Have I given an impression that I don't like my past? That nothing good ever came from it? If so, then I am most definitely sorry about that.
My past is my life. I know that they say that the past is in the past and that we should focus on the now. Sure, but, for me, it's kind of hard to do that. I mean, the past made me who I am today, didn't it?
I have often thought about where I would be today if it wasn't for me ending up in foster care or if I hadn't been adopted. Would I have gained the moral basis that I have in my life today? Would I have gotten as far as I have come? Honestly, I highly doubt it.
On foster care. I was probably one of the most sheltered foster kids in the system. I had foster parents who fought the system and who fought my biological parents. I had social workers, attorneys, case workers, and judges who fought on my behalf and for my best interest too. Honestly, if I had been any one of them I would have been like "What are we fighting for? For this little girl with so much anger and hate? This demon-child? It's useless!" Well, I am very glad that these people looked past my monstrous personality in order to give me the second chance that I am not too sure that I deserved.
On being sheltered--I wasn't the most informed about my case, I guess you can say. I was sort of raised to think that it was all normal--the supervised visits with my biological family, an occasional trip to the therapist's office, and home visits with social workers prying into my life. I guess I started to realize that I was different from my school peers when I was about six. Everyone else seemed to live with their parents and no one knew what the heck a "visit" was. Also, kids will be kids and being a kid often means that you are innocently ignorant enough that cruelty is the norm. Well, I guess that when my classmate told me "Your parents don't love you and so that's why you can't live with them" I really started to realize it. Once, I even heard some adults--they were either yard aides or teachers--say "bastard child" and "practically an orphan" when referring to me as I was overhearing their conversation. I wasn't the type to prove them all wrong by being the "angel child". No, I was going to show them that they had better leave me alone and not mess with me.
I just went into a rant, sorry about that.
Foster Care gave me things that, as a kid I thought was cool, that other kids didn't have. I had an excuse to be bad. Teachers went easy on me, knowing that I came from a different place than the typical child, but my foster parents were a bit harsher--expecting nothing less than greatness from the 27 pound four year-old that they shipped off to Kindergarten every day in a bus where climbing the stairs, for me, was like climbing a giant hill.
I thought it was pretty cool every time I got a new sibling that I could say "Hey, I got a new sister (or brother)" and see my friends confusion because I had not said something more like "My mom gave birth to my baby sister" (or whatever kids say in that situation). I guess they were more confused by how often I would say stuff like that. Those who didn't know my situation probably thought that my mom was the most pregnant person on the earth.
Every year, Foster Care gave me something to look forward to: bowling at Christmas time with a whole bunch of other kids who were just like me. The event was probably something they concocted to unite us all. Well, I could have honestly cared less about any one of those other kids and I am pretty sure that they felt the same way about me. We were in it for Santa--and the presents he brought. This Santa wasn't like the mall Santa who gave out simple candy canes. No, this Santa was the real deal. He actually gave real presents--one year he gave me the most gigantic present ever. I had just had eye surgery and hadn't been allowed to open it past the wrapping because it was a box with a rake advertised on it--not a kids' rake either. I was so excited, but was pretty disappointed that I hadn't been allowed to open it. I guess they thought I would poke my eye out. Actually, I do remember my dad making joking references to that one Christmas story movie where Ralphy has his gun and everyone's like "You'll poke your eye out!" Well, my parents had left for an errand or something and I had somehow convinced my foster sister April to open it for me on the promise that I wouldn't even touch the rake until my eye had healed. She opened it and I was both annoyed and delighted. I was annoyed that the present hadn't been a rake after all which I thought would have been pretty cool. I was also annoyed because of what I thought was false advertisement that had kept me from opening my present longer. However, I was delighted at what was actually inside the box: an assortment of random art supplies.
Also, Foster Care also meant that every summer we all got to go to Blackbeards which was the big thing back then in Fresno (I'm unsure of whether or not it still is since I have been relocated). All of the foster families from the foster agency went. I normally stuck to my foster sisters. I don't remember much about our times at Blackbeards other than watching a karate demonstration, watching the people in the batting cages, riding on the Pirate Ship ride over and over and over, and getting soaked on the bumper cars until the park would close.
I know that presents from Santa and trips to Blackbeards don't compensate for my foster care experiences. I guess what I can say is that foster care wasn't all that bad. It sure wasn't heaven, but it did have its good times, I think.
My past is my life. I know that they say that the past is in the past and that we should focus on the now. Sure, but, for me, it's kind of hard to do that. I mean, the past made me who I am today, didn't it?
I have often thought about where I would be today if it wasn't for me ending up in foster care or if I hadn't been adopted. Would I have gained the moral basis that I have in my life today? Would I have gotten as far as I have come? Honestly, I highly doubt it.
On foster care. I was probably one of the most sheltered foster kids in the system. I had foster parents who fought the system and who fought my biological parents. I had social workers, attorneys, case workers, and judges who fought on my behalf and for my best interest too. Honestly, if I had been any one of them I would have been like "What are we fighting for? For this little girl with so much anger and hate? This demon-child? It's useless!" Well, I am very glad that these people looked past my monstrous personality in order to give me the second chance that I am not too sure that I deserved.
On being sheltered--I wasn't the most informed about my case, I guess you can say. I was sort of raised to think that it was all normal--the supervised visits with my biological family, an occasional trip to the therapist's office, and home visits with social workers prying into my life. I guess I started to realize that I was different from my school peers when I was about six. Everyone else seemed to live with their parents and no one knew what the heck a "visit" was. Also, kids will be kids and being a kid often means that you are innocently ignorant enough that cruelty is the norm. Well, I guess that when my classmate told me "Your parents don't love you and so that's why you can't live with them" I really started to realize it. Once, I even heard some adults--they were either yard aides or teachers--say "bastard child" and "practically an orphan" when referring to me as I was overhearing their conversation. I wasn't the type to prove them all wrong by being the "angel child". No, I was going to show them that they had better leave me alone and not mess with me.
I just went into a rant, sorry about that.
Foster Care gave me things that, as a kid I thought was cool, that other kids didn't have. I had an excuse to be bad. Teachers went easy on me, knowing that I came from a different place than the typical child, but my foster parents were a bit harsher--expecting nothing less than greatness from the 27 pound four year-old that they shipped off to Kindergarten every day in a bus where climbing the stairs, for me, was like climbing a giant hill.
I thought it was pretty cool every time I got a new sibling that I could say "Hey, I got a new sister (or brother)" and see my friends confusion because I had not said something more like "My mom gave birth to my baby sister" (or whatever kids say in that situation). I guess they were more confused by how often I would say stuff like that. Those who didn't know my situation probably thought that my mom was the most pregnant person on the earth.
Every year, Foster Care gave me something to look forward to: bowling at Christmas time with a whole bunch of other kids who were just like me. The event was probably something they concocted to unite us all. Well, I could have honestly cared less about any one of those other kids and I am pretty sure that they felt the same way about me. We were in it for Santa--and the presents he brought. This Santa wasn't like the mall Santa who gave out simple candy canes. No, this Santa was the real deal. He actually gave real presents--one year he gave me the most gigantic present ever. I had just had eye surgery and hadn't been allowed to open it past the wrapping because it was a box with a rake advertised on it--not a kids' rake either. I was so excited, but was pretty disappointed that I hadn't been allowed to open it. I guess they thought I would poke my eye out. Actually, I do remember my dad making joking references to that one Christmas story movie where Ralphy has his gun and everyone's like "You'll poke your eye out!" Well, my parents had left for an errand or something and I had somehow convinced my foster sister April to open it for me on the promise that I wouldn't even touch the rake until my eye had healed. She opened it and I was both annoyed and delighted. I was annoyed that the present hadn't been a rake after all which I thought would have been pretty cool. I was also annoyed because of what I thought was false advertisement that had kept me from opening my present longer. However, I was delighted at what was actually inside the box: an assortment of random art supplies.
Also, Foster Care also meant that every summer we all got to go to Blackbeards which was the big thing back then in Fresno (I'm unsure of whether or not it still is since I have been relocated). All of the foster families from the foster agency went. I normally stuck to my foster sisters. I don't remember much about our times at Blackbeards other than watching a karate demonstration, watching the people in the batting cages, riding on the Pirate Ship ride over and over and over, and getting soaked on the bumper cars until the park would close.
I know that presents from Santa and trips to Blackbeards don't compensate for my foster care experiences. I guess what I can say is that foster care wasn't all that bad. It sure wasn't heaven, but it did have its good times, I think.
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