Fifteen years ago my husband and I went through the training to become foster parents through our state. This summer my husband and I finished up the training (and are 90% done with the licensing requirements!) to foster through a private agency for a slightly different demographic than we have fostered in the past- I'm sure I'll write more about that experience sometime in the future.
Last year the following article was published in the December 2019/January 2020 issue of Foster Roster, a magazine sent out to foster parents in my region. The article was written by the man who was our trainer over a decade ago and as I read it a lot of memories came flooding back- specifically surrounding the word "nervouscited" which is a great way to describe how I was feeling back then and how my husband and I are feeling now as we embark on a slightly different fostering path.
I'm sharing this article now for anyone who may need to hear any part of its message- wether you're just starting out on your journey to become a foster parent or are a veteran or have been considering the possibilities of fostering, or you have found your way here for whatever reason.
Ya’ Know, I’ve Been Thinking… By: Brian Young, Education, Utah Foster Care
Every month when I walk into a classroom for Class 1, at
one of our region’s DCFS buildings, I look around the
room at a group of new faces…. that have absolutely no
idea what’s about to happen to them. You all remember
that night, right? You were so “nervouscited” to finally
start your foster care journey, which I understand, that
you didn’t even notice that some of your spouses, if you
had one there, were glaring at me with a “I can think of
100 places I'd rather be” face, which I also understand.
A few months ago, I had a couple looking at me with a
different face. It was more like a, “I think I remember you,”
face and they asked, “Wasn’t it you that was teaching 15 or
16 years ago when we went through this the first time?” I
nodded my head, smiled and thought, “I've been doing this
for 20 years and feel, really old.”
It’s made me think about a lot of things; how much child
welfare has changed in our great state over the past 2
decades, how much more we know about how to better
help kids and families who find themselves dealing with a
situation and system they’d rather not be in, how
frustrating and sad it is that sometimes it doesn’t work
out the way we wanted or hoped, and how frustrating and
sad it is, in a different way, that sometimes it does.
I think what’s been coming to my mind the most is all of
you. With a little quick figuring and guesstimating, in the
last 20 years, I've met over 3,000 families, roughly 6,000
people who had one thing in common - they had decided
that sharing their lives with traumatized children and
their families was something they wanted to do, without
really even knowing what that meant. But there you were,
ready to start, ready to learn, and ready to help.
I say it every month in class, “People who don’t
understand fostering really can’t help you understand and
deal with the challenges of fostering.” But I also realize
that people who don’t understand fostering, can’t fully
appreciate those who do it either.
You’re an odd bunch, you know that, right? You come to
this to help, usually not realizing that “helping” means
bringing these kiddos into your homes, lives and families,
with all the “stuff ” that comes with them. You give them
your heart, your time, your patience, your money, and
sometimes whatever was left of your sanity, with the idea
that if all goes well, you’ll be able to then watch them walk
back, with a piece of your heart, to the family they came to
you from. That’s if you have a “normal” case, whatever
that means anymore. Add to that the extra stress of a case
where it’s a constant battle with a bio-parent, a challenge
to work with agencies who are sometimes having to work
under a different set of rules than you, and sometimes
they, would like, situations beyond your control that make
you want to question the one thing you can control,
whether you keep doing this or not. And you do.
Now don’t go getting all misty-eyed on me, we’ll always
have more work to do to stay focused. I know when I sit in
meetings with DCFS and hear that foster parents are
frustrated with, or not participating in efforts towards
determining if reunification will work, or deciding way
before a judge does that adoption really is the best plan for
a child they’re caring for, or want a child moved, because
the very behaviors that made sense while we talked about
them in class, are now somehow unacceptable in actual
real-life practice, we’ll always have more work to do.
With all that said, what it comes down to, for me, is that
I've had 20 years to work with some amazingly odd people.
Thank you for trying, even when it seemed like a waste of
time. Thank you for hoping, even when it seemed hopeless.
Thank you for not saying out loud, in that moment of
borderline rational thought, what you were thinking in
that family team meeting, knowing you would have
regretted it when you calmed down a bit. Thank you for
helping those children you brought into your lives know it
was ok to trust a parent again. Thank you for stretching
your parameters a little, deciding that 9-year-old boy you
said yes to really is kinda close to your initial request for
girls only, from birth to 3. And the fact he’s a package deal
with a 6-year-old sister, when you requested one child
only, really is kinda like one, kinda.
See? I told you, you are odd.
Thanks and not just from me not that long ago I sat in a
meeting with Melonie Brown, our Regional Director, who
looked at me and said, “We love our foster parents! It’s
crazy what we ask them to do. To take these kids in and
love them like their own, give so much of themselves to
help them, and then give them back. It’s just crazy, but we
love them for doing it!”
That obviously doesn’t mean there won’t be
disagreements, challenges and frustrations, but know
your efforts, even though it might seem so, aren’t going
unnoticed. Even if you’re not hearing it, I am.
One last time, thank you. I appreciate the opportunity to
be a small part of your journey through the craziness.
Even those of you who were staring at me that first night
of class with something other than a look of excited
anticipation on your face.
Thanks for still being here.
