Childhood Stability

I'm not really the type that frequents bars, much less on a cold Sunday night in December. I'm more of a homebody and prefer hanging out with good friends and family. However, as I headed out of my house last night, I was looking forward to seeing friends from grade school that I hadn't seen in 20 years. Twenty-something of us had been together nine months a year, five days a week from the time we were in first grade until we went to high school. That's a lot of togetherness.

Last night those of us who gathered relived our years in Catholic elementary school in Cincinnati, Ohio. We laughed a lot.

"Remember third grade when you got your legs stuck in the desk after you sat in it backwards and the principal had to cut you out of it with a saw?"

"Remember when you got me suspended in eighth grade after you dared me to climb the ladder that went to the roof of the school?"

"Remember when the boys got into a fist fight after school in sixth grade? They hit each other, started crying, then shook hands."

"Remember when you got a demerit for modifying the announcements on the school PA to include a message in the office for Tinkerbell?"

The remembering went on for several hours and we laughed ourselves sick. But it wasn't all fun and games.

We toasted our classmate, Warren, who is forever age 10 after dying from cancer when we were in fourth grade. We talked about the Dad's Club fall out in seventh grade, when a bunch of parents fought over whether there would be one or two boys' basketball teams. We remembered how, in 1983, the school brought in professional counselors to talk to us about our feelings. We were a small class. We had one classmate die and another diagnosed with Hodgkins Disease. In the middle of that, my classmates came to my childhood home one evening a week before Christmas to sing carols for my father, who died of cancer a week later on Christmas Day.

We saw some tough times, but we saw them together. Nine months a year, five days a week.

As I drove home last night, I thought about what a gift it is to be anchored, to experience stability in childhood when things change rapidly, without warning. People get sick. People die. People can be cruel and so can life. But in relationships with others, we find our way around the tough stuff and can emerge better people because of it.

I'm grateful for the anchoring my classmates and my school gave me from the time I was 6 until I was 14. It helped build the foundation for my future. But I also think about the children who aren't so lucky to experience this kind of stability, like foster children who move from home to home and school to school regularly. I think about how they lack relationships, the one thing that can really help them heal when life hands them devastation.

If you are so inclined, think back to those who offered you stability in your own childhood and thank them for it. They gave you a vital gift. And if you are so inclined, consider how you can become or help find stability for foster children who aren't quite so fortunate.

Looking Beyond the Least Bad Alternative

In 1994 I attended a mandatory training session for child welfare workers during which we argued the pros and cons of both foster care and keeping kids with abusive or neglectful parents. I remember thinking if I had to choose a side, I would probably come down on the side of keeping biological families together. The familiar is better than the unknown and no matter what, abused and neglected children always longed to be with their parents.

Fast forward about six years. By 2000, I had seen too many parents fail at keeping their kids safe and fail at reunification, but not before their children were too old to have a larger pool of adoptive homes to choose from. My heart always broke for the kids we could have saved at a age 2, but didn't set free for adoption until they were 8 or older and their behaviors were too scary for adoptive parents to consider. As time passed, I more often came down on the side of foster care and a commitment to fostering stability for a child.

I'm not the only one who changes sides on this issue. The system seems to favor one side until too many children are hurt, and then it sways to the other. It has always been this way.

Right now Los Angeles County is swaying toward the biological parent side. An LA Times article introduces us to Darlene Compton and her son, Jontay. Darlene has an extensive history of substance abuse and is not parenting her five older children. To her credit, she has some sobriety under her belt now and is caring for two-year-old Jontay with a significant amount of assistance from Children's Services. You can read all about Darlene and Jontay HERE.

What struck me about this article was a comment regarding the return of children to compromised parents as being the "least bad alternative". I'm familiar with this concept and write about it passionately in my book, Invisible Kids. Too often, social workers and others are forced to choose the least bad alternative for foster kids. Foster care isn't always good. We know that from the story of Marcus Fiesel and many other children. Remaining with biological family isn't always good either, as little Trustin Blue taught us.

As a mom, if someone gave me the choice between two bad alternatives for my child, would I accept one or would I exhaust every opportunity looking for something better? I think I would go the ends of the earth to find another option. I think you would too if it was your child.

So why don't we forget about the two bad alternatives for so many foster kids and start looking for a third? I don't think we'd have to look too hard to find it. It is right under our noses.

We are the alternative. Jontay's chance for stability and success largely depends on the support he and his mother receive not from the government, but from the community they live in. The most successful families are rooted in support systems. The kids who have done the best transitioning from foster care back to biological families have foster parents who remain involved as a support to biological parents. And in these cases when reunification fails, these children don't suffer nearly as much. They may lose their primary caregiver, but they still have attachments and a sense of belonging. Both are critical to the lifelong success of every child.

Someday the government will stop showering Darlene with the supports and services that enable her to maintain her sobriety and care appropriately for her little boy. What will happen then? And if she fails, will Jontay be young enough and free from emotional problems to find an adoptive family?

I sincerely hope Darlene and Jontay make it. I also hope we start thinking about how we can bridge the gaps and become the safety nets for kids like Jontay. There are far too many who need us to join this discussion and find better solutions.

The Truth Hurts

Sometimes truth is brutal. Sometimes it's so horrific we want to turn away. Sometimes we think we are not strong enough to handle it and we forget that we're only asked to hear a story, not to live it. Living it would be much, much worse. Please, don't turn away just yet.

Meet 17-month-old Peter, who (I believe) rests in the arms of angels after a short life of complete and utter torture at the hands of his mother's boyfriend. The attached video is less than six minutes long and paints a picture of a life story that none of us want to hear or see. I challenge you to view it.

I asked you to do this because kids like Peter and Marcus Fiesel need you to know their stories. Not so you can be devastated and feel helpless, but so you can do whatever you can to make sure another child doesn't suffer abuse and neglect to the point of death. There is nothing that we cannot do when we come together around a common cause. Nothing. So if the foster care or legal systems need to be re-made so children do not suffer, we can do that. It won't be done by social workers, judges or other professionals alone. It can only be done by all of us.

But we can't do it if we are not willing to come face to face with the stories and to be moved to action. I know it is uncomfortable and sad to hear about children suffering. I also know that nothing in this world is more gratifying than working to bring their suffering to an end.

You can do this. You can watch this video. If you can't bring yourself to do it, I understand, but that doesn't mean you can't do something to help. You can visit www.invisiblekidsthebook.com and learn how to make a difference in the life of a child like Peter or Marcus who we still have a chance to save.

Doctor's Faith Guides Work with Maltreated Children

For every bad story about a child mistreated in foster care, I stumble across a great story about people dedicated to helping them. For every darkness that casts a shadow over vulnerable little lives, someone, somewhere is working to make things better.

Meet Dr. Phillip Scribano from New Albany, Ohio. He is the medical director of the Center for Child and Family Advocacy at Nationwide Children's Hospital in Columbus, Ohio. You can read about the two health-care programs he has implemented here. One involves coordinated medical care for foster children. The other involves home visitation and outreach to mothers with children under age two. Both are promising practices, no doubt changing the lives of the children served and strengthening their futures.

Many children in foster care lack comprehensive, consistent medical care with doctors who know their histories. There are lots of different reasons for this. Children move from foster home to foster home and change caseworkers frequently. Each transition increases the likelihood of important information getting lost. As a former Children's Services caseworker, I seldom had updated medical records on a child when I received a new case.

Once as a Guardian Ad Litem I came across a medical report in the file of a new case I had just received. It involved a baby who had been scheduled for an MRI. When I contacted the foster parents, they indicated they had taken him for the MRI but assumed the caseworker would tell them if they needed any further follow up. When I talked to the caseworker, she had assumed the foster parents would be contacted by the doctor if follow up was needed. These are the cracks through which the medical care of foster children fall. Within days, thanks to a big-hearted pediatrician (probably one a lot like Dr. Scribano), the foster baby was seen and treated accordingly.

What I love about Dr. Scribano's story is that he talks about how his faith guides his passion. I know what he means. So do you. It is that feeling of being driven to be part of something bigger than just ourselves, of giving because we know that there is no greater purpose for our life. It is taking the skill you have, whether you are a doctor, social worker or everyday, average American and using it to make the life of a child better. There are so many ways to help these vulnerable children. Visit www.invisiblekidsthebook.com or read Invisible Kids: Marcus Fiesel's Legacy to learn how.

This Thanksgiving, this is what I'm grateful for. I'm grateful for the thousands of people across our country who have dedicated their lives to helping foster children. And I'm grateful that you are considering joining them.

A Booming Voice for Foster Children

The first time I met Bishop WC Martin, I was taken in by the look in his kind eyes. Although we are physically close in height, it felt like he towered over me with his life experience and heart for foster children. We couldn't look more different. He is a black Southern Preacher old enough to be my grandfather. I'm a white, thirty-something mother of three and social worker. He is boisterous and I'm a little more reserved. He's been a guest on Oprah, 48 hours, and other national media venues. My media exposure has been mostly local. He doesn't seem to worry about what people think of him. I tend to second-guess myself more than is probably healthy.

He shook my hand warmly and introduced himself, leaning in to catch my name. He and I were both keynote speakers at a conference last Spring. After his address I passed him on my way to the podium. We had a minute to talk and I couldn't resist asking if he had any last-minute tips for me before I took the stage. When he speaks, people listen. He looked me in the eye and said, "I'm just a poor country boy from the backroads of Texas. I speak from my heart. You do the same and you will be fine." I took the stage and finished my address to the sound of resounding applause. "Good work, my friend," he said as we walked out together.

Bishop Martin and I crossed paths again last week. He was in Cincinnati to address pastors and other church leaders in our area with the goal of motivating them to get involved with foster care and adoption. Midway through his passionate speech he stopped, took a deep breath and said, "Everyone one of you in here has a responsibility for a child lost in the system." He talked of passing the buck, closing our eyes and turning away from children who have been abused, neglected or abandoned by their parents. Enough is enough.

This is exactly the message church leaders needed to hear and I was thrilled to have someone like Bishop Martin deliver it. To read John Johnston's Cincinnati Enquirer article about Bishop Martin's address, click here. It is a great piece and really captures the message.

Bishop Martin and I autographed our books (mine is Invisible Kids) for the attendees. After the crowd was gone, we packed up and headed out the door. He was returning to his home in Possum Trot, TX and I was on my way to guest lecture at a university. As we parted ways, I found myself wondering when we would cross paths again, and I hoped it would be soon.

To catch a glimpse of this great man and his life's work, please visit http://www.bcministry.org/ or check out his book, Small Town Big Miracle.

To learn more about the Coalition of Care and the 28 churches coming together around the needs of foster care, please visit http://www.coalitionofcare.org/.

Long After We Are Gone

I’m a people person. I really like people (most of them, anyway). I think they are fascinating and can always teach me something. I often wonder what I can learn from each person who crosses my path.

So it comes as no surprise that I get a lot of energy from speaking engagements and book signings. I just returned from giving the keynote address at the Indiana State Court Appointed Special Advocate (CASA) Conference. I’ve met hundreds of CASAs across the country and they never fail to amaze me with the passion, dedication, and perseverance they bring to their volunteer work. I always say CASAs are among my favorite people. I found the Indiana CASAs to be no different.

Immediately following my keynote address I started autographing books. The line was long and I was trying to move people through while also staying present and thanking each person. As I looked up to greet and thank the woman in front of me, she leaned over the table a little, as if she was about to tell me something important. I listened.

“I’m 70 years old and I am a CASA. I lived in foster care from the time I was six years old until I was grown.” She paused and drew a deep breath. “Back in those days, I saw a caseworker once a year when she would bring me a box of old clothes and tell me that it would have to last until she returned again.” I noticed tears forming in her eyes behind thick glasses, her hand on the table between us, steadying her weight as she spoke. She continued.

“Things are different now. Caseworkers and people visit a lot more.”

I’m not sure what I said in return. I could tell you I said something brilliant, but who knows? I did squeeze her hand and thank her for volunteering. And she moved on.

If I hadn’t had a long line of people waiting behind her, I would have loved to ask her what it was like being a foster child in the 1940s and 1950s. I wonder what she remembers, and if the memories are good or bad?

What I took away from our brief encounter was a reminder that childhood memories stay with us for decades, long after we become adults and make our way in the world.

It is powerful to know that we can make a lasting impact on a child for years if we choose to get involved and work to make a difference. How wonderful to realize that one act of kindness just might be seared into memory and recalled at a much later time, long after we are gone.

Katie's Chance at a Childhood

A close friend of mine began fostering a fourteen-month-old little girl named Katie* not too long ago. Confidentiality prevents me from giving any identifying information about this sweet little baby, so bear with me as I try to paint a picture of her that makes sense. Malnourished, severely neglected and grossly delayed, Katie came into foster care with simply a name, a date of birth, a t-shirt and diaper. I met her that night. She sat on the floor next to her foster mother, her dull green eyes lost in a world all of her own and her soft, curly brown hair reeking of cigarette smoke despite a warm bath and clean jammies.

By morning, there was a case of diapers and some board books from the neighbor down the street who heard of her arrival. Later came gifts of clothes and a "security blanket" from friends. Several months later, random gifts for Katie continue to appear, courtesy of extended family and friends.

Material items weren't only the benefits Katie received. Thanks to the proactive work of her foster mother, within two weeks she had referrals for developmental assessments. She also had her first doctor's appointment: she had never seen a doctor before.

While other kids her age were building vocabularies of hundreds of words, Katie didn't know she had a voice. I was lucky enough to be with her the night discovered she could make noise. Silent for weeks, she suddenly began mimicking an older child. She opened her mouth as wide as she could and sound poured out. She was amazed and delighted as she soaked up the encouragement of her small audience. Katie came alive that night, and has been growing by leaps and bounds ever since. She is making great gains and has recently started crawling. When she arrived in foster care at age thirteen months, professionals diagnosed her development at age four months.

I've heard foster parents talk about when their foster babies "woke up." It seems one day, after a considerable amount of love, stability and plenty of nurturing, abused or neglected babies decide that just maybe the world is worth engaging. They start to interact with their caregivers and begin exploring their surroundings and their own abilities. However, I've never had the joy of seeing this unfold. Until now.

Kids like Katie are the ones saved by foster care and by selfless, loving people who put their hearts on the line and open their homes to children who need a safe place to land in the middle of the night. I can't imagine a more fulfilling or more potentially heartbreaking role than one of a foster parent. Little Katie was fortunate enough to be placed in a safe foster home with a foster mother completely devoted to her. She is a lucky little girl, no doubt. Those of us who have come to love her are lucky too.

If you are not in a position to foster, there are many other ways to help our most vulnerable children. Foster parents are so grateful for the support they receive from a wider community. If you know a foster parent who is doing a great job, please thank them. They are saving childhoods everyday.

I wish I could post a picture of Katie with her bright eyes and wide grin, but again, confidentiality is necessary. I wish you could see how her face lights up or hear how she babbles non-stop now. I also wish I'd taken her picture the first night she was placed in foster care. What a difference! No matter what the future holds for Katie, today she is showered with love and affection coupled with services like physical and speech therapy to help her catch up. She is finding her voice and her place in this world. And for today, that is all that matters.

*name has been changed to protect her identity.