Where Are All Of The Foster Kids?

I am the new kid on the block so I may be missing something.  I see adopters, adoptees, first moms, foster parents, but where are all of the foster kids?  Who is speaking for us?  Yes, I have found some Foster Care Alumni,  but clearly not as many I would have expected or hoped to.

Is it the shame that keeps us quiet? Our parents knew us, looked us in the eyes and decided we were not worth the effort.   Is it the shame of knowing who your parents are and that they just couldn’t get it together enough to see us through?  Is it the continuous rejection and reminders that we are not nearly as important to them as they are to us? 

In the case of my “father" it is the constant reminders that I just am not a part of his “chosen family”. For me it is also the hope.  If I try real hard, if I don’t take things personally, if I play nicely and keep my mouth shut, if I don’t shatter illusions or poke holes in their façade, maybe, just maybe they will keep me around – this time.  But there are always more hoops to jump through, more lines drawn and any appearance of acceptance is illusion.

While reading Elaine’s blog about her “maternal source” I realized that while our experiences are different, her adoption and me from foster care, the hurt and rejection is very similar. 

A few years ago, my youngest step-brother got married.  (My father has said he “adopted” him in a “religious ceremony”, not legally.  My step-brother legally changed his name from his family name to our family name Koffron, at the age of 18.   I can only imagine how his REAL father feels about that.)   My husband and I attended the ceremony.  Afterward I was told I wasn’t needed while the “family” pictures being taken, so I went to nurse my daughter Amélie before the reception.

We returned to the reception and were sat at what we affectionately refer to as the “reject table”.  After dinner was served, the bride and groom, the parents (including his REAL father) were making their rounds, and speaking to guests.  A lovely couple came up to our table and introduced themselves as dear friends of the Koffrons,  Dr. and Mrs. So and So.  (We knew who Dr. and Mrs. So-and-So were because my parents had mentioned him and his wife frequently over the years.  “We went to dinner with…We saw this play with"…you know…)  

And how do you know the Koffrons?  he asks. 
I am Bob’s daughter, Sunday. I say. 
I never knew he had any kids of his own, says the dear friend of the Koffrons. 

This couple had known my dad’s second wife since college, my father for the 30 or so years that they had been married, and the fact that Bob had any kids NEVER came up!  Three lives not worth even mentioning…once in almost 30 years.

And I am the one who feels ashamed?