Back in my teaching days there was a young boy that had been found living off whatever he could find in the trash cans and dumpsters of an area city. Some nice folks thought it was their Christian duty to take him into their home and give him a decent life. If memory serves me correctly, it seems the boy was around three years of age when found, and was probably less than four when adopted.
The folks that adopted him were good people and were the parents of another child, an older girl, and all I can say is that they tried.
If I had to describe the boy, it would be easy to do with only one word, evil. You could not love that kid, he was seriously damaged, and it took only a few minutes to come to the conclusion that the boy was going to wind up dead, or in the penitentiary before his twentieth birthday.
He gave alot of grief to the folks that took him in, crap, he gave alot of grief to anyone that had any dealings with him, and did indeed make it to the pen.
Last I saw him he was probably in his late teens, had already been in alot of trouble with the law, had been kicked out of school, and was hitch hiking. I picked him up. I had had him in class when he was junior high aged, never had too much trouble with him, only had to pull his shirt over his head one time and bodily remove him from the room when he attacked me for taking a rubber band away from him because he was snapping it against the pages of his book, disrupting my class, and wouldn't quit, and wouldn't hand the rubber band to me when asked to, so I figured I could get by with giving him a ride and not worry about a knife between the ribs.
I took him several miles down the road to a major highway so he could get a ride out of town, we had an interesting conversation. He was a young man, he still wasn't right, and the word evil was still valid.
God only knows what kind of crap that boy endured as street feral.