Last time I told you about most of my childhood. It was largely very normal, and one that many of you may find a lot of similarities with. Typical “nuclear” family, upper-middle class, two kids. My parents and I had a lot of communication issues (or really, just did not communicate much at all), and to this day I don’t really know why. Most of my deeper conversations took place with my sister, Margaret, and she was kind of the go-between for my parents and I. My parents didn’t mean anything by it, and I don’t think they even realized what was happening. They were very loving and treated both of us very well. The communication just wasn’t really there.
But that’s the framework that we’re working with as I entered junior high, which as many of you know is a very difficult time in general for many kids. You’re dealing with puberty, crushes, drama, bullies, and while many kids at that age don’t realize it, they’re just trying to figure out who they are and they have a natural desire to feel loved. I actually really enjoyed junior high. In fact, I look back on these years and have a lot of good memories. I was very much a part of the “popular” crowd. I excelled at school (which as I said before, my grades had become my identity). I was a cheerleader for basketball season. Things were great! At least, outside of the home.
When I was in 8th grade, my parents decided to become foster parents. It is probably not a surprise that they never really talked to me about it. Or if they did, I don’t remember. I’m sure they said something at some point, but since I felt like I couldn’t really talk to them, I don’t think I ever felt like I could discuss it with them or give them my opinion. It was probably more of a, “Hey Grace, we’re going to be foster parents,” and I responded with, “Okay,” and that was it. Any feelings or questions I had would have been kept to myself. The funny thing is, if I would have told them that I didn’t want them to, they would have listened. Or at the very least, they would have bent over backwards to make sure I was okay while venturing on with fostering children. I’m not lying when I say that my parents were very loving. They cared very much about both me and my sister, and they would have done anything to make us happy. But we just never had deep conversations about these things. So my response was always, “okay.” And then I would internalize my emotions or go cry in my room in private.
So my parents started taking foster parenting classes. I distinctly remember that one of the classes was during a banquet for our swim team after the season was over. Let me pause here to say that I hated swim team. I only did it for one summer, and that was only because one of my friends was on the team and wanted me to do it as well. I was never good at holding my breath under water. I couldn’t ever coordinate my arms and my legs and my breathing. It was just not for me. Nonetheless, I was extremely bitter that my parents had to miss the banquet to go to some stupid class to learn how to become parents to other kids when, quite frankly, I felt like they weren’t even good at parenting me. (Hindsight is of course 20:20 (or 50:50, in the words of the great Cam Newton LOL), but at the time, that’s how I felt.) And on top of that, I didn’t know that you were supposed to dress up for a banquet. I wore jean shorts and a t-shirt while all the other girls were in fancy dresses. To this day, I now prefer to be over-dressed rather than under-dressed. I felt like my parents should have told me that. And I was so mad at them for embarrassing me. It’s crazy looking back to think how something so incredibly small had such a lasting impression on me.
After my parents got their certification to be foster parents, they (or I guess we) got their/our first foster child. It was a six-week-old baby, William. I should probably note here that our family is white, and William was black. I typically don’t think it’s important to indicate race, but in this case, I think it might make a difference later on in my story. I remember the social worker dropping him off at our house. I was secretly excited to have a new baby, but I was also still very, very mad at my parents.
Sorry to leave you hanging, but life doesn’t stop! Stay tuned for more soon!
To God be ALL the Glory
Love, Grace
