foster parent experience

Foster parenting

For 3 years I was the foster parent to teenage boys, most of whom had been, or were currently, members of the local Crips (a gang known for wearing black bandanas). The Bloods wore red bandanas and they were bitter enemies.

These boys had been in the system a long time and knew how to work it, how to get money, how to avoid playing by the rules and do what they wanted ... which was usually to hang around downtown, or with friends, smoking and drinking ... if they could get it.

One boy in particular (let's call him Bill) had a very troubled mind. His mother had had 18 children, though they only found evidence of 9 who were living. She had a number of men coming in and out of their lives and some of them were not nice people. Bill's sister was in a mental institution as she was unable to deal with the fact that their mom had served the 9 remaining siblings the missing siblings as dinner over the years.

Bill had been in 36 different foster homes but we got along fairly well. I had taken classes in foster parenting, though I had never had children of my own. It was rough because he was very angry and hated any structure.

He remained in my home until he finally moved out on his own. Sometime later, I heard he had gone to Alaska to fish. Unfortunately, the fishing that year was not very good and he made much less than he had hoped to earn. And, on top of that disappointment, his girlfriend ended the relationship. It turned out to be too much for him to deal with.

I found this out when I was informed that he had been sitting in a car on the lot of a fast food place when he took his own life with a gun.

His memorial was packed with friends of all ages, mostly young. Bill was an incredible young man, an artist with a lot of potential. But he could not get past the abuse of his mother or the years of hardship and lack of stability in his life.

His mother had the audacity to show up at his memorial with her new biker boyfriend and that angered many in the crowd who knew what she had done. Some parents should be imprisoned for what they do to their children.

I spoke at Bill's memorial. His friends knew me as someone who defended him and stood up for his rights. This was the first time someone in my life had died and I was very affected. My talk was emotional. I pleaded with his young friends, many of whom were on the streets, through my tears to please talk with someone if they had thoughts of ending their lives.

Life gets better. Not always right away. But the future can be better if we persevere and stay away from drugs. I deeply regretted that he did not contact me when he was down, perhaps he only needed someone to listen, someone with life experience to convincingly persuade him that this was just a minor glitch that would seem petty in the future, as so many of our youthful situations are, in hindsight.

What saddens me is that there are so many young people who are so similar to Bill, yet I can do nothing to improve their lives. And, we never seem to learn from the past. Our children make the same mistakes we made and are just as unwilling to listen as we were. However, the difference today is that the drugs available are much more dangerous and the laws are much harsher.

I think of Bill often and wish I had been able to do more him.

Karl