Fostering HopeНамуна

WHERE AM I?

I hate moving. When I was a kid, my family moved every year or two, and the whole time the U-Haul was being loaded it always made me sick. Hugging the toilet sick. I didn't really get any pleasure out of seeing my new bedroom or exploring a new neighborhood. Mostly I spent the first few days worrying. Wondering if anyone knew where I was. Would I be able to get on the right bus at school? And off at the right stop? I didn't even know my address - how would the bus driver? Would my grandparents be able to find us for my birthday party? And how would Santa know where we were?

Those nerves could be largely settled by one simple thing - getting mail. Not mail for my parents, mail for ME. Mail meant that someone knew where I was. Mail meant I wasn't lost. Mail meant I was thought of. And, if I was lucky and it was from my grandparents, it usually included stuff - stickers, toys, activity books, crayons - you get the picture. Foster kids move a lot too - an average of 4 times in 20 months, and among kids who age out of foster care at 18, a third moved more than 8 times while they were in custody. Each move means a new house, new neighborhood, new school. Each move means you lose stuff that matters to you - stuff like pictures and drawings and stories you have written and favorite CD's. Each move means new rules - new bedtimes, new chores, new ways to fold the towels and make your bed. And, they wonder if anyone knows where they are.