Rough Road Traveled

When I first became a foster child, I was around 12. Thinking back, it is hard to believe I was that old before I entered the foster care system. Both of my parents were alcoholics throughout my life. When I say drinking, I don’t mean a few beers on the weekend and no drinking during the week. They both would drink nonstop, every day for months, until they both decided to stop drinking for a while. When they went through their sober spells, my three sisters, two brothers and I felt like we were a normal family. My mom would cook and clean the house and my dad would work on his car and just be dad. My dad was a World War II Veteran and had only a third grade education. My mom had a sixth grade education; she and my dad married when she was 13 and he was in his late 30’s. They only knew each other for a week before they got married.

Both my parents had emotional problems. When I was around seven, my aunt took my mom to the hospital because she cut her wrist. She had been drinking, and she was having a suicidal moment. My mom went through these moments many times. Other times she would leave the family and not come back for days, or in one case, almost 2 years. My father had a very bad temper, and my siblings and I would run and hide from him because we were afraid. After he cooled off, we would feel safe. Looking back, I am very sure that my dad suffered with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder because of his wartime experience.

Not only did we go through our childhood hiding, but we went through hungry and without electricity. My dad was a disabled Veteran, and we lived paycheck to paycheck. So many times we went behind grocery stores looking for food because we had no money to buy groceries, and we searched dumps to find treasures. When we did have a Christmas, each child was given one gift. Sometimes my parents bought me a bicycle, but presents like that didn’t last that long. During the next drinking binge, my bicycle would come up missing.

My entry into the foster care system coincided with my first pair of glasses. I was in sixth grade, and qualified to get glasses for free through the school. At that time, my dad was drinking, and I had missed many days of school. I remember two men, Mr. Jackson and Mr. Wyatt, visiting often and checking on us. They told my dad we needed to be in school and that the drinking needed to stop or they would have to take his kids away.

The school social worker had taken me to the eye doctor, and later to pick up my glasses. I got home early that day, and everything was quiet in the house. I walked to the end of the hallway and looked in my dad’s bedroom. He was passed out on the bed with my sister, who was developmentally disabled. It is not a visual I want to remember. I yelled her name and she got up, put her clothes on and started crying. She was much older than I, but she had the IQ of a 3rd grader. My dad woke up and started cursing, but he was so drunk he couldn’t get up out of bed. I took my sister and we walked, crying, to another city where my best friend’s grandmother lived. I called her Granny because she let me come over to shower when we didn’t have hot water, she cooked for me if I was hungry and she took me to church. When I knocked on her door, she took one look at us and knew something bad had happened. I called Mr. Jackson and told him. The next day Mr. Jackson picked us up, and I was sent to a stranger’s house.

Those strangers became my foster parents. My foster mother was a school teacher, and my foster dad worked at manufacturing company. I hated living there at first because they had rules and I had no contact with my brothers and sisters, who had been sent to different foster homes. My foster mother was one of my teachers at my new school, and I had to always be on my best behavior. They had a lot of farmland, so I spent a lot of time shucking corn and snapping green beans. I also spent a lot of time in church and entertaining myself. But her niece and I played together and became good friends. I also had my very first dental appointment, including a cleaning and four cavities filled.

After almost a year, we were able to go home because my parents got back together and they had stopped drinking. It didn’t last long. Within six months, my parents were back on a binge, and Mr. Jackson and Mr. Wyatt took us away again. This time, my aunt took in me and three of my siblings as foster kids. She didn’t have much, but she wanted to keep us together. She had six kids of her own, for a total of ten kids in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom tiny house on a farm in the country. She didn’t allow my mom and dad to come over because of their drinking.

We lived with her for almost year. Again, my parents stopped drinking and we were able to go home. That lasted just three months. This time, my sister took us as her foster children. We lived with her for over six months, and we finally went back home. The next sober spell lasted for about two years. By then we were older, and when their drinking started up we found ways of surviving.

I managed to finish high school, but it was rough. I quit during sophomore year because I didn’t know what I wanted out of life. My mom was happy when I quit school because then I would be home to help clean. I moved in with my brother and I babysat his kids, but I wanted more out of life. I decided to check out the U.S. Armed Forces, but I couldn’t join any of the branches without a high school diploma. So I decided to move home and go back to school. The high school principal told me I needed doctors’ excuses and had to pass all the exams I missed during the three months I’d been gone. The doctor gave me excuses because I was sick with hypoglycemia (low blood sugar). I worked hard and passed all my tests to finish sophomore year. I enlisted in the delayed-entry program in the United States Marine Corps.

During my senior year of high school, I moved in with my aunt so that I could graduate high school. It was hard living at home because my mom was drinking every day and I was not able to get enough sleep and concentrate on my school work. She would keep me up most of the night with her drinking state of mind. My dad had stopped drinking and tried to make her stop, but she found ways of getting drunk, even it was drinking rubbing alcohol. After I graduated high school, I joined the Marine Corps and I moved forward in my life.

I am sharing my story because it is important for people to understand the emotional state that children go through and the importance of ensuring that the foster care system focuses on the best interests of a child. I have two grown children of my own, and I provided the best for my children because I didn’t have the best growing up. I have good memories of my parents and loved them both very much, but I have sad memories that are hard to forget.

I still keep in contact with my foster parents because I am thankful that they were there for me when I needed a stable home. This foster care experience showed me that there are other people willing to help change children’s lives in a positive way by putting a child’s needs before themselves. It gave me the desire to want more out of life than what I had and an understanding that it is up to the individual to make a positive change in their lives.