Fuck a Foster Home

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
This story is about a kid that grew up in a foster home

Submitted: July 26, 2008

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Submitted: July 26, 2008

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fuck a foster home

Fuck a Foster Home

My name is Anthony, and I am what you call a foster hood brat. There is no way I can sugar coat it, I had a fucked up childhood. You learn the do's and don'ts of a money making machine for a so call provider (Foster parent). It's like an unhappy marriage without a choice of divorce.

I have a younger sister whom is disabled and also a younger brother. We came from a broken house hold, however, I don't think you can call it a house, but it was broken. I don't know my dad, hell; he may even be reading this story. If my mom is sober she may read it as well. I have always tried to be mom and dad to my siblings. I tried to feed them, but I couldn't do a good job at 6yrs. old, yet, I do know I did a better job than my mother.

We consistently spent long periods at home by ourselves, until the knock at the door. I was scared to answer and so, the people at the door let themselves in. I remember them walking down the dark hallway, opening each door. They finally got to the last door where my siblings and I were and opened it. I saw two policemen and a middle aged white woman. At first, I thought I was in big trouble, because I had been stealing food from the local grocery store, Safeway. The lady explained that she was a social worker, and she would take care of us, but I told her that was my job. However, she said that is supposed to be your parents' job. I did not know what she meant but she said it's time for us to go. I had to ask one more thing before we left which was "If they could get my brother some milk because he likes milk and if my sister can get a comb because I always had to comb her hair."

I thought we would stay together, but I realized we could not. We were going to different foster homes. The foster parents got to pick who they wanted to take home. I was picked by a lady name Mrs. Robinson, but I don't know who got my brother or my sister. Mrs. Robinson said I would enjoy living with her and she had other kids. I guess because she had other foster kids, she was like a gold card member. The social worker said if I had any problems I should call her.

When I got to Mrs. Robinson's house I was put in a room with three other boys. Calvin was the oldest, then Spud, and Edward. I quickly found out who ran the house when Mrs. Robinson wasn't around, Calvin. I think Calvin loved being in charge because he was your local child molester. He had young kids in the room with him every night. For Calvin, it was like having a buffet of young kids. Calvin would like to touch them and you dare not tell because that would mess with Mrs. Robinson money. It was explained to me as "who would listen to a trouble kid, no one cares, that's why you are here." The only thing you could do is hope Calvin didn't pick you, but he made sure he sampled everyone and you had to learn to deal with it.

Because of Calvin, kids were scared to get up at night and use the restroom, unfortunately, Mrs. Robinson had a solution for that. Anyone who wet the bed would be punished! Her punishments were a beating and you would have to pee in a dill pickle jar. Once the jar was full, you would have to drink it. Ugh! You had to drink your own urine and don't think you are going to mix water with it because she knew that trick. She did give us a break; we didn't have to drink it all at once. She also let us store it under the back of the toilet. Calvin, Mrs. Robinson, my parents, and the social worker were all the same. I could not trust them.

The only thing I can say about being in a foster home is that you learn how not to celebrate holidays, you learn the benefit of crime, and hopefully you learn what not to do with a child. I never learned what a parent is. The closes thing I saw to a parent was me.


© Copyright 2017 antonio1968. All rights reserved.

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