Childhood Memories of My Life in Foster Care

613 Words2 Pages

It was the summer of 2004, cat calls, car horns and heavy tension filled the air. It was like clockwork, the winter months brought about a little peace on the streets, but the hotter the summer, the more violent the concrete jungle seemed. It’s amazing how even at a tender age I understood the dynamics of the streets, maybe because my home was no different. As the sunlight gleamed into the dimly lit room I found myself basking in the rays in an attempt to escape to the flawless home I so longed for. These walls held stories, but none of Merry Christmas’s, Happy Birthdays, or joyful Thanksgivings. No, they held pain, suffering, and screams from warrantless beatings, and illusions of paranoia. I sat and watched as my mother filled her veins with fire, causing her to attempt to tie me to the radiator to be scorched by heat and steam emerging from the radiator valve. Slaps across the face, and lashes from what seemed to be her favorite, an all black, thick leather spiked tool of torture could easily be seen as normal. The story on this day would be my departure. As I sat at our small wooden table that appeared to rock with the slightest shift of the wind, the smell of grits filled the one bedroom, mildew stained apartment. “Here eat this” she said as she threw the plastic bowl onto the table with an attitude implying that it was such a burden. I began to eat, but bit by bit something wasn’t right. The unpleasant feeling of nausea and my stomach rolling like raging waters signaled I was about to vomit, but before I could excuse myself, “HRRL” my bowl filled with the regurgitated contents of my stomach. As if I had done something wrong she commenced to hitting me and screaming as she forced my face into the bowl, “Eat it, eat it” I screamed as I lifted my head to grasp for air, my mouth covered in my own vomit. Like the thunderous sound of God himself returning, I hear “BOOM, BOOM, BOOM”, “Jane open the door”! It was my next door neighbor, coming to save me once again, but this time I would not return only to become a ward of the state. The New York Foundling would be my new home, at least for now. Over a period of roughly 6 months, I would enter and depart 5 unstable foster homes;

More about Childhood Memories of My Life in Foster Care

Open Document