Broken Childhood

I knew what to expect that cold winter morning in 1972 when I woke up and climbed out from underneath the layers of old coats I used as blankets. I tried to be careful not to let out any of the warmth that the coats held, in hope that it would be still there tonight when I went to bed. After all, the day started out like any other day. It was cold outside with the snow piled high, but it was cold inside too. It was not unusual for our house to be without heat. My dad worked a summer job at a golf course but in the winter he was always laid off. That meant we didn’t have much money to make it through the winter and we often ran out of oil to the heat the house. With winter came the constant freezing and breaking of our water pipes. We had to go to our neighbors to fill up buckets and other things to have water for dishes and flashing the toilet and washing up.

I pushed the blanket aside that hung in my doorway as a door and went over to the oven which my mom had turned on for some heat as I held my shirt up near it to warm it before I took off the one I was wearing and slipped on the warm one and repeated the steps with my pants and socks. I always woked up a few minutes earlier than my brothers to get dressed then I went back in my room and gathered my books and other school supplies taking my time so that my brothers could come out of their room and take their turns at the oven to warm up their clothes and get dressed. My stomach growled but I knew I would have to wait until lunch before I would eat anything.

The bright spot of every day for my four brothers and me was going to school. Even though I didn’t have friends, I knew that at least I would be warm for the day and that I would have a free hot meal, which we received because of our low income. The school day went as usual; I had the usual teasing and rejection from classmates. As I climbed on the bus to go home, I knew it would be the last time I would feel warm until the next day.

The bus stopped so my brothers and I got off and headed down the street to our house. We walked in silence, holding our heads down and dreading the thought of another cold evening and probably not a whole lot to eat. I looked down as I kicked the snow up and watch it fall back to the ground. My brothers followed behind me, walking just as slowly. I wondered what they were thinking. I wished that we weren’t so poor then maybe kids would like me better. As we neared the house, Ronnie interrupted my thoughts in a surprised voice he shouted “Look Donna, there’s an oil truck in the drive way.” We all let out big whoops as joy and started running to the house in excitement.  I couldn’t wait to feel that warm air on my face as we entered the house. We were laughing as we passed the two men. “Hi, “ we said as we past them. One was putting the hose back on the truck while the other one was making out the bill.

“Tell those guys to come in the house its to cold for them to wait outside.” He went in his room to get the money he owed them. Clarence called out to the men and they walked in the kitchen and stood looking around. They couldn’t help but see all the stuff lying around on the kitchen floor.

“Is it cold out side?” my mom asked trying to distract the guys from looking around. “We’re use to it” one of them answered.

Then one of the men who looked disgusted asked my mom why the house was so messy and cluttered.

“It’s been too cold in here to clean.” My mom shrugged just as my dad came out of the bedroom.

My dad having heard the conversation and was angry handed one of the man the money and told them gruffly “It’s none of your business why the house is so messy. Get out of my house now.”  He roared at them pointing to the door. My mom tempted to tell them it was to cold again but it was not heard as one of the men said “We’ll be back.” We had learned much later that one of the men was actually working under covered checking out home for social services.

The two men left as we heard one of them say, “We’ll be back.”

My mom became very upset and started crying. She had borne another set of kids
before my brothers and I came along.  They were taken away and put into foster
homes, with three of them adopted out. She was not allowed to have them back; it wouldn’t be until years later that I would get bits and pieces of what happened there.

She looked at my dad and with a frighten tone of voice said to him, “They re going to take these kids away just like they did the others.”

“I’m never letting anyone in this house again.” My dad mumbled. “I don’t care how cold it is outside.”

Even though she didn’t yell out of anger, she yelled for us to get our coats on and that we were going to go to Mary’s house, She was a friend of my mom who lived about a half of mile from us. My mom was hoping that somehow Mary could help her.

“Cut through the field, “ she yelled out the door, following behind us. “That way they won’t see us if they come back.”

We all ran through the path beneath the snow and made our way from our house to the street where Mary lived. When cars drove by we would duck down so that we were not seen just in case it was the police or someone else coming after us.

My dad stayed home, as he usually did not want to deal with any of it.  I learned much later that when the police came to the house, he had hid in the basement.

We arrived at Mary’s house and my mom tried to explain what was going on.  It was hard for Mary to understand my mom when she was calm because of a speech impairment my mom had, but it was really hard for her when my mom was upset and crying. Mary calmed my mom down enough to find out about the oilmen and called the police, trying to find out what was going on and if the state could take her kids away because of a messy house.

While Mary was on the phone, a police car pulled into the driveway.  At the sight of the car, my mom became anxious and upset again.  She started crying and repeated over and over, “They’re going to take my kids. They’re going to take my kids.”

Mary tried to calm her down as she ended the phone conversation.  Meanwhile, the five of us kids stood there in fear, not knowing what was going to happen.

The police officer came inside and said he had to take us all to the courthouse to ask us some questions. My mom was thinking that she wouldn’t be going with us but the police officer said she would be coming with us at least for now. After getting my mom calmed down, we all piled into the police car and rode in silence to the courthouse.

The inside of the courthouse had a dull color that left me feeling cold.

My mom was escorted into a room as my brothers and I was escorted into another room. We were seated in front of a huge desk that had two men seated behind it. One of them remained silent through out the whole questioning. The other man started throwing out questions to us, asking us our names, ages, birthdays among other questions, as he would look at one of us for an answer. He looked at me and asked me a question and I remembered answering, “Yes.”  He then looked at my oldest brother, whom we called Peanut, and asked him, “Does your toilet work?” Peanut answered “No” and told him we had to flush it with pails of water after we used it.

He turned back to me, angry as he said, “I thought you said it worked?” I started to answer him but he yelled at me, “Shut up! You are to remain silent for the rest of this interview and I don’t want you answering another question.”

I tried to tell him that I had misunderstood him but he yelled at me again to shut up and made it clear that I was not to speak again. I felt so powerless and degraded.

After a period of questioning, the man who had been talking turn to the other man and asked him to make sure our mom got home ok. The man left the room and a short time later came to the doorway with my mom next to him. He told my mom she could say good-bye to us. She stood in the doorway as she waved “Good-bye” to us and told us, through tears, to behave.

As he walked away with my mom, I heard the man say, “I will take you home; your kids will be fine.” I felt crushed as they walked away.  The pain in my mom’s eyes was so hard to look at that I had to turn my head away. I felt so helpless knowing, there was nothing I could do and was wondering if I would ever see her again. I was screaming inside for them to bring my mom back to us and to take us home. I would have given up the warmth of our house and be cold if we could only go back home with my mom and dad. At least then I would know what to expect. I had no idea what was waiting ahead for my brothers and I.

After a few minutes my brothers and I were seated on a bench in the hallway. The walls were gray and dingy which only added to my feeling of despair.

I kept wondering if we would remain together or if we would be separated. Again I was wondering if I would ever see my mom again or if I would see my dad.  I didn’t even get to say Good-bye to him.  It was painful to think about it yet painful not to think about it. I was so confused and alone at this point. I forced back the tears that were starting to form in my eyes. This was not the time to cry; I needed my strength to handle what was waiting for me.

It seemed like we sat in silence there forever, none of us knowing what to say to the others and only looking at each other for some sort of comfort. Finally, a lady came over and told us she would be taking us to the place we would be staying the night. We followed her to the car and the five of us squeezed into the back seat wanting to stay together for as long as possible. She said one of us could sit in the front seat but we all remained in the back. She told us that they had found homes for my oldest brother,  “Peanut” (a nickname given to him at birth by our uncle), who was fifteen and my youngest brother Robert, who was five, and that they would be only a block apart. The rest of us would be together for tonight and then would be placed in separate homes the next day.

She dropped off my youngest brother first and while she was inside introducing him to his foster parents, the rest of us remained alone in the car. It was then we spoke to each other for the first time since all of this started. We were all concerned about Robert and how he was going to adjust to being gone. We wondered how scared he was, it did bring some comfort to us that Peanut would only be a block away. We knew he would keep an eye out of him and not let anything happen to him. My brother Clarence, who was the next oldest, said that he was going to run away the first chance he got. I told him he would only get into trouble and would be caught and taken back. We all said “Shh!” at the same time as we saw the caseworker coming back to the car. We again remained quiet, not wanting to say anything and not wanting her to know we had been talking.

Upon arrival at the home where the three of us would be staying for the night, we were introduced to the parents and taken to the basement where several children of various ages were playing different games. I sat down in an empty chair. My two brothers, Ronnie (12) and Clarence (14), were invited to join in a pool game that was already being played. 

As I sat and watched, I thought to myself, “How can they join in so fast?  Don’t they realize what was going on? Do they not realize that this may be the last time we will ever see each other again?”

A little girl about four years old came up to me and handed me her doll. I looked it over and handed it back to her with our saying a word. “My name is Beth she told me. She took the doll and ran off to play with other toys.

I watched as a boy who looked to be a little older than me played pool with my brothers. He saw me watching him and gave me a smile. My heart felt a touch of warmth, not because he was cute (although he was) but because his smile was so warm and comforting.  It was as though he understood what I was thinking.  Through his smile it was as if he was telling me that everything would be all right. I continued watching him, holding unto that peace for as long as I could.

Meanwhile the foster parents were upstairs talking to the caseworker.  I wondered what they were saying about us. I knew most likely she was explaining why we were taken away from our parents. I wondered if they knew the secret I tried so hard to hide from everyone. I wished I could have been a fly on the wall to hear what they were saying about us.

After some time the caseworker came down stairs to say “Goodbye” and that she would connect with us tomorrow. The foster mother told us that supper would be ready shortly.

I had forgotten about supper.  After all, this all happened right after school and several hours had passed since then. All of a sudden my stomach started growling. The other kids in the home had already eaten so my brothers and I went upstairs to eat. I realized it was way after suppertime.

After eating, my brothers and I were taken to a store and tried on clothes.  Once we each had four outfits, we went back to the foster home. I just knew that everyone was going to know that we were in foster homes because of our clothes. They would probably think we had done something wrong to be taken from our parents. All my fears and anxieties from earlier crept back up on me, especially as bedtime was fast approaching.  Maybe I would wake up and find that all this had been a terrible dream and that I would wake up in my own bed with my own family around me. But it wasn’t a dream. It was reality.

As I crawled into bed that night, one of the little girls, who slept in the same room as I did, offered her doll for me to sleep with.  She was about four or five and was also a foster child

An older girl in the home came over and said to her, “Why don’t we put the dolly at the foot of the bed so that the dolly doesn’t fall out.” 

She must have been thinking that, at age 13, I was too old for dolls. The little girl agreed as she allowed the older girl to put the doll at the end of the bed.

I wanted to scream out, “No, she’s right! I need that dolly to hold and to feel safe and comforted!”

But the doll remained at the foot of the bed. I didn’t know what was safe to say and what wasn’t safe to say so I remained silent.

After the little girl went to sleep, the older girl came back into the room and sat by my bed. She asked me what I was thinking.  I told her, “Nothing.”

She didn’t push me to answer more than that but only said, “If you want to talk, let me know I will be happy to talk to you.” She then left the room.

My heart felt like breaking.  I kept wondering what was going to happen to me. The feelings of helplessness, loneliness and powerlessness weighed heavy on me. More questions came to my mind. What will happen to my brothers? What are my mom and dad doing? My mom must be hurting so bad. It was hard to think about the future and what it held for me. I don’t know how long it took me to fall asleep but before I knew it, morning had arrived and much too soon. I wanted to stay hidden under the blankets forever.

The foster dad had already gone to work and the foster kids had already left for school. I was disappointed that I couldn’t say Good-by to the boy who had given me the smile the night before. I wished I could have seen that smile one more time before I faced what was ahead.

My foster mother told me that after the boys ate breakfast she would be taking them to the foster home they would be staying in. They were being placed together in the same home. At least they would be together and with the other two brothers being a block away, it helped me to know that they would see each other.

I was told that I would remain until after lunch at which time my caseworker would come to take me to the foster home where I would be staying.  She told me that she would be gone for a couple of hours and that I could watch TV while she was gone. My brothers and I said Good-bye and they left.

I felt so alone in a strange house in a strange neighborhood. I didn’t want to watch TV.  For some reason, it seemed threatening to me even turn it on, let alone watch it. Instead I sat next to a window and stared outside, not seeing anything there because I was deep in thought again.

I thought of the words my brother said in the car about running away. I had the perfect opportunity to do it. My foster mom wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours.  No one else was here to see me leave. But where would I go? I had no idea even where I was, let alone not knowing what direction to go. Besides it was too cold out. There was a lot of snow on the ground and the thought of getting lost in it scared me too much. And, like I told my brother, I would only be caught and taken back. I gave up the idea of running away as fast as I thought of it.

I also gave up on ever having a future for myself. I couldn’t even think of what the future would hold for me later that day…or the next week…or the next month or even the next year. My future was no longer mine. I could only think of what was happening now. How was I going to survive minute by minute with my thoughts?  They were all crashing in on me at the same time and were hard to sort out. I knew somehow my dreams would never be fulfilled.

I finally heard my foster mother come in and saw she had stopped at the store. I followed her into the kitchen and watched her put away the groceries. She reminded me again that after lunch my caseworker would come and take me to the foster home where I would be staying.

That time came too fast. I dreaded the ride with the caseworker.  I didn’t like her and knew she would question me further. Why couldn’t the foster mother take me to the other home? Of course I never asked and was never told.

I sat in silence as I rode in the car. As expected, the caseworker questioned me about things at home. Most of the answers I gave her were “I don’t know.” I was not about to give her any information she could use against me. The ride seemed like hours. As it was, it was close to an hour before we arrived.

We went to the door where Shirley, who would be my foster mother, greeted us. My caseworker introduced us to each other then left shortly after that.  She didn’t say a lot to Shirley as she had to the foster mother from the night before. I figured that they had spoken on the phone and that Shirley was filled in on all the information she needed to know.

I pretty much felt the same way about this foster home as I had the one I spent the night at. I felt alone powerless, alone and ashamed. I kept wondering what they were told about me. Did they think I did something wrong?

It didn’t take me long before I adjusted to the foster-home. It helped that my brothers and I were able to keep in contact by telephone. Yet, I still kept my defenses up. I was very cautious about what I revealed to anyone.