By Jessica Hatzer
A foster care perspective from the biological child of a foster parent.
The alarm goes off and I wake to another day filled with life's little surprises. After my morning routine, I come downstairs to the sound of four squeaky, screaming voices shouting in unison, “Jeca!”. Incited by their cries, a smile breaks across my face as I turn to look into the cereal covered faces of my 3 little brothers. Grabbing a towel, I begin clean-up work on their now Cheerio covered highchairs while trying to be the median between the one of many arguments my little sisters have been able to get into after being awake for a total of ten minutes. After developing a compromise I make the four lunches for the kids to take to school while my mother irons their clothes and tells me about the newest you-won't-believe-what-she-did-now-speech. After everyone piles into the car and we head off to school I review for my test that I barely got to finish studying for the night before. However, my mind begins to drift into how we started this whole hectic/surprisingly fun life…of Foster Care.
I can still remember that day when my mother picked us up from school and announced that she would be picking us up early the next day because of the arrival of our new brothers and sister. The announcement shocked us all and left us speechless for a few seconds. This day had been anticipated for nearly a year. Our parents had been going through foster parenting classes and had finally gotten certified. Now all we had to do was wait for the right kids to come to us. We had heard it wasn't going to be long before our house was filled to the rim with kids, but every passing day without a little child felt like an eternity. But the day had finally come. It was actually here. This was it.
The three of us immediately began interrogating our mother about the kids. “How old are they?” “What are their names?” “What time are they coming?” The first answer to our questions was one that none of us expected. The kids were African-American, two little boys, ages one and two, and one little girl who was four. The little girl was blind in one eye and the youngest boy had a cast on his leg. These things scared me at first and I didn't know why. I worried about them being immediately identified as "foster kids".
After being picked up from school early and making a quick run around the house to make sure everything looked clean and tidy, we waited on the porch for our newest arrivals, fully aware that these were our last few minutes having a “normal” life. As the car pulled up to the front of our driveway, I went up to open the gate for the car to come in. I'll never forget the walk up there and every thought that ran through my mind. “This is it! ... They're really here! ... We're really doing this! ... Here we go!” I opened the gate and got my first glimpse at the three little people in the back seat, one with a ball of hair on the top of her head. I walked down to help them out of the car and opened the back door to three blank stares. We all exchanged looks of confusion and uncertainty as I un-buckled them from their car seats. Once inside, my sisters and I took the kids into the playroom while the social worker, Stephanie, and my mother talked about the technicalities and reasons behind their case.
The silence in that playroom was undeniably one of the scariest things I had ever experienced. All my life I had been somewhat sure of the decisions we had made. Now it had seemed as if we had made a mistake as the overwhelming reality of it all hit us smack dab in the face. The three of them just sat down for about two minutes not saying a word and not responding to any of the toys we showed them to bring a glimpse of a smile on their faces.
After a while they each went off into a corner and began to play with the new toys they had discovered. My sisters and I exchanged glances and silently saying “OK, what do we do now?” I tried to start a conversation with the little girl but she seemed unwilling to talk. After asking her about her brother's names, Tyrell and Maurice, as well as her own, Destiny, I began to ask her about the crayons she was coloring with. “What color is this?” I asked her, eagerly waiting for more than a one word reply. “Uuuhhhh… purple!” she said softly as a small smile crossed her face. Soon I had her explaining to me what every color was which then led to a bigger and wider conversation about her and her brothers. We all felt a small sign of relief as we got the conversation going and became more comfortable with the fact that we were talking to a total stranger.
That night at dinner, our family ate quietly, unsure of what to say. The boys sat in their highchairs silently eating their peas and mashed potatoes while Destiny quietly ate her food and told us a little about herself. However, things didn't go as quietly and smoothly when the time came to go to sleep. Tyrell and Maurice went to bed with out a word while Destiny began to whimper. As should be expected, Destiny began to cry and say, “I miss my mommy!” After about an hour of calming her down, talking to her and wiping her tears, we overcame our first trial of our new life. Once the kids were asleep we all met in my parent's room and had a “family meeting.” We all agreed it would be hard and that through time things would get easier.
It turned out to be true. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Our relationship with them got better and better through each day and each laugh. The boys who had, at first, been aloof and frightened, were now screaming and laughing as any child would. We quickly learned that Maurice, even at the age of two, is a surprisingly good athlete who loves any sport available. Tyrell, we quickly learned, has a laugh that brightens the room. It explodes out of him and impedes anyone from having anything but a smile on their face when they hear it.
Destiny became the best friend of my little sister, Dee Dee, and the two became attached at the hip, Destiny with her innocent smart-alec attitude and Dee Dee with her authority as the “big-little kid.” What we once thought of as a mistake turned out to be imperative to our daily lives. A day without Tyrell's laugh, Maurice's “I did it, Jeca!” or Destiny's “For real?” would seem empty now. It even amazes me how we ever lived without them and their numerous everyday laughs and experiences.
Looking back, it seems childish that I had been nervous about taking in African-American children. At first I had worried that everyone would ask us who they were and that they would be constantly identified as "foster kids". Now I don't even notice our differences and when asked who they are, I now feel completely normal replying that they're my little brothers and sister. It just goes to show that God puts things in your life that you don't expect, no matter how much preparation you go through. These little surprises are put here for a reason, not to cause a problem, but to fix one, especially the one inside my heart I never realized existed.