Bleeding Perseverance - Episode 19

Autobiography Fridays

The time CPS required Mom to get her act together passed, and after about two months they took further action. Jazmin was placed with a family that owned a party supply store, Balloon Masters. Chino remained in and out of group homes, oftentimes getting into trouble and being sent to D.H., the state’s equivalent of juvenile hall. Jesse and I were put in a temporary foster home that housed kids only until a better home was found for them. As for Daniel, he lucked out. He was placed in a nice home on the other side of the island with a single guy named Tom.

Jesse and I were the only ones who remained in Wai’anae, so I continued going to the same school. Jesse was only three years old, so CPS wanted to try to keep the two of us together, which I was grateful for. The problem was, most foster homes either wanted young kids or teens, not both. So we ended up staying at the temporary foster home for seven months. Longer than anyone else. We saw so many kids come and go. The family was Puerto Rican, the father being a car salesman. He also raised chickens in the backyard for illegal cock fighting.

One of the bad things about most foster homes that house a handful of kids is that as a foster child you’re treated as second class. Of course most foster parents would deny this, but the proof is clear to see. You’re told when and what to eat without having a choice in the matter, as well as not having the freedom to go to the frig for a snack like a normal kid. Not only are you not allowed anywhere near the frig, but you also have to stay in the area of the house they tell you to stay. So you can’t help but realize you’re second class as you watch the foster parents’ real kids have free run of the place and in and out of the frig anytime they want.

Most of the time we foster kids were stuck with our own menu, with repeats more often than not. For breakfast it was always corn flakes. Dinners were nothing special either, the frequent of meals being corn beef and cabbage. Cheap food for the second class.

The worst thing I hated about being a kid was being forced to deal with injustices. Whether it was physical and emotional abuse from Mom, or some other crap from another adult, I hated being defenseless against older people with bad characters. As I’ve said before, I’ve always lived my life in alignment with truth. And when you come across someone who does not, oftentimes they will feel threatened. Such was the case in foster care. Whenever I would defend myself I’d do it logically to prove I was not wrong. Let’s say for example one of the other kids in the house started a fight with me. Like many other lazy parental figures, Phyllis, the ‘auntie’ of the home, would use the famous line, “I don’t care who started it.” Well, I did. As adults, we are expected to act civilized. But if someone tries to wrong us, it’s common sense that we defend ourselves. So what kind of message are you sending to kids when you say the same is not true for them? There are responsible ways to handle it, depending on the situation. But to flat out say, “no, I don’t care” is wrong and shows two things. Laziness, because you’d rather hurry up and get rid of the problem instead of getting to the bottom of it. And two, having no regard for the children involved since you’re basically saying “it’s not okay to defend yourself in life. Just shut up and allow yourself to be taken advantage of.” All because a lazy parental figure doesn’t want to be inconvenienced. Deep down we all know this is not right.

Music often helped me temporarily escape such frustration. CPS had given us older kids each a small radio walkman. I just loved it when I Wanna Be Your Man from Roger and Zapp came on, as well as anything from MJ and Debbie Gibson.

Well, like many other willfully ignorant people, Phyllis didn’t care for truth. Either I was to shut up and obey or she would threaten to have me hauled off to D.H., which of course would mean being separated from little Jesse. She knew the two of us being together was really important to me, and that is exactly why she dangled it over my head in the form of threats. So as with many other times in my childhood, I had to bite my tongue and prevail within. The universe has certain laws for people like this. People with bad character. It’s called bad karma, and there’s no escaping it!

Our family visits came once a month, were supervised, and always ended in tears. As it has been explained a million times on daytime talk shows, victims of abuse still feel love for their abuser. Well, we were no different. Although Mom had done awful things to us, we still loved and missed her.

Besides Jesse and I being able to be back with our family for an hour, another reason I enjoyed the days of our visits was because it meant being picked up from school early. As is the case with most kids, I liked being excused from class, which is why I volunteered to work in the cafeteria. That, and the free chocolate shakes we got afterwards!

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Around this time Mom did another thing that ended up becoming a major pain in the ass for many years to come. She decided to change races.