He still has the nightmares, one in particular, of a long Lincoln Town Car, the kind with the broad grill. He was 1½ years old and has been told he shouldn’t even remember it, but he still has the nightmare.

Chris Meyer was born in 1974, and a baby brother followed 13 months later. One day, unsupervised, Chris crawled out to the street and was hit by a car, a Lincoln Town Car. His father was in the house, in a back bedroom, with the 13-year-old baby-sitter. When his mother returned home and realized what had happened, she immediately divorced the father and they never heard from him again.

When he was four, Chris made a startling discovery — he found his mother’s father dead. "I remember trying to get into the bathroom, but there was something heavy lodged against the door. I pushed and pushed and finally it opened. There was my grandfather. I later learned that my grandmother had choked him, trying to kill him, but he had a heart attack in the process. That’s how I remember my grandpa, dead on the bathroom floor after my grandmother choked him. She never even cried."

Chris’ mother was always in some kind of trouble or another, always running from the authorities. As a child, Chris never understood why they relocated so often, from Maryland to Pennsylvania, from Florida to Texas. As a teenager, he understood; his mother was on the lam, never able to stay at any one spot for very long, afraid the police might find her. Over time, Chris and his brother were joined by three younger siblings, all by different fathers, men who had come and gone, but not before abusing the mom, or molesting the children.

Chris was first removed from his mother’s care at 6 years old. It was a situation he would sadly become too familiar with. "Mom would get into trouble, and we would be taken away -- sometimes for short stays, sometimes for longer periods, depending on how long she stayed in jail."

Chris was removed from the home over 20 times between the ages of 6 and 14, sent to live in various foster homes and group facilities. "I always got beat in those places," Chris tells me. "We, the children in their care, were just paychecks to the foster parents — they never really cared about any of us, just as long as they got their monthly checks from the State." Sometimes the siblings would be moved together, but more often they would be separated, sent to live in different facilities, all across the U. S.

"Every man in my Mom’s life was horrible to us. They all beat her, and us. She would beat us, too. She used anything she could find — belts, chains, anything she could pick up. Once, she threw a kitchen knife at me, but luckily it barely missed me."

As the oldest of five children, Chris took on the responsibility of caregiver, as their mother was running from the law. "I cooked, cleaned, anything I needed to do to take care of the younger kids."

At thirteen, Chris’ mother sent him to work, to earn money for the family. He was sent to work at a strip-club in town, cleaning up after it closed. "She needed money, so she sent me to earn it. I saw a lot of things in that place, but I had to earn the money, to take care of my brothers and sisters."

Chris’ 13th birthday was "a day I will never forget. My mom’s boyfriend at the time had overslept and was late for work. Angry about oversleeping and looking for someone to take it out on, he walked into my room and kicked me hard in the side and in the face. I celebrated my 13th birthday with a cracked rib and a boot impression on my cheek."

Watching his mother duck and hide from the police and move from one apartment to another to avoid capture, Chris learned of the darker things in life. "We always lived in horrible neighborhoods, gang-filled and drug-infested. You couldn’t even walk to school without stepping over drugs and old hypodermic needles. I would take them to school and give them to the principal. I don’t think he was surprised."

About this time, one of his mother’s boyfriends was sentenced to five years in prison for repeatedly molesting Chris’ four siblings, when the youngest was under a year old. Chris began to run away from home on a regular basis. He explains, "I just couldn’t stand watching my mother being beaten and my brothers and sisters being treated the way they were. I had to get away."

Then, out on the streets, Chris became involved in stealing, "stereos, tools, anything I could get a dollar for." He stole a car, was arrested and sent to juvenile detention. "It was the only lifestyle I knew. I was angry all the time."

Finally, authorities stepped in and put Chris into the juvenile probation system. He was shuffled between numerous placements, and removed from each of them because his behavior was considered dangerous to himself and others. "At one placement, I only lasted an hour and a half," he said.

At 14, Chris was given a final warning from his probation officer and the juvenile court system. "They told me that I was going to live at a place called the Hill Country Youth Ranch. That would be my last chance. If I didn’t straighten up my act, I would be sent to TYC (Texas Youth Commission, which is the juvenile equivalent of prison)."

"Once I arrived at the Ranch, I knew it was different, immediately. The difference was love. I felt it. This was the first place I had ever been in that I wasn’t used as a punching bag, or treated cruelly. I was more than a paycheck to them. I decided that I didn’t want to be sent away from the Ranch. I wanted to live there, and be a part of a real family, for the first time."

Gary Priour, Executive Director and Founder of the HCYR, remembers Chris after his arrival in 1988, "I remember Chris being withdrawn at first, but having a childlike presence about him. He wanted to play and be a little boy. He was a loving person underneath emotional scars."

Perhaps the inner searching of the child never stops, even after an awful start – the longing for a dresser drawer of one’s own to store a special toy, for oatmeal breakfasts, after-school milk, sitting at a kitchen table with family, going to the county fair, or just staring at the familiar ceiling of one’s own room.

Chris was determined to make this new home his, and he did. Making friends with the other children and listening to kind words from caregivers, he recalls, "The Ranch saved my life, and changed it forever. I have never been in any trouble since living there. It was the first place I had ever been that I felt cared for and safe."

After a year and a half, Chris had spent his "time" as required by the juvenile corrections department, and was sent back to San Antonio to live with his mother again. "My mother was still in and out of jail, so I basically just took care of myself. The difference was, I had new values to guide me."

One day, at the age of 16, Chris was preparing to go to Astroworld in Houston, a place he had always dreamed of visiting, when he noticed blood in his urine. "I went to the hospital’s emergency room and, after many tests, was told that my kidneys were not working properly." Chris was told that he had a rare condition that caused his body to go into complete renal failure, and that his future was uncertain. Since then, Chris has undergone over 300 surgical procedures and undergoes dialysis for 6 ½ hours a day, three times a week.

He received a kidney transplant in September of 2000, but his body rejected the kidney and it was removed the next day. "The day I received the transplant was the happiest day of my life. I was calling all of my friends to tell them that I was getting a new kidney, a second chance at life. After learning that my body rejected the kidney, I was very depressed. And, I never got to visit Astroworld."

Chris is still on the list for a kidney transplant, but is not listed as a priority, as he explains with tear-filled eyes. "I already rejected one kidney and there is no guarantee that my body would accept another. Most people don’t want to give up a body part, even if they can live fine without it."

Although he takes more than 25 prescription medications daily, deals with an unforgiving diet, and depends on regular dialysis, Chris remains in good spirits and has managed to build as normal a life for himself as possible. Forced to quit school at 16 because of his numerous doctor visits, Chris enrolled at the Good Samaritan Center in San Antonio to study for his GED. He also took vocational classes to become an auto mechanic, and his passion is restoring old cars. He proudly tells me of ingenious ways to repair vehicles when parts are no longer available. "You name it, I can fix it," he says with a broad smile and sparkling eyes.

Married to Roxanne, a computer configuration specialist, Chris tells me it was difficult to share his past with his wife, and with others. "Most people don’t realize that things like this happen to kids. They think that it only happens in books or movies. And, I don’t think people realize how much children remember," he adds, lowering his head. To this day, he always carries in the back of his pick-up truck a full gas can, a bottle of water and a toolbox, "in case I see someone in trouble."

Recently, I visited Chris at the modest home he shares with his wife in San Antonio. I arrived and a large, smiling man greeted me. I recognized the kind, blue eyes that I had seen in 15-year-old photographs. He invited me in and offered a glass of tea, water, or lemonade.

He asked me to sit in the living room because he had something to show me, a surprise. As he disappeared into a back bedroom, I glanced around at the photographs of Chris and Roxanne along with religious symbols, crucifixes and rosaries, neatly set around the house.

He returned and from behind his back pulled what I thought to be an old dust-rag. As he unfolded it, he explained, "When I came to live at the Youth Ranch, I was given a T-shirt with the Ranch insignia and a picture on it. I have always treasured this shirt and after I left the Ranch, I wore it every day, as a way of holding on to the love I had found there."

He continued, "The first job I got after leaving the Ranch was at an automotive garage. My boss wouldn’t let me wear the shirt — I had to wear a uniform. So, I wore my Ranch T-shirt underneath it, every single day. It helped remind me of the kindness I had received and to be kind to others. When I die, I will be buried in my Hill Country Youth Ranch shirt."

On September 21st, Chris and Roxanne Meyer attended HCYR’s 25th anniversary banquet, faded T-shirt in hand. Because of his story about the shirt, that night at the celebration, Chris and the other graduates each received a brand new Youth Ranch T-shirt. Before leaving the next day, Chris presented Gary Priour, his long-time mentor, a check for $100, explaining, "I want to do something to help."

Chris prays every night, asking for one more day, one more sunrise, one more laugh. And every morning, he gives thanks. "I know that one day I may not wake up, but every time I do, I always remember to say thank you to God."

When I asked Chris what message he wants to share, he tells me, "Be good to your children. They are a blessing, and they need guidance. Also, please consider being an organ donor. Even though my kidneys don’t work, I plan on giving all of my other organs, to help someone else who might need them. I have healthy lungs, and a good strong heart."