When revealing parts of my childhood in foster care, people typically become apologetic. However, I don't tell the story to garner sympathy. I tell it to exude a level of resiliency and one's ability to overcome any odds stacked against them evident in any human willing to seek from within. Of course, this process is not easy. First, you must endure hardships, uncertainty, and even trauma in far too many cases. Next, you have to survive the ordeal, which could mean years of torment. If you survive it all, you're likely a troubled adult seeking a more hopeful path toward mending.
The day I met my girls and their other siblings changed my life forever. I met them at my school and I was one of their teachers. I instantly had a connection with all of them. I love all of my students but these groups of kids touched my heart dearly. I cared for those kids like they were my own. My classroom was their restaurant, shopping center, and beauty salon. When they missed school I called their social workers to see why they missed school and to let them know that I've missed them that day. Every single day I went home and spoke about my girls to my family. I found out that my girls were living in a shelter with other foster children. My sister and I went to court and asked for visitation rights, so that I can see them on the weekends and to take them out to special places. And I was awarded visitation :)
On May 30, 2014, I went to my oldest daughter's classroom during our lunch time. I was told from her teacher that she got kicked out of her math class and was sent to her reading teacher for being rude and disrespectful. So the teacher told me that my daughter said she did not take her medicine and she has "hell" in her today.