's
not a black thing. It's a countywide problem."

When she looks at Sydney, Pat sees the same little girl Davis once
was.

The same dark brown hair and eyes.

The same stubbornness.

"Her daughter is a carbon copy of her," Pat said.

This time around, she hopes the outcome will be different.