It's back to school time at my house, and three kids equal three different buses each 45 minutes apart. Looking for a positive spin on this, I thought it be great to have time with each child individually every morning. I hadn't thought about what would happen if we missed a bus, particularly the first one.
However, this is exactly what happened on the first day of school. As the back of the bus grew smaller and smaller until it vanished, all I could see was this nightmare domino effect wreaking havoc on the rest of the morning. It played out in my mind in slow motion as my oldest daughter and I stared at each other. How does Kid Number Two make Bus Number Two if I drive Kid Number One to school? And what about Kid Number Three still asleep? He's too little to stay home alone. Panic set in. Note to self: make sure husband does not leave for work early on the first day of school.
For eight years, school buses retrieving the Schlaack kids have picked up at the same corner. I never considered this might change some day. Sure enough, the bus pass had the new location right on the front. I was so entrenched in the way it had been that I didn't even see what was written in black and white.
So as I stood on the corner wondering what in the world we were going to do, one thought flashed through my mind so fast I'm a little surprised it even registered. "Is this what it is like for foster kids?" Things change in their lives constantly with no warning. And unlike for me, it is not even written down for them where they can see it, if only they would read it.
Many foster children enter up to three different schools during the course of one school year because they move around so much. Foster parents aren't required to attend parent-teacher conferences or participate in the educational process for foster children. Some foster parents do these things and more. Far too many don't.
Can you imagine not laying eyes on the school your preschooler attends each day? Four-year-old Trey was placed in foster care after his mother overdosed on heroin. His foster mother had never been to his school, had never seen his classroom or met his teacher. As his Guardian Ad Litem, I never felt right about this. Still, Trey stayed in this foster home because his basic needs were being met and we had no reason to move him and no guarantee he would land somewhere better.
If your kids are back in school and you have some time on your hands, think about how you might give some of it to help a foster child. Tutoring or volunteering at schools or non-profits are all good ways to give back to children who really need you in their corner. You might even consider giving the greatest gift of all: opening your heart and home to a child who desperately needs someone to love and protect him or her, and attend parent-teacher conferences. To learn more about fostering, click here.
As for our first day of school, we got lucky. Our wonderful neighbor who works at the middle school was heading out the door just as we were coming around the corner. Disaster avoided. The kindness of a neighbor in my small community put our morning back on track. I think that is exactly what will put our foster kids back on track too.
I am a mother of three, child advocate, and author of Invisible Kids. Here I'll tell you a little about some of the foster children in our communities and most importantly, how you can get involved and help them.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
From One Mother to Another
"Becoming a mother makes you the mother of all children. From now on each wounded, abandoned, frightened child is yours. You live in the suffering mothers of every race and creed and weep with them. You long to comfort all who are desolate." -Charlotte Gray
Maybe it was the mother in me who led me to choose the career I have. My second child, Grace, was just ten weeks old in 1998 when I started working as a Guardian Ad Litem in Juvenile Court. By day I represented the best interests of abused and neglected infants and toddlers. By night I held my baby and her older sister, Hanna, a little closer and a little longer, desperately wishing that all children could be so loved and protected. And when the guilt over working outside the home crept in, I reminded myself that "my other kids" needed me just as much as my own did.
Each significant moment in my life is measured against my children. My youngest, Ben, had just turned four when a little boy named Marcus Fiesel was reported missing. I watched Ben play with his toy dinosaurs as the evening news flashed the details of the three-year-old foster child. As a mother, I wanted to go join the search for Marcus who was supposedly missing in a park. As a Guardian Ad Litem with a caseload of abused and neglected infants and toddlers, I couldn't help but fear the worst. If he was in foster care, Marcus had already been lost once: lost in a world where social workers took him from his mother because she was unable to care for or protect him. Now he was lost again.
This week marks the third anniversary of the day when Marcus' foster parents locked him in a closet and left him home alone. This week marks the day he died, wrapped in a blanket and packing tape in the sweltering heat of a closet. Three years ago, the remains of his body were dumped in the Ohio River.
When the news reports of Marcus' disappearance and death started flowing in, I immediately focused my attention on supporting my Court Appointed Special Advocates (CASAs) as we digested the news and ensured the safety of each of the 60-plus infants and toddlers we jointly represented. By day, we double- and triple-checked on each of "our kids" and their foster homes. By night, I soaked up the presence of my three kids. I watched Ben sneak into my bed in the middle of the night and for once I let him stay there, as I stroked his hair and cheek while he and my husband slept and I wept.
From one mother to another, I need to tell you that foster children like Marcus still exist in every corner of every community across America. The pieces that come together to build their futures exist in mothers' hearts just like yours. Happy endings do exist for some foster kids, but only when adults come together to make them happen. These children need each and every one of us now more than ever.
This is why I wrote Invisible Kids. To get a glimpse into the worlds of young foster children like Marcus Fiesel, pick up a copy . You will be amazed, heartbroken and uplifted by the stories it contains. Or, check out http://www.invisiblekidsthebook.com/ to get educated and get involved, or to order the book.
Maybe it was the mother in me who led me to choose the career I have. My second child, Grace, was just ten weeks old in 1998 when I started working as a Guardian Ad Litem in Juvenile Court. By day I represented the best interests of abused and neglected infants and toddlers. By night I held my baby and her older sister, Hanna, a little closer and a little longer, desperately wishing that all children could be so loved and protected. And when the guilt over working outside the home crept in, I reminded myself that "my other kids" needed me just as much as my own did.
Each significant moment in my life is measured against my children. My youngest, Ben, had just turned four when a little boy named Marcus Fiesel was reported missing. I watched Ben play with his toy dinosaurs as the evening news flashed the details of the three-year-old foster child. As a mother, I wanted to go join the search for Marcus who was supposedly missing in a park. As a Guardian Ad Litem with a caseload of abused and neglected infants and toddlers, I couldn't help but fear the worst. If he was in foster care, Marcus had already been lost once: lost in a world where social workers took him from his mother because she was unable to care for or protect him. Now he was lost again.
This week marks the third anniversary of the day when Marcus' foster parents locked him in a closet and left him home alone. This week marks the day he died, wrapped in a blanket and packing tape in the sweltering heat of a closet. Three years ago, the remains of his body were dumped in the Ohio River.
When the news reports of Marcus' disappearance and death started flowing in, I immediately focused my attention on supporting my Court Appointed Special Advocates (CASAs) as we digested the news and ensured the safety of each of the 60-plus infants and toddlers we jointly represented. By day, we double- and triple-checked on each of "our kids" and their foster homes. By night, I soaked up the presence of my three kids. I watched Ben sneak into my bed in the middle of the night and for once I let him stay there, as I stroked his hair and cheek while he and my husband slept and I wept.
From one mother to another, I need to tell you that foster children like Marcus still exist in every corner of every community across America. The pieces that come together to build their futures exist in mothers' hearts just like yours. Happy endings do exist for some foster kids, but only when adults come together to make them happen. These children need each and every one of us now more than ever.
This is why I wrote Invisible Kids. To get a glimpse into the worlds of young foster children like Marcus Fiesel, pick up a copy . You will be amazed, heartbroken and uplifted by the stories it contains. Or, check out http://www.invisiblekidsthebook.com/ to get educated and get involved, or to order the book.
Because once you are a mother, it is harder than ever to turn away from children who need you the most.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Community Helps Foster a Bright Future for Former Foster Child
I admit it. I've been getting discouraged. I've been following the trail of devastation that budget cuts will leave on foster children. It's not pretty. A nagging little voice in my head has been asking if people really do care. I wasn't sure. But happily, I got a resounding YES when I read about a foster child success story. And it's even out of Cincinnati.
Susan Zaghlool became a ward of the state at age 12 and remained in care until she was an adult. Today, she is a twenty-something-year-old woman who just graduated with her doctorate in pharmacy. She got by with a little help from her friends, who came in the form of various guardian angels. Some were paid child welfare professionals. Many were not. All were decent people willing to give a hand to a young girl who was on her own at age 18. Read HERE about Susan and the average community citizens who helped her.
We can take a lesson from mentor John Kasak and his wife, Audrey, who have mentored Susan and been a part of her life for years, helping her with college applications and budgeting money, among countless other tasks. Or Barbara and Marshall Grimes, who gave Susan a scholarship for school, along with care packages of homemade cookies and Christmas gifts to let her know she is supported and loved.
These interventions are the kinds that mean the difference between success and failure for foster children like Susan who do not have family to fall back on. Can you be a mentor? A care- package-maker? Can you help a foster child shop for a car or file their taxes? Surely there is something you can do to help a kid who is trying to make it. The help you give strengthens kids like Susan and builds communities of people who take care of each other.
And that doesn't cost our crumbling government system anything.
To learn more about Hamilton County's Foster Care Enrichment Council, visit The Foster Child Enrichment Council. To mentor a foster child, visit Cincinnati Youth Collaborative . To be an advocate for a foster child, visit Prokids.
Susan Zaghlool became a ward of the state at age 12 and remained in care until she was an adult. Today, she is a twenty-something-year-old woman who just graduated with her doctorate in pharmacy. She got by with a little help from her friends, who came in the form of various guardian angels. Some were paid child welfare professionals. Many were not. All were decent people willing to give a hand to a young girl who was on her own at age 18. Read HERE about Susan and the average community citizens who helped her.
We can take a lesson from mentor John Kasak and his wife, Audrey, who have mentored Susan and been a part of her life for years, helping her with college applications and budgeting money, among countless other tasks. Or Barbara and Marshall Grimes, who gave Susan a scholarship for school, along with care packages of homemade cookies and Christmas gifts to let her know she is supported and loved.
These interventions are the kinds that mean the difference between success and failure for foster children like Susan who do not have family to fall back on. Can you be a mentor? A care- package-maker? Can you help a foster child shop for a car or file their taxes? Surely there is something you can do to help a kid who is trying to make it. The help you give strengthens kids like Susan and builds communities of people who take care of each other.
And that doesn't cost our crumbling government system anything.
To learn more about Hamilton County's Foster Care Enrichment Council, visit The Foster Child Enrichment Council. To mentor a foster child, visit Cincinnati Youth Collaborative . To be an advocate for a foster child, visit Prokids.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Tales of Two Seven-Year-Olds
My son Ben will be seven years old next month. After two weeks of a very loose tooth, it's finally under his pillow while he awaits the arrival of the legendary fairy. For at least a week, his cousins, aunts and uncles asked him when he would finally part with this tooth that's been hanging by a thread. There was even a bribe of five dollars from Ed's brother, who thought it would be best to get it out as opposed to the devastation of losing it at some random time. No such luck.
But last night out it came. There were high fives in the air all around the pool as the uncles manned the grill and the cousins swam.
Another little boy named Gabriel Myers turned seven-years-old last January. I wonder if he ever had a loose tooth? Did anyone notice if he did? Did he ever hear about the tooth fairy? Did he ever experience Sunday dinner with a family?
Gabriel Myers was a Florida foster child. Child welfare professionals were alerted to his arrival shortly after his birth. He was two days old when his mom was crushing up pills and snorting them in the hospital where he was born. Six years later, he and his dog were found in the back of his mother's car in 2008. She was passed out on drugs in the front seat. He likely lost his dog when he was placed in a foster home.
He bounced around in between relatives and foster homes until April 15, 2009. On that day, he was sitting in the lunchroom at school alone with his head bent down. A therapist walked toward him and he grabbed her hand. "My tummy hurts. I want to go home."
What home did he mean? His foster home? His grandparents home? His aunt and uncle? His former foster home?
We will never know what home he meant, although it is pretty clear from his child welfare file that he never had the kind of home where his extensive emotional and behavioral needs could be managed. He had been physically and sexually abused and was on multiple medications.
On April 16, 2009 seven-year-old Gabriel hanged himself with an extendable showerhead in the bathroom of his foster home. At age seven, Gabriel was done with this world and his life. You can read all about his journey in foster care Here.
In Florida, child welfare professionals and others are doing everything they can to review his case, look to see if and where blame lies, set new policies and laws and all the other things we do when children die in foster care.
But it is not enough and it will never be enough until average moms and dads, aunts, uncles and cousins embrace these foster children who are traumatized and so very needing and vulnerable.
As hard as it will be, please take 15 minutes and read the attachment detailing Gabriel's life and death. Take a step into the world of this little boy with the hurt tummy who wanted to go home. Think about the 500,000 children in foster care who desperately need all the support, advocacy and love they can possibly get. When you're done reading, drop me a line or two with your comments.
And if you are lucky enough to have a tooth-fairy-believing little one in your life, hold him a little closer and know that you make his world better and his future brighter if you join the ranks of people across our nation who have vowed to improve the lives of foster children.
But last night out it came. There were high fives in the air all around the pool as the uncles manned the grill and the cousins swam.
Another little boy named Gabriel Myers turned seven-years-old last January. I wonder if he ever had a loose tooth? Did anyone notice if he did? Did he ever hear about the tooth fairy? Did he ever experience Sunday dinner with a family?
Gabriel Myers was a Florida foster child. Child welfare professionals were alerted to his arrival shortly after his birth. He was two days old when his mom was crushing up pills and snorting them in the hospital where he was born. Six years later, he and his dog were found in the back of his mother's car in 2008. She was passed out on drugs in the front seat. He likely lost his dog when he was placed in a foster home.
He bounced around in between relatives and foster homes until April 15, 2009. On that day, he was sitting in the lunchroom at school alone with his head bent down. A therapist walked toward him and he grabbed her hand. "My tummy hurts. I want to go home."
What home did he mean? His foster home? His grandparents home? His aunt and uncle? His former foster home?
We will never know what home he meant, although it is pretty clear from his child welfare file that he never had the kind of home where his extensive emotional and behavioral needs could be managed. He had been physically and sexually abused and was on multiple medications.
On April 16, 2009 seven-year-old Gabriel hanged himself with an extendable showerhead in the bathroom of his foster home. At age seven, Gabriel was done with this world and his life. You can read all about his journey in foster care Here.
In Florida, child welfare professionals and others are doing everything they can to review his case, look to see if and where blame lies, set new policies and laws and all the other things we do when children die in foster care.
But it is not enough and it will never be enough until average moms and dads, aunts, uncles and cousins embrace these foster children who are traumatized and so very needing and vulnerable.
As hard as it will be, please take 15 minutes and read the attachment detailing Gabriel's life and death. Take a step into the world of this little boy with the hurt tummy who wanted to go home. Think about the 500,000 children in foster care who desperately need all the support, advocacy and love they can possibly get. When you're done reading, drop me a line or two with your comments.
And if you are lucky enough to have a tooth-fairy-believing little one in your life, hold him a little closer and know that you make his world better and his future brighter if you join the ranks of people across our nation who have vowed to improve the lives of foster children.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
A Recent Speaking Engagement
Not too long ago I was a guest speaker for a very intimidating group. I've spoken to groups as large as 700 people before and done radio shows broadcast to thousands without much trouble, but this particular group made me feel like I was back in third grade giving my first oral report. I entered the building, putting one foot in front of the other as if I was heading to a prison cell to serve out a very long sentence. Finally I arrived at my destination. Seventy sets of eyes were cast on me. These eyes belonged to sixth-graders.
I had come to their school to talk to them about foster children. Their Religion Teacher had read my book, Invisible Kids, and was convinced that everyone could do something to help, even other children. I wasn't entirely sure of this at first, but agreed to come anyway. In the days prior, I wondered what to say to them. Striking a balance between being realistic about the challenges foster children face while not overwhelming my pre-teen audience could be a challenge.
We started by discussing what they would take with them if they had to leave their homes. After some interesting chatter, we easily moved into the topics of living with strangers, how hard that would be and what it would be like to not know day to day what life might bring. We talked about the gifts of kindness and friendship and how important it is to welcome newcomers, because you never know what troubles the person sitting in the desk next to you is facing. Life can be hard sometimes. We get through it by helping each other.
My hour with the kids flew by and as I left the school, I thought maybe I should consider being a teacher when I grow up. I enjoyed them.
Several weeks later a fat envelope arrived from the students. When I opened the package I sat quietly and read each and every letter from all seventy students. "When I get older I think I would like to have a job where I could help kids who need me." "Thank you for telling us about foster children. I didn't know there are so many children who need loving families." "My family has started including foster children in our prayers at night." The comments went on and on.
In a world where there is often more bad news than good, it is good to be reminded that as long as we keep trying, as long as we keep sending out a little good every day, we are bound to have an impact sometime. It is much more pleasant to live this way than to throw our hands up in the air, turn our backs and curse the darkness.
I guess their wise teacher was right. She knew all along that even children can do something to help foster children. Someday, these sixth graders, along with millions of others, will step into their futures and leadership roles. And when they do, how wonderful it would be if we nurtured their hearts to care for the vulnerable, the lost and forgotten.
I had come to their school to talk to them about foster children. Their Religion Teacher had read my book, Invisible Kids, and was convinced that everyone could do something to help, even other children. I wasn't entirely sure of this at first, but agreed to come anyway. In the days prior, I wondered what to say to them. Striking a balance between being realistic about the challenges foster children face while not overwhelming my pre-teen audience could be a challenge.
We started by discussing what they would take with them if they had to leave their homes. After some interesting chatter, we easily moved into the topics of living with strangers, how hard that would be and what it would be like to not know day to day what life might bring. We talked about the gifts of kindness and friendship and how important it is to welcome newcomers, because you never know what troubles the person sitting in the desk next to you is facing. Life can be hard sometimes. We get through it by helping each other.
My hour with the kids flew by and as I left the school, I thought maybe I should consider being a teacher when I grow up. I enjoyed them.
Several weeks later a fat envelope arrived from the students. When I opened the package I sat quietly and read each and every letter from all seventy students. "When I get older I think I would like to have a job where I could help kids who need me." "Thank you for telling us about foster children. I didn't know there are so many children who need loving families." "My family has started including foster children in our prayers at night." The comments went on and on.
In a world where there is often more bad news than good, it is good to be reminded that as long as we keep trying, as long as we keep sending out a little good every day, we are bound to have an impact sometime. It is much more pleasant to live this way than to throw our hands up in the air, turn our backs and curse the darkness.
I guess their wise teacher was right. She knew all along that even children can do something to help foster children. Someday, these sixth graders, along with millions of others, will step into their futures and leadership roles. And when they do, how wonderful it would be if we nurtured their hearts to care for the vulnerable, the lost and forgotten.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Is Cincinnati near The Tipping Point?
I'm reading The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell right now. My brother-in-law, the eternal entrepreneur who is forever giving me ideas on how to boost book sales, passed it along and suggested I read it. The back cover reads, "The Tipping Point is that magic moment when an idea, trend, or social behavior crosses a threshold, tips, and spreads like wildfire." One more drop in the bucket and the floodgates open.
One more drop hit the bucket this week in Cincinnati, Ohio. Actually, three more drops.
The three drops are a nineteen-year-old mother, her nine-month-old son and a three-year-old toddler she was babysitting. All were found shot dead inside her home, apparently the victims of a domestic violence altercation between the mom and her boyfriend. Just in case you are thinking, "Come again? Really?", I'll repeat it. Someone shot a baby in the head. A baby. And his mother. And the three-year-old she was babysitting.
Certainly nothing magic about that. But stay with me here, I'm going somewhere with this.
Watching the news tonight, (I have to stop doing that before going to bed!) something was very different than in many homicide cases in Downtown Cincinnati's Over-The-Rhine. Most times residents and others look the other way. When the police knock on doors and search out information, they are met with silence. Many crimes go unreported and even more remain unsolved. Not this time.
People are speaking out. They are pushing past their fear or whatever held them back before. They seem to be saying, Enough is enough. We will no longer look the other way. We will stand together and stare down this evil. We want a better life for our children and our families.
Maybe this is the social behavior that can spread like wildfire and result in a coming together of our communities. Maybe the rest of us can find that courage and passion and do the same for the foster children who live in every area of our city and the struggling families who need our help and support.
Dare I say, I think Cincinnati is on the verge of a Tipping Point. And not a moment too soon.
One more drop hit the bucket this week in Cincinnati, Ohio. Actually, three more drops.
The three drops are a nineteen-year-old mother, her nine-month-old son and a three-year-old toddler she was babysitting. All were found shot dead inside her home, apparently the victims of a domestic violence altercation between the mom and her boyfriend. Just in case you are thinking, "Come again? Really?", I'll repeat it. Someone shot a baby in the head. A baby. And his mother. And the three-year-old she was babysitting.
Certainly nothing magic about that. But stay with me here, I'm going somewhere with this.
Watching the news tonight, (I have to stop doing that before going to bed!) something was very different than in many homicide cases in Downtown Cincinnati's Over-The-Rhine. Most times residents and others look the other way. When the police knock on doors and search out information, they are met with silence. Many crimes go unreported and even more remain unsolved. Not this time.
People are speaking out. They are pushing past their fear or whatever held them back before. They seem to be saying, Enough is enough. We will no longer look the other way. We will stand together and stare down this evil. We want a better life for our children and our families.
Maybe this is the social behavior that can spread like wildfire and result in a coming together of our communities. Maybe the rest of us can find that courage and passion and do the same for the foster children who live in every area of our city and the struggling families who need our help and support.
Dare I say, I think Cincinnati is on the verge of a Tipping Point. And not a moment too soon.
Monday, May 25, 2009
A Rare Gift
Life handed me one of those rare gifts a couple of weeks ago when I was reunited with a young man I had known 15 years ago.
He was five years old when I removed him from his drug-addicted, neglectful mother. I was his Children's Services worker at the time. I vividly recall finding him home alone in the middle of the day, with no food and clutter strewn throughout the apartment. The police were called and his mother was arrested as I received an emergency order of custody from a magistrate, allowing me to place him in foster care. I strapped him in the back of my white Ford Taraus and delivered him to an emergency foster home in Cincinnati.
I had often wondered what had happened to that sweet little guy, particularly when my own little boy turned five. I got my answer when he and I came face to face at an unexpected meeting.
He stood before me two weeks ago, a meeting orchestrated by another child welfare professional. He was all grown up now. Even so, I could see a hint of the little boy with chubby cheeks. He wrapped me in a bear hug and thanked me for saving his life. Tears swimming in his eyes and mine, we talked for an hour while I answered his questions about his early life and he filled me in on his subsequent childhood spent in "the system," bounced from one foster home to the next until he was 17.
The system didn't provide a magic answer for him. It usually offered a bed and some food and nothing more. Out of all the thirty-plus foster homes he lived in, only one he referred to as loving. But still, he thanked a caseworker from long ago for saving his life. And that spoke volumes about how horrendous it would have been for him to remain with his mother.
Surely we can do better. We can put our heads together and figure out better ways to raise our children who have no one to protect, love and nurture them. Find a way to get involved. The kids are waiting for you to help.
He was five years old when I removed him from his drug-addicted, neglectful mother. I was his Children's Services worker at the time. I vividly recall finding him home alone in the middle of the day, with no food and clutter strewn throughout the apartment. The police were called and his mother was arrested as I received an emergency order of custody from a magistrate, allowing me to place him in foster care. I strapped him in the back of my white Ford Taraus and delivered him to an emergency foster home in Cincinnati.
I had often wondered what had happened to that sweet little guy, particularly when my own little boy turned five. I got my answer when he and I came face to face at an unexpected meeting.
He stood before me two weeks ago, a meeting orchestrated by another child welfare professional. He was all grown up now. Even so, I could see a hint of the little boy with chubby cheeks. He wrapped me in a bear hug and thanked me for saving his life. Tears swimming in his eyes and mine, we talked for an hour while I answered his questions about his early life and he filled me in on his subsequent childhood spent in "the system," bounced from one foster home to the next until he was 17.
The system didn't provide a magic answer for him. It usually offered a bed and some food and nothing more. Out of all the thirty-plus foster homes he lived in, only one he referred to as loving. But still, he thanked a caseworker from long ago for saving his life. And that spoke volumes about how horrendous it would have been for him to remain with his mother.
Surely we can do better. We can put our heads together and figure out better ways to raise our children who have no one to protect, love and nurture them. Find a way to get involved. The kids are waiting for you to help.
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