I’ve been where only 3% of my classmates have ever been–living in foster care.
At age eight, I went to court every Tuesday and Thursday.
I’ve watched my mom cry as two LAPD officers took my sister and me away.
I’ve visited my father in jail and there, I saw him cry for the first time.
I’ve watched my brother be separated from my sister and me because our social worker wanted it that way.
I came close to being adopted by an uncle, but that didn’t work out.
I’ve been to therapy every Thursday at exactly 5 p.m.
I’ve sat by the phone waiting for my mother’s daily 8 p.m. phone call.
I’ve eaten a cheeseburger and fries at McDonald’s alongside my mother and brother while my foster parents sat in our same booth.
I’ve been allowed to sleep at my mother’s house once the social worker and the judge permitted it.
I’ve been responsible for my sister and myself most of my life.
