Let me introduce myself…
This is my dad and my mom. My dad was a brilliant man who had ambitions of being the next Rockefeller. He scored a perfect score on the math SAT and taught math for a while at Erskine College. He made his career as a contractor and property developer. My mom is a beautiful lady with the voice of an angel. She dropped out of Lander College, where she was majoring in music, to marry my daddy.
This is me. I’m the little boy my dad always wanted but never got. My dad tried his hardest to raise me as a boy. I spent many days walking rafters on houses and hanging out with the men. I lived under my dad’s constant scrutiny. He was a hard man, third generation of abused child from an alcoholic lineage. I lived in constant fear of my dad.
I remember one time, he allowed me to present a sales pitch to a large boardroom full of people. He was wanting to develop a neighborhood in Myrtle Beach, Waterford Gardens. He let me carry out a million dollar check, made payable to him. I remember the proud walk and smile on my dad’s face. What stuck out more to me, though, was what he said. “Peanut,” he said, “money is the key to happiness.”
Another time, as a young teen, I flew to New York to meet him. He had flown up a couple days earlier and had left his vehicle behind in Greenville. He and I returned from New York together, and I remember the humiliation and embarrassment as I tried to help him walk to baggage claim. He was drunk, you see. We could not find his luggage and he proceeded to berate me and an unknowing attendant.
And of course he had no clue where he had parked, or even what he drove. A sweet man drove us in a golf cart for over an hour until we found the car. His “butt-chewing” and mine ended once the man helped me get dad in the car and I drove home.
So at this point, this is me. My values at this point were conflicted. My dad had left my mom and we lived often without electricity or food while he lived in a nice home with a swimming pool and dirtbikes. My older sister moved with him and I stayed with mom, who remarried and brought a stepdad and three stepbrothers. During MIDDLE SCHOOL…
STOP – HALT – DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. So as you can imagine, my dad taught me how NOT to treat others. He taught me how not to act. I watched the way he treated people, the way he got things and the ways he manipulated others. He taught me a lot – about what NOT to do…He is the backbone of my ethical and moral self.
At 19 I met a guy who loved me for me, treated me like a lady and who thought I was intelligent. He inspired me to better myself and lose the ain’ts and would have wents from my speech. I read books and figured out how to be a proper lady, which fork to use, how to speak to people, and how to carry myself. He showed me a side of life I had never seen.
We have had a good life, but bad things do happen. We weren’t able to have children and we suffered through 13 miscarriages and a stillborn. Baby Gary, the stillborn, would be 22 in July. I can only imagine the man he would be… Through all the loss, I began to question. Why was I here? What had I done? What could I have done differently?
Then one day I opened this book. The first words were “It’s not about you”. I must have read those words a hundered times. If not me, then what? When Gary and I were dating, and early in our marriage, we talked about adopting and fostering children – so we did. Through the children we have had, my ethical self has grown. I had been taught well what not to do but needed to know what to do!
These are my three a couple years after we adopted them. Due to their background, they were required to change their names. The boy first wanted to be Thunderin – nope that’s not a name. Then there was Spiderman – nope that’s a character. Then there was Peter Parker – closer, but still no. We started with names at the beginning of the alphabet and got to Hunter. That’s it, he said. When I grow up I want to be a hunter!
Our first foster child was KJ. She was with us a year. She taught me to do what I expect others to do. I was in my second child’s bedroom, sweeping the pile from underneath her bed and little KJ was watching. Later that evening, she was sweeping with her toy broom and of course went into my bedroom. She leaned over, pushed her broom under my bed and produced several pairs of shoes, put her hand on her hip and said, What is THIS?
Lyle came to us as the third placement in 2 months. He was difficult to manage because he had been shuffled from home to home long before he was taken into custody. I took the time to sit with him when he screamed for hours on end. He had been in some really rough places and just needed somebody to be there and accept his past and help him to his future.
Daddles. This is the first child I gave my heart to. She came to us on drugs and I spent several weeks of sleepless nights trying to comfort her. It seemed there was no soothing her but once she was over the withdrawals, she just melted in my arms. Her one year old eyes would look into mine and I could see the purest of love.
And Daddles was with her sister Jackie. I knew their mother and taught their uncle at the time. Their family was steeped in racism and did not want their children to have anything to do with whites. But Jackie, she didn’t know any different. She loved people, as children typically do, and could always find something good in everybody.
Keebee and Breebee, the twin girls we called them, had two other siblings placed in another home. They were children of a blind black man and a Guatemalan woman. Their culture was extremely different than ours but Breebee and I both learned how to work with each other and embrace each others’ culture and heritage. She taught me to embrace diversity – not just to appreciate it.
Louis was taken into custody when his teen mother was taken into custody. They were not placed together due to issues the teen had. As a foster parent, you are also a resource parent, and although it was difficult, I was able to reach out to the teen mom and help her through her issues while letting her know I cared about her and her child. I was able to watch her grow
My Don. At two years old, Don was dropped off at our house in underwear and a tshirt. He was the only child that screamed when DSS tried to leave and I watched as a 6 foot + tall man had tears well in his eyes. Don had been with us a year and was scheduled to return home, but I didn’t feel the conditions were right. We had to stand up for Don because he couldn’t.
Ann, needed someone to fight for what’s right – , needed to be returned home but DSS did not want to send her there. Ann loved her momma, like most children do, and really needed to be there with her. While she was with us, though, we were able to get her educational help and identification that she probably would not have gotten for several years.
And back to Don, it looks like he will have old parents. But I believe in doing what’s right for him, not what’s easy. It’s not easy raising a eleven year old precocious boy… but as I read many years ago… It’s not about me.
