The Parent Trip: Darlene Keith-Battle and McKinley Battle of Williamstown, N.J.

Darlene wasn't looking for a husband. But she was a caregiver, by profession and by nature, and one of her home health-aide clients was McKinley's grandmother.

"It was an automatic spark," he says. "I didn't even know her. But I left my parents' house, got a sandwich and came right back. Then, every time she came there to care for my grandmother, I made sure I was there."

For Darlene, the spark was slower to catch. Divorced just two years, with three children under 11, she felt wary. The two dated for two years before she allowed McKinley to meet the kids. And when that encounter finally happened, it was a test; McKinley showed up with a romantic date in mind, but ended up munching hamburgers at Fuddruckers with Darlene and her children.

He passed that hurdle. "He was really caring. It wasn't a facade," she says. Later, there was another challenge: long-distance dating after Darlene moved to Blackwood.

McKinley, also divorced and the father of three, would drive down from Philadelphia each Friday, stay at a hotel, then drive back on Monday.

Darlene was looking for a quality she calls "stick-to-itness." After 13 years, McKinley had proved his commitment. On her birthday, during a restaurant dinner in Atlantic City, he slipped an engagement ring onto a crab leg. They were married in Beulah Tabernacle in Drexel Hill; Darlene's son Rodger gave her away.

Three years later, when McKinley retired from the Philadelphia Department of Sanitation, he moved to New Jersey and the two bought a house in Williamstown. By then, their kids were no longer kids: some were in college, some were working, and Darlene's oldest daughter had moved to California. Only her youngest, Alicia, still lived with them.

But Darlene wasn't finished with caregiving; she'd run a day-care center in her Blackwood home and mentored at-risk kids through a local agency. One of those children was Thomas, an 8-year-old with a single father who wasn't able to raise him. When the school year ended, Thomas landed on the Battles' doorstep, his belongings stuffed in a trash bag.

Suddenly, they were foster parents, walking through the state's training and licensing process while figuring out how to take care of a defiant, troubled child who blew up when he heard the word no.

"My kids were older, in college," Darlene recalls. "We had to remember how to parent a younger child: 'What do you do with an 8-year-old? Oh, yeah, you've got to sign them up for baseball.' " She and McKinley adopted Thomas in 2006.

Then came Jahlil; he'd lived in several foster homes and came to the Battles initially for respite care. Darlene recalls an angry, volatile 13-year-old who bristled at McKinley's presence.

"The boys had never had a male figure in their lives," McKinley says. "It took time for them to trust."

Gradually, he bonded with the boys. He taught them to shake hands and coached them in the kitchen: a repertoire of fried chicken, bacon, and deviled eggs.

Initially, Jahlil referred to Darlene as "Miz Battle" and McKinley as "Mr. K." His adoption, rife with legal hurdles, took four years to be finalized. Sometime in that period, he began to call them "Mom" and "Pop."

They were not planning to adopt again. But Nasir bounced into their lives, a wiry and energetic foster child, in 2012. He'd lived in other foster homes and group homes; he bore the scars of a scrambled childhood.

"He was like a little onion," Darlene says. "You had to keep peeling back and peeling back." Repeatedly, he tested his foster parents' stick-to-itness: he flooded the bathroom on purpose; he lied and stole. "He didn't trust the system. We were constantly reassuring him, 'Nasir, you're not leaving.' We helped him realize it was OK to be in foster care, to be with people who were not necessarily your family."

At the same time, Nasir charmed the sprawling Keith-Battle clan of kids, cousins, aunts, and uncles. A few days after his arrival, the family began to prepare for Thanksgiving; Darlene put Nasir to work setting the table, hanging wreaths on the door. Soon, the table was heaped with food and the house crammed with more than 100 people.

Nasir scampered through the crowd: "Hi, my name's Nasir. I'm the grandkid!"

After Nasir appeared as "Wednesday's Child" on NBC10 and KYW Newsradio, several people expressed interest in adopting him. But Nasir had a different plan in mind. "Why can't I live here with you and Pop-pop?" he asked Darlene.

She and McKinley quietly started the paperwork to become Nasir's legal parents. And the day his social worker said, "Mr. and Mrs. Battle are going to adopt you," he whooped with delight - and relief. "It was like a weight just lifted off of him," Darlene says. "He was home."

He's 11 now, a kid who loves to read Greek mythology, practice karate, and sing in the church choir. He's changed. And so have his parents.

"When you're a foster parent, they tell you not to get that involved, not to get close to the kids," Darlene says. "You have that wall so your heart doesn't get broken. But you learn that these kids need love just as your own children need love."

When the family gathers for Christmas or New Year's Day or an impromptu party because someone scored well on a test, friends tell Darlene they can't discern who's who - that is, which ones are the children by birth, by marriage, and by adoption.

Darlene says that's just as it should be. She and McKinley come from large clans: Darlene grew up in a blended family that included her mother's seven children and her father's seven; McKinley has five siblings.

"Back in the day," she says, "everybody raised everybody." In the Keith-Battle house, they still do.

If you've become a parent - for the first, second or fifth time - within the last six months, e-mail us why we should feature your story: parents@phillynews.com.

Giving birth, adopting, or becoming a stepparent or guardian all count.

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