Fostering Foster Homes...

I have heard a lot about “Foster Homes” in my time. It makes one ashamed to admit if they were raised in one. Well I was. Many of you may be surprised by this factoid. For a long time it was difficult to speak about it. It was just easier not to deal with the reactions of the unsuspecting. Usually when conversations happened to settle on this topic, tales of the horrid living conditions and irresponsible if not abusive parents would ensue.

Yes, I lived in a Foster Home. However, there is a twist…

I was a birth child in the Foster Home. This meant that I shared my parents, siblings, everything with the many children who came and left our home throughout my formative years. I saw first hand the looks of helpless fear on the faces that would usually arrive late in the evening. Most of the time they arrived tired, hungry, in need of a bath, and clean clothes. Most importantly, they needed a warm friendly face and just in case they were in need… a set of arms to hold them and a shoulder to lean on as they cried for their own mommy or daddy.

I would grab a hand or two and slowly begin to show the frightened faces around their new surroundings. Meanwhile my parents discussed particulars with the caseworker. Next a warm bubble bath and fresh pajamas. Then off to the kitchen where a snack of choice was awaiting them.

It was a heart breaking experience for all of us. The goal of everyone involved was to make the first night as tolerable as humanly possible. By bedtime, impressions of their tragedies were already pressed deep into my heart.

We lived one day at a time. We were not promised anything. The only thing that we were certain of was the palpable emotions associated with their departure which was already coming.

We learned to share and sometimes forfeit. We learned you can survive if you have food, clothing, and shelter. But you can thrive if you are loved. Even if it is only for a short time, it makes a difference.

Most stayed a week or so, but a few lived months, even years with us. That said; it was never easy to say goodbye. I am really bad at goodbyes. I always wanted to know the night before they were to leave the next day. I tried to avoid the whole situation. I hated the huge lump that would rise in my throat and refuse to go away. Feeling like my heart was being ripped out of my chest; all the while fighting back the tears, trying to smile, and wish them luck on this new leg of their journey.

So I speak to you for us, the kids who learn how to love from the unloved. Kids who unknowingly become decent, honorable people who really care about our fellow human beings because we want to protect tomorrow’s children from our past.

There are “kids” who left our home and “grew up” but to this very day send a card, call, or drop by to say hello. Those who still consider my parents their mama and daddy.

So here’s to the Foster Home that I was privileged to call my own. And to my mama and daddy who have been heroes to so many…

I love you mama and daddy, with all my heart!