One in a Million
There are a few things that ALWAYS bring me to tears. Sappy movies? Sure. Disappointment? Especially when I bring it on myself. But there are bigger things, things that keep me up at night, things I can’t stop thinking about no matter what drugs the doctors hit me with. Back home, it was the Street Kids who congregated in Hollywood. Without doubt, they are the biggest reason I’m determined to go home some day.
In the interim... probably because I feel the pressure of time and my mother's advancing age and declining health, I'm becoming ever more aware of the plight of foster kids. I gotta tell you: if you're like me and think things are bad in California, you can't imagine how bad it is in Texas.
For many reasons, now is not the time for me to be a parent. (And don't try to argue this point; CPS has already made that decision for the time being.) But I can't stop thinking about them. I can't not remember the kids I grew up with who were in and out of foster homes (most of them beyond description even with my enhanced adult vocabulary); the kids who were in and out of juvenile detention; the kids who couch-surfed because their parents were too drunk or drugged or just plain absent to notice when they didn't come home.
That was a long time ago, and everything I see tells me it's only gotten worse. Much worse. Yes, I'm applying to work for CPS (and this is an extremely difficult decision for a lot of reasons), but that will take time, and right now, I'm disillusioned with grad school and seriously considering leaving, if not my current program, then entirely (at least until I can go where I always planned, which simply can't happen without returning to SoCal and the kids back in Hollywood).
So I'm looking for other options. Resume padding, yes, but also a way, any way, to do something. I already have a three-page resume with degrees and honors that I know no employer will ever bother to read, so that’s not the point. The point is that I can't continue doing nothing because the system says my only option is to get pregnant. No offense to those who choose that route, but I will never, ever, ever allow that to happen. I've always been too aware of how many kids are lost to have any desire to create more. It's simply never going to be the right choice for me.
All of this is to say I am revisiting the CASA program for about the 500th time. And once again, I was just brought to tears. The front page of their national web site has a brilliant spot (which I should point out hits you a lot harder with your sound turned off--so turn it off)... so simple, so powerful. Children, innocent little children, holding up marker-scrawled cardboard signs that say "12 foster homes", "8 foster homes"...
I don't understand how anyone can not be brought to tears by this. I never understood how people on Hollywood Boulevard could pass by kids as young as nine without so much as a kind word. A double-cheeseburger is a buck at McDonald's, where they typically congregate in the afternoon. It's also right beside a major MTA thoroughfare, which should result in plenty of greetings and friendly "hellos" if nothing else.
But it doesn't. They aren’t Powers kids. No one’s going to cast them in the perfect family on the newest perfectly preposterous sitcom. They're dirty. They're foul-mouthed. They're lugging their lives’ possessions in Army-issue rucksacks, and, yes, they're probably carrying knives. They're probably huffing; they're almost certainly having unprotected sex, and a lot of them are doing it for money. When I left most were sporting candy-colored hair. And you know what else? They're scared shitless, and no matter how hard they try to act tough, the truth is they're just KIDS.
What if they were YOUR kids? Or your sisters' kids? Or your cousins? What if they were the kids next door? Would you walk by and look away then? Would you spit at them and tell them to go home? (To what? How much worse do you think home must be if this is the life they live?) Grow up? (Who’s going to show them how many options they have, how much they could achieve?) Or how about GET A JOB? (What job, exactly, do you think is available to a teenager with little education, no permanent address, no references, no phone number…nowhere to take a shower?)
We all have ghosts to live with. Some of us survived abuse, some unimaginable horrors they may never remember. Some of us watched it happen to our friends. Some of us watched our friends die. I went to more funerals by the time I was 12 than most people attend in a lifetime. And if that was then, why has it been allowed to get worse?
I spend a lot of time here whining. It’s my journal, so I get to do that when I want. I've had my heart broken a couple of times, and I've been mad at the world a few others. But you know what? No man will ever be able to break my heart the way a single child can. No one will ever be able to make me as angry as the person hurting that child.
I'm not perfect. I'm sure that's incredibly obvious. No one is... until that person comes we're all fighting through a fog, making our way without a map or eyes to see. But how do you not see THIS? How do we close our eyes at night and let this continue?
The truth is I was one of the lucky ones: I was adopted the day I was born. And I've been completely sure since the age of 3 that every one of my children, although not newborns, will be adopted. Even my dogs are adoptees.
So I'm never going to see things the way most people do. But there are two things I have always been absolutely certain of: 1. There is no such thing as a bad kid, only a kid society has failed; and, 2. All it takes is one person who will never, ever stop loving that kid to make all the difference in their life.These particular truths of mine have never been debatable, but if I needed proof, the first came in the form of my first "real" boyfriend, sent away to lockup and then kicked out of his home and torn from his siblings (one of whom died not long before at age 7) when we were 14.
And the second? I will never forget the night I asked Jaybird what one thing could have changed it all for him. I will never forget that night because he's the proof that it only takes one person.
Imagine that.
In the interim... probably because I feel the pressure of time and my mother's advancing age and declining health, I'm becoming ever more aware of the plight of foster kids. I gotta tell you: if you're like me and think things are bad in California, you can't imagine how bad it is in Texas.
For many reasons, now is not the time for me to be a parent. (And don't try to argue this point; CPS has already made that decision for the time being.) But I can't stop thinking about them. I can't not remember the kids I grew up with who were in and out of foster homes (most of them beyond description even with my enhanced adult vocabulary); the kids who were in and out of juvenile detention; the kids who couch-surfed because their parents were too drunk or drugged or just plain absent to notice when they didn't come home.
That was a long time ago, and everything I see tells me it's only gotten worse. Much worse. Yes, I'm applying to work for CPS (and this is an extremely difficult decision for a lot of reasons), but that will take time, and right now, I'm disillusioned with grad school and seriously considering leaving, if not my current program, then entirely (at least until I can go where I always planned, which simply can't happen without returning to SoCal and the kids back in Hollywood).
So I'm looking for other options. Resume padding, yes, but also a way, any way, to do something. I already have a three-page resume with degrees and honors that I know no employer will ever bother to read, so that’s not the point. The point is that I can't continue doing nothing because the system says my only option is to get pregnant. No offense to those who choose that route, but I will never, ever, ever allow that to happen. I've always been too aware of how many kids are lost to have any desire to create more. It's simply never going to be the right choice for me.
All of this is to say I am revisiting the CASA program for about the 500th time. And once again, I was just brought to tears. The front page of their national web site has a brilliant spot (which I should point out hits you a lot harder with your sound turned off--so turn it off)... so simple, so powerful. Children, innocent little children, holding up marker-scrawled cardboard signs that say "12 foster homes", "8 foster homes"...
I don't understand how anyone can not be brought to tears by this. I never understood how people on Hollywood Boulevard could pass by kids as young as nine without so much as a kind word. A double-cheeseburger is a buck at McDonald's, where they typically congregate in the afternoon. It's also right beside a major MTA thoroughfare, which should result in plenty of greetings and friendly "hellos" if nothing else.
But it doesn't. They aren’t Powers kids. No one’s going to cast them in the perfect family on the newest perfectly preposterous sitcom. They're dirty. They're foul-mouthed. They're lugging their lives’ possessions in Army-issue rucksacks, and, yes, they're probably carrying knives. They're probably huffing; they're almost certainly having unprotected sex, and a lot of them are doing it for money. When I left most were sporting candy-colored hair. And you know what else? They're scared shitless, and no matter how hard they try to act tough, the truth is they're just KIDS.
What if they were YOUR kids? Or your sisters' kids? Or your cousins? What if they were the kids next door? Would you walk by and look away then? Would you spit at them and tell them to go home? (To what? How much worse do you think home must be if this is the life they live?) Grow up? (Who’s going to show them how many options they have, how much they could achieve?) Or how about GET A JOB? (What job, exactly, do you think is available to a teenager with little education, no permanent address, no references, no phone number…nowhere to take a shower?)
We all have ghosts to live with. Some of us survived abuse, some unimaginable horrors they may never remember. Some of us watched it happen to our friends. Some of us watched our friends die. I went to more funerals by the time I was 12 than most people attend in a lifetime. And if that was then, why has it been allowed to get worse?
I spend a lot of time here whining. It’s my journal, so I get to do that when I want. I've had my heart broken a couple of times, and I've been mad at the world a few others. But you know what? No man will ever be able to break my heart the way a single child can. No one will ever be able to make me as angry as the person hurting that child.
I'm not perfect. I'm sure that's incredibly obvious. No one is... until that person comes we're all fighting through a fog, making our way without a map or eyes to see. But how do you not see THIS? How do we close our eyes at night and let this continue?
The truth is I was one of the lucky ones: I was adopted the day I was born. And I've been completely sure since the age of 3 that every one of my children, although not newborns, will be adopted. Even my dogs are adoptees.
So I'm never going to see things the way most people do. But there are two things I have always been absolutely certain of: 1. There is no such thing as a bad kid, only a kid society has failed; and, 2. All it takes is one person who will never, ever stop loving that kid to make all the difference in their life.These particular truths of mine have never been debatable, but if I needed proof, the first came in the form of my first "real" boyfriend, sent away to lockup and then kicked out of his home and torn from his siblings (one of whom died not long before at age 7) when we were 14.
And the second? I will never forget the night I asked Jaybird what one thing could have changed it all for him. I will never forget that night because he's the proof that it only takes one person.
Imagine that.