Through the Eyes of a Foster Child

A few years ago, I was walking down the hallway of a company that I was working for which provided services for foster children. I was stopped as I walked passed the Executive Administrator's office. She had recently read an article that I had written titled; "Through The Eyes of A Foster Child." Our conversation went as follows: "David, may I speak with you for a moment?" She asks. "Sure, Carol, what is it?" "I read the article that you wrote for the newsletter. I am very impressed and touched by it. I had no idea that you were a foster child." I looked in her eyes and replied, "Too many people don't know that about me Carol. I just don't share that information with everyone." She looked at me with bewilderment and concern and says "David, you have a gift. You have a way with words." Now I'm looking puzzled and have no idea as to where this conversation is headed. "Excuse me Carol, I don't understand." I replied, looking dumb-founded. "David, you have a lot to say and everyone needs to hear this, people need to hear your story. You need to write. Have you ever thought about writing a book, writing your story?" I looked at her and laughed. "Carol, I don't know the first thing about writing a book, and who would be interested in reading it." She stares at me as though she sees through my eyes "David, you have a gift and you should think about it." "Ok Carol, I'll think about it." As I walked away, I thought to myself; "yeah right, write a book." I'm sure that some of us, if not all of us have been told something positive about ourselves and didn't want to believe it. We have even convinced ourselves that we are not even worthy of the acknowledgement.

I realize now how true it is when they say "people come into your life for a reason or just for a season." Carol passed away a few months later from (ALS) Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, known as the Lou Gehrig's disease. Upon her passing, I began to think about our conversation and what she was trying to tell me.

I remember you

As you

Looked at me,

Stared at me,

As though you really knew me.

I looked in your eyes

And saw that you cared,

We shared,

As you looked past

My pain, my shame,

"You're not to blame" you said.

We conversed,

Smiled,

Chatted . . . just a little while

And got to know,

Feel and learn

Each other's style . . . as we smiled.

You taught,

I listened and learned;

In return . . . I yearned . . .

Your knowledge, insight,

As you suggested

That I should write and unite;

Red, yellow, black, brown and white.

And so, I sit here;

Pen, pad, and sometimes mic in hand;

Allowing my words to flow . . .

So others may understand.

It was on a daily basis, that I use to sat at my desk and watch so many foster children come into the office and I think; Does anyone hear them? Are people really listening to what they have to say? Do people feel their heart crying out for love, crying out to belong? Are their little voices being heard? What stories do they have? I sat and I pray . . . God, if it's your will, guide me on this journey as I look . . .

Through The Eyes of A Foster Child

For a brief moment, close your eyes, free your mind and imagine that you are 2, 5, 10 or 13 years old and you're playing with your favorite toy, video game or something that you really enjoy. All of a sudden, there's a knock on the door (knock, knock, knock). Your parent reluctantly opens the door and in walks a nicely dressed lady. The lady briefly speaks to your parents, then walks over to you and says that you need to go with her. You don't know where you're going, but your parents think it's ok. As you are leaving, you notice your parents walking behind - carrying a packed suitcase. At this point, you don't understand what's happening; your heart starts to beat fast, you want to ask where you are going but you are afraid. You take a deep breath and say, "Where am I going?" The nicely dressed lady looks at you and replies, "You are going to a nice home to live with a wonderful family." Your mind starts to travel, "What did I do wrong? Will I see my friends again? Will I go to the same school?"

Now, imagine that:

You are living in a different environment

The culture of your family is different

You have to follow new rules

You share a bedroom with someone you don't know

You eat different foods than you normally eat

You go to a different school

You attend another place of worship

Your friends are many miles away

At this moment, all that you have ever known has been taken from you; everything, except your name.

This scenario is played over and over for the many children that are faced with entering foster care. Sometimes, we are given a second chance in life; the opportunity to come full circle. What we do with what is offered, is totally up to us and no one else. Being a foster child is not what we choose to be; but something that has been chosen for us. I often see us as "a product of the system", viewing the world differently than others may view it. In our world, I've often seen pain, mistrust, abuse and even hatred. We are given a stigma that is hard to shake. Words are spoken to us that hurt to the core. We, in turn, create our own world where we find that little piece of love, happiness or stability that was taken or absent in our lives. We use this as our defense mechanism. Whether it benefits or harms us, this is the world we create; one which I've created. My world was in the basement of my foster parent's home; where I chose to spend many hours in front of a small black and white television set.

As foster children we want to belong, to be loved and to have our existence acknowledged. We want to belong in a world where we are like your own children, your own relatives. We wish to belong to a family that says I am theirs no matter what. We don't want pity, we don't need pity; we just want to be loved and cared for without the presence of mistreatment, misrepresentation or dismissal.

As foster children, we experience special occasions such as holidays and find them especially difficult. We don't really look forward to them and can't stop them from coming. We see kids with their families, and wish that it were us. We lie in bed at night and ask "why me?" I often asked that question as a child. I didn't get my answer until age 39; to be able to tell the world that we exist; that we also belong. I now find myself in a position to assist other foster children in ways that I was not assisted. G-d does things in His own time. When I was young, I resented my bio-parents for what they had done and often my foster parents for what they didn't do. As I've matured, I've come to accept the hand that I was dealt and often view the negative events in my life as stepping-stones to my future. I was fortunate to have been raised with my sister, Theresa. She was only 18 months and I was 2 years old at the time that we entered foster care. This is not always the situation for foster children. There are many who do not know where their siblings are or if they have any at all. When I was older, I learned that I had another sister, Tracy. She is the youngest of the three of us. At age 41, I discovered that I have several other brothers and sisters which I had the opportunity of meeting in late 2003.

For those of you that are fortunate enough to have your own children or foster children, this is the time to look at them, even if they are not "a product of the system," and tell them how much you care. Don't let them have to wonder if they will ever find parents to love them. Don't let them go into a world that will do more harm than good. You could be the parent that they are seeking, the parent that will put them on the right path. Be the parent that says, "I love you"; no matter what has happened or will happen throughout their life. Every time you look at your child and say how much you care it helps. When they don't have to wonder if they will ever find parents to love them, it lets them know that you will always be there for them. When they go out into the world and find people that are good to them, it helps. Every child will have a story to tell. Whatever story it is; it will depend partly on you. Will they tell the story of hate, sorrow, mistrust and pain? Or, will it be one of love, a story of someone that made a difference in his or her life.