I was furious. Over and over I asked how and why they could get away with those things.
Joanne winced, shrugged her shoulders, and said that foster parents get so many hundreds of dollars each month to take care of kids, and that they get even more if they take in kids with physical, mental, or social disabilities.
Thursday, November 3
At first, I had a hard time forcing myself to read about Joanne’s past. Then one day I saw how much good it was doing her to sort of regurgitate the inhumanity of mankind. Sometimes she cried as she wrote, other times she swore or rammed her hands into a pillow or a chair, on occasion scraping off her skin.
Later I noticed something strange. The more she wrote about her problems and hurts and fears, the less angry she appeared. Actually it was like, even though her life had been hurtful and sometimes horrible, she was now becoming stronger because of it! Stronger and more compassionate and considerate of those around her who also had been, or now were, suffering.
I admired her so much I wanted to give her a Purple Heart or something! Of course I couldn’t do that, so I gigglingly gave her a big hug!
The girls who slept in the bunks across from us happened to come in just then, and they couldn’t wait to spread the lying word around that we were “queers,” doing “it” on my bed in front of everybody. We heard that somebody said we even let people watch if they paid us. How disgusting can that be? How humiliated can we be?
We are the laughingstock and the butt of every imaginable dirty joke, not only in the trailer but also at school.
The teachers tried to pretend they weren’t hearing what the kids said, but we knew they were! It was horrendous, vulgar, and obscene! I felt sorry for myself, but even worse for Joanne, because she is so much younger than I am, and so much more vulnerable!
I wanted to wait until the middle of the night and then run away with Joanne. But run where? I felt completely useless. It hurt so much that I, who was trying to be sweet little Joanne’s mentor…maybe even her mother…was being comforted and taken care of by her!
Thank goodness for tears that help wash away at least some of the degradation and pain.
The two of us have seen more depravity in our lives, and lack of care, than we dared think about. I probably had seen and experienced much less than a lot of the kids. Kids probably by the hundreds…no thousands…maybe millions…who have lived parts of their lives in situations that no sane adult would want to know about, or think about, or do anything about! Kids, even baby kids, like Donita, are sexually abused from the time they are almost newly born. Is it because sexual abuse to a child seems too improbable and impossible for an adult to…who knows?
And other abuse: mental, physical, verbal? Like teenage kids having to wear diapers and no pants all of Saturday and Sunday if they wet their bed or did anything else the foster parents disliked. Joanne said she once had to lick up her own vomit, and another time she was not allowed food or water from Friday till Monday after school. She was so weak she passed out for a while on the bus. But no one dared tell because then they might find themselves in a worse situation.
Living in a foster home is almost like living in a horror movie. No! That isn’t right! Some of the people do the best they can. But others do unthinkable, brutal things. Joanne and I talk about the situation often.
Friday, November 4
In the middle of the night, Joanne crept down into my bunk and we decided that we were going to make a difference! We were going to cut school and go to the police station to tell our story, then to our small town newspaper and the school principal. Joanne is more responsible for the idea than I, and I am proud of her.
She said she had stayed awake all night thinking that without my positive help and teaching she might very easily have become one of the angry, unhinged kids who were trying so hard to demean us. She asked, “How would I have known wrong from right, good from bad, if you hadn’t taught me?” She said she and Donita and Lacy all owed their lives to me, no matter where they now were.
Saturday, November 5
We got up, quickly and quietly dressed, then sneaked out into the cold night (almost morning) air, trying to get our act together. It was scary! What if…?
But we chickened out! Halfway to the police station we were almost sure that the police wouldn’t believe us and that none of the other kids would dare tell the truth and be on our side. Besides, ours was one of the better foster homes, and Joanne and I would surely be separated so we wouldn’t cause any more problems. We decided that even the possibility of separation was too great a price to pay right now. But down the road, sooner or later, we will get up the guts to do something…I hope!
Monday, November 7
At school today I heard someone crying in the girls bathroom. Since there was no one else in there, I knocked on her stall and asked if there was anything I could do to help. She sobbed for another minute, then came out and said she was crying because…maybe…she was going to be adopted. I guess she saw the puzzled look on my face because she wiped her eyes with a piece of toilet paper and blew her nose, then said she was crying for happiness.
Other girls were coming in, so the two of us walked out into the hall, then down to the lunchroom where we found a semi-quiet place in a corner. There she told me about how she had wanted to be adopted her whole life.
Almost like we were close friends, she told me about her sickening background and how the police had come to her house during a terrible drunken fight between her mother and father and she had been dragged away. She’d been about four or five years old and had thought the policemen, with their guns out, were the bad people. They took her and her brother, Seth, just a little younger than she was, to a scary, noisy place, separated them, and she hadn’t seen or heard from Seth since. She longed for her brother and worried about him for the next four years while she moved from foster home to foster home.
Now she might truly be going to a “real home.” The family had seen pictures of her and a report on her and she had seen pictures of the people who wanted her. She said that with such joy in her voice that I thought she would probably die if they changed their minds. She talked a lot about how mean and cruel her parents had been when they were drinking, and how, in spite of that, she deeply yearned for them, or anyone else who would, or could, fill up the big empty hole in her life.
The bell rang and we all scurried off to our classes, and only then did I realize that I didn’t even know the girl’s name. She was just another foster kid nobody! But soon, I hoped, she would be adopted by a nice family with a pretty home, with people who would love her and be good to her. And maybe someday she would meet her little brother, Seth, like I dreamed of someday meeting Donita and Lacy.
After the two evil, lying, bad-mouthed witches in their bunks across from us were asleep. I told Joanne all about the girl with no name who might soon be adopted. Joanne sighed, then cried, and told me how much she had always wanted to be adopted. Me? I don’t know. I’m afraid my trust mechanism is still so far out of whack that…Still, living in a loving family…
I think I’m too old to be adopted. I’m sure most people would want sweet little tiny tots. I can’t allow myself to think about it. It is too painful! All I can hope for, at this point, is that I can get a good education…but that will take a miracle and a half! And we seem to be short on miracles in the foster child area.
I read once about Boys Town, now called Boys and Girls Town. They have nice little cottages, each with a few kids and a mother and father figure and everyone is happy. Why can’t there be more places like that?
I dreamed last night that Joanne and I had a special calling to report how bad and sad foster homes can be. I don’t know how we are going to go about getting that done. I just know we have to do it!
Tuesday, November 15
It is amazing how life sometimes places one where they should be.
Our foster home had a fire in the kitchen and family room, and while no one was hurt, all the ki
ds had to be shuffled to other places. Joanne and I feel beyond lucky that we were allowed to stay together. But now we feel totally required to let someone in power know about what is happening to maybe millions of helpless, mistreated kids. It’s time adults stopped closing their minds and hearts! The question is how can two dumb kids like Joanne and I do anything?
Hmmmm…I can see Sister Mary standing before me with her hands folded tightly together, saying, “Where there is a will, there is a way,” and “The only difference between can and can’t is T, which stands for try!”
Joanne and I are so blessed to be in this lovely foster home, in this lovely town, with its lovely school! It’s just a little over a year old, and the library is filled with wonderful up-to-date books! The teacher in my homeroom, Miss Maeberry, is a real lady. I love everything about her already and hope I can stay here till it’s time for me to go to college. I’ve got to go to college somehow! I’ve really got to find a way!
Bob and Marie are our house parents. They are a young married couple and are comfortable with us calling them by their first names. They have rules in the house that are fair and considerate. They treat us with respect and the five kids who were here before us all seem to be well-bred kids instead of street trash. Not that I have anything against throw-away street trash. I have been there, done that! And it is the worst humiliation and degradation that a human being can endure.
Just one kid here, Doug, seems out of place, but everybody is trying to help him, love him, and care for him, with Bob and Marie’s help! Only once since we’ve been here has Doug gotten out of control. Then instead of screaming and swearing and beating on things, like many foster parents do, Bob gently took Doug into his office and lovingly and understandingly talked to him for about an hour while the rest of us did our homework.
When Doug came back he was subdued and he apologized to all of us. Then Marie sat with him and helped him with his math.
This foster home is like a dream come true. All of us obviously have been taken from our parents, for one reason or another, but here we feel safe.
Safe is a wonderful feeling!
Joanne and I, as well as all the others, I’m sure, feel privileged to live here!
Bob and Marie Goster are the kind of parents every kid in the world would love to have! They are just living here until the Williamses come in. We hope that won’t be for a long, long time.
Thursday, November 17
Last night each one of us foster kids told something about ourselves, not the horrible things that we’re all pretending did not happen! Most of us found something funny to say, except Joanne, who told us all how she’d never known what “love” really was until she met me, then we all scrambled together on the floor and hugged like we’d all be here together, forever!
Most of the kids had come from very bad backgrounds, which made me too embarrassed to ever even mention the huge estate I came from with a swimming pool and tennis court and practically everything else that money can buy.
I miss Mama so much I can’t allow myself to even think about her. I hurt to my bones when I even wonder about how she is and where she is. Once I dreamed Daddy had just dumped her out on the side of the road like he did me and she had to do anything she could to take care of her drug habit. I was sick for a couple of days after that. Marie thought I had the flu, but no physical thing could be as horrifically painful as a mental thing. I wish I could talk to Marie about all the lies I’ve been living, but I can’t. Maybe someday, though…I hope! I hope! I hope!
Friday, December 2
I’ve been so busy and happy for the past few weeks that I haven’t taken time to write. Actually I feel so safe and secure and loved here that I can even think about Mark’s party without being in anguish. Maybe someday he and I will meet again. That could be possible now that I’m beginning to find myself. Imagine crumpled throw-away, street kid, me…finding me!
Monday, December 12
Marie woke up during the night with nausea. Bob came into my room and asked if I’d come help him take care of her. He had an appointment with the university president at eight thirty A.M., and Marie, sick as she was, insisted that he go. It was a three-hour drive to the university, so time was of the essence. Marie and I both assured him that if her vomiting didn’t stop soon I would call their doctor.
It really made me feel good when they both said I was the most mature youngster they had had in their home and they both trusted me implicitly. Bob had his cell phone with him, and I promised I would call him for the very smallest thing.
Marie stopped throwing up shortly after Bob left, but I still stayed home from school. I feel so honored to answer the phone and give information to the caller; actually Marie tells me what to do and say, but I still feel important! More important than I have felt in…forever! At last I have a life! Marie says, if I want to, I can help her with some of the books and charts and things. Do I want to? Wow! I wish there was a Catholic church close so I could go light some candles.
Saturday, December 17
I’m doing lots of things to help Marie. She pays me but she knows she doesn’t have to. I’m delighted to do anything I can to help her and Bob, or anyone else in our home! I am helping a couple of kids with their homework and Bob calls me their mentor. It makes me so proud I almost bounce off the walls. Sometimes Joanne and I whisper for what seems like hours in our bunks, about how good it is here, how lucky we are, and how someday we really are going to be somebodies!
Monday, December 19
Bob is deep into some project he is working on at the university. We’re all proud of him, and I’m helping Marie with many of her books and papers and things because she’s helping Bob with his research. It’s fun and exciting, and there is kind of a buzz of excitement in the air. We are all working together in kind of a solidarity movement. Even Doug, who was such a nonconformist when Joanne and I moved in, has become a soft and comfortable part of the whole.
Friday, December 23
Black Friday!
Blackest day on earth!
Sad Christmas!
Today, after school, Marie and Bob called us all together and we sat on the floor in the living room in a circle, holding hands.
We could tell by the look on Marie and Bob’s faces that something really bad had happened and I guess the others, like me, wondered what in the world it could be. Did Marie have cancer? Had Bob been in an accident and killed someone? Was he going to jail? Would the police be at our door in a few minutes to take him away? Were Bob and Marie getting a divorce? Other thoughts, more horrific than that, were trying to infiltrate into my brain. Then I noticed Bob sitting next to Joanne. Tears were running down his face as he pulled her hand up to his mouth and said, in a croaky wet whisper, “I love you, little Joanne.” He looked around the room and told the rest of us how we would, for the rest of his life, be part of his heart.
Doug gasped, “Are you going to die?”
Marie seemed stronger than Bob at that point and she told us that Bob had been chosen to be a professor at the university. She would have to go with him. It was something he had looked forward to his whole life but he didn’t have any idea that he would be given that distinguished honor so soon. Marie went on to tell us how he had filled every requirement without a single flaw, two years before, but he had been considered too young.
Then, on Thursday, Professor Maynard had been killed in an automobile accident, and Bob was asked to take his place after going through eight hours of careful enquiries. As of now it would be a temporary position and maybe…but we all knew it wouldn’t be temporary…we have lost him forever. Tears were running down our faces and down the front of our clothes like water spouts. Each of us throw-aways knew that he would be the closest thing to a real father we would probably ever have.
Saturday, January 7
The next week passed in a flash. Bob and Marie drove off into the sunset, leaving us alone in the cold, dark house. They had taken all the sunshine and joy with them and we w
ere left again with strangers: Mr. and Mrs. Williams. They said we could call them Mom and Dad if we wanted to later on, when we knew them better. But they aren’t our mom or dad, they are strangers, cold, stony, old, yucky, uncaring strangers. Marie had promised us we would like them…but none of us want to like them. We want Bob and Marie back.
Tuesday, February 14
Five weeks have passed and there still is no joy or sunshine in our lives. We miss Marie and Bob so much that we are all like shadows of the people we once were.
It is really scary to know that I have lost myself again. I wonder if the other kids feel as thoroughly depleted and bereaved as I do.
I give Joanne all the attention and love I can, but it’s hard to give something you don’t have anymore!
It’s terrifying and dreadful to feel as alone and empty as I think we all feel.
Doug is thinking of running away and becoming a street kid again. Teddy and Jim are talking about going with him.
Joanne and I are trying to get them to stay for a little while and give Mr. and Mrs. Williams a chance. I think they are really trying, but they seem so dull and empty after Bob and Marie, that it really is hard to go by their sissy baby rules and silly, dumb regulations. We feel like robots devoid of any self-management or thinking.
We’re told when to go to bed, when to wake up, when to make our beds, when to study, when to eat, when to clean up, etc.
With Bob and Marie Goster, we were free and easy spirits, filled with enthusiasm and lively animation. We were encouraged to try new things, improve, grow, relish finding higher planes. In some ways the Gosters were a lot like the nuns. In other ways, very different, but both the nuns and the Gosters encouraged kids to look for the exciting and educational dreams life offered, to always soar upward toward our glorious futures. Mr. and Mrs. Williams make us feel like slices of stale bread waiting for ourselves to mold away into nothingness.
Finding Katie: The Diary of Anonymous, a Teenager in Foster Care Page 11