Want to know about life in the foster system from the inside? That was sociologist Mark Testa's goal two years ago, when he founded Project FYSH (Foster Youth Seen and Heard), a writing workshop at the University of Illinois' Children and Family Research Center that gives foster-care alums the tools (and a small hourly stipend) to tell their stories. "They seldom get to be heard in their own voices," says Testa, 55. The 20 kids who have passed through the semester-long program seem delighted at the opportunity. "It's more than just writing; it's about feelings and emotions," says Montriece Wade, 20. Here are selections from some of the program's writers:
LETTER TO A FOSTER MOM
I came into your home with [my baby son] Tra in my arms, a child raising a child. You welcomed me with all my excess baggage: trash bags, teen pregnancy and a failed placement. You nurtured Tra and I so much. We grew up together in your home. You showed me how to be a mom with patience and love. When my family let me down, you got me right back up, encouraging me to keep my head up and to give me that extra push to actually do something with my life. And while I came with all that baggage, I left with a lighter load. You gave me suitcases to replace my trash bags and so much more. What I'm trying to say is, Thank you. Thank you for being so easy on me. Thank you for being so hard on me. Thank you for being there for me. I love you, Momma.
COMING TO TERMS
The house was small and confusing. The person I called Mom has my love unconditionally. And now I must leave my sisters in the house to be miserable and confused. They will not know how to explain the abuse and hurt. Maybe they will blame themselves, like I did. Say it was their fault. Say, "She hates me." Walking away from that house was like walking away from myself. I still hadn't come to terms with who I was. I was lost.
Rebekah Childers, 18
Me: It's 4 in the morning. I keep looking at my foot. It's so fat. But it doesn't hurt if I don't walk on it.
Her [a foster mother]: Her foot is broken. They say she jumped out a window to escape a relative. It's late. I should let her rest.
Me: It's morning now. What's that? I have to go to school? Okay. I've always liked school. And I'm making friends. I like it here pretty much.
Her: Well, time has passed. I see she's nice, but a troubled girl. I'm pregnant now. Anyway, she and my daughter haven't been getting along.
Me: I must leave? Okay, I won't show you I'm upset. I'll just think about all the bad things. Would you send your other daughter away? I don't care. Goodbye, goodbye forever.
MY FATE, MY DESTINY, MY PATH
Your attitude determines your latitude
So I'm high
And I'm fly
And will never be a caged bird again
I should have dumped that baggage when it started smelling
I thought it was still some good
I guess shopping for fresh produce isn't a bad idea
Rebuilding a foundation for myself, myself
My world, my life, my past and my future
My fate, my destiny and my path
Will remain just that, Mine
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