Foster's Home

I consider my upbringing to be fairly "normal", with the usual amount of dysfunction and insanity. But really it was anything but normal. My family was the host to many a foster child... add total fuckedupedness to the aforementioned dysfunction, and you have enough stories to write a very long book. I think these kids are the reason I often state "I can't save the world". They showed me what was out there, and, man, is it frightening.

Normally, my mother (being a foster parent was her idea, and my dad really had little to do with it... we were his kids and they were temporary visitors) would get a phone call late at night. Something bad had happened at some child's home and they needed immediate safe housing. Usually, my mother would agree to housing the kid, and after they would figure out whether the kid would stay or be moved to a group home or with a family member. They stayed for all different amounts of time, and sometimes we had 3 kids at once, sometimes none. Some kids even stayed for years.

Their ages varied, from babies (rarely) to teenagers (less so once I approached puberty). As my sister and I got older, we would be eager to meet the newcomer although my mother started taking in children when my sister was very young, so there was a lot of jealousy and competitiveness, naturally. But we usually liked the kids that were much younger than we were. They would show up, emotional and carrying a plastic bag filled with what little they had. Pajamas, a coat, etc. It was pretty sad. After the initial "getting to know you phase" and "what are you in for", we usually stopped liking the kid and wished them gone. It sounds so bad to say, but we were kids and they were messing up our lives. Not all of them, of course. Some we bonded with and became friends with and some even still keep in touch with my mother to this day. But here are a few of the juicier stories that I have from my life as the pseudo-sibling of foster children:

I saw my first penis and it belonged to a boy named... now what was his name? Can't remember. All I know is that we were raking the neighbors lawn, for a nickel, because we wanted to buy candy. There was a tree in the middle of the lawn and he told me it would feel good to hump the tree. So I went along with it. He pulled down his pants to hump the tree and I remember his little wee-wee was curved upwards. It wasn't exciting, and when I had my go at the tree trunk, it didn't feel good at all. I ran home immediately and didn't even collect on the raking. It was that disturbing.

A couple of the girls tried to hurt my dear dog Shawnee. I know one of them choked her and then told my mom that she had passed out. Another said she couldn't find her so we spent hours searching until we realized that she had put her in our clothes hamper, closed the lid and then came up with her little story. Why? Don't know, but you know what they say about people who torture small animals... watch out!

I totally idolized one of the older girls. She had platinum blonde hair with the wings that started at her forehead and went all the way down to her shoulders. She would iron her bandanas the night before school and I would pretend to sleep and watch her. I just thought she was the coolest, prettiest girl in the world. I learned a LOT about slutty fashion and how to apply a lot of eyeshadow. One girl had a huge tackle box full of make-up and she'd let me and my sister each do one side of her face however we wanted... rainbow colored eyelids with electric blue mascara on one side, gold glitter with white mascara on the other. It was the most fun. And perhaps the reason I do not wear make-up today.

It was pretty tough, in all honesty, spending our childhood in a house filled with beds, with all these kids who had bigger issues than we did. Even when I was older, in college, coming home for holidays and summers only to find small children still inhabiting our space, my mom still yelling at them about the same things, and just wanting to find some peace. But I do understand why it was important for my mother to do this, and in all honesty, I don't think about that aspect of growing up very often. It's like these poor kids just became part of the landscape, the air we breathed. Yeah, they were with us on vacations and holidays and during everyday life, but it is like being in war zone and being blind after a while to the casualties around you, I guess. There was too much drama, too many sad stories. Best to not get too involved. They would be gone soon anyway.

So even though I can't save the world, maybe, just maybe, my mom helped to save a couple of those kids.