*Disclaimer: I type as I talk, I have no time for grammatical or spelling corrections. If you are an effin grammer Nazi...don't read my personal ish...cause I will annoy the hell out of you. If you don't mind, cool :) ..... proceed. *
it was a cadillac or a lincoln...i remember that. I think there may have been a diamond in the back. One of my earliest memories in life happened in a cadillac or a lincoln. I think I may have been 5 or 6 years old. I was a ward of the court. I was owned by the state of Virginia. I was a foster child. I had been placed with this family after my mother lost custody (or gave up custody) of me and my siblings. I am the oldest of six. 3 girls, 3 boys. My mother birthed us all and kept none of us. #NoComment
Anywho, I was placed with this family that I had grew fond of as a child. They loved me and I loved them. I don't have any memories of my time with them. I just have feelings. That is exactly why the importance of THIS memory sticking with me is so profound. Maybe my mind blocked out the happy memories I had with them in order to protect me. Sometimes our minds block out bad memories...I think my mind blocked out ALL memories in an effort to protect me from the bad ish, as well as not have me longing for the good times. I don't know...Im just speculating, but I DID NOT forget this memory.
all I know is that I dont remember the first seven years of my life. However, I remember THIS memory. Is that normal? If its normal, okay...maybe Im being dramatic. I dont know. The year had to be like 1988-1989, and pretty much I was a foster child living with the foster family that I adored. I felt connected, I felt loved, I felt like I could have just merged into their family and we would have been fantastic. Now keep in mind Im speaking from the feelings I remember having as a 5year old child regarding this family. I dont remember my dealings with them, I dont remember events, I just remember feelings. I felt secure. That all ended the day the gray cadillac(or lincoln) pulled up. I honestly remember this day out of EVERY day in my life...
I had been playing on the porch, when I started feeling weird. I went inside and layed my head on my foster mother's lap. She caressed me, she said words to me that I don't remember. She was always the patriarch of the family. She was Queen Bee, she ruled that family. Im not saying I agree with that structure but she struck fear in the hearts of those who opposed her, and love to those who loved her. She was your black traditional BIG MAMA. Most kats know a Big Mama...go watch Big Mama's House if you don't know. Anywho it's all a blur from there because somehow that memory ends and my next memory of that day starts with me crying hysterically!
I remember seeing her as weak...I never saw her like that. She hurt on that day, she showed her weakness. Big Mama cryed too...She WANTED me...she didn't want them to take me, but even SHE wasn't strong enough to stop them. She tried to keep me, but Social Services saw her as someone who could hold their merchandise until it could be sold to the highest bidder. Big Mama could'nt afford me..but she loved me. I remember screaming and fighting as I was being pulled away from the house I knew as home. I remember the gravel...it was a driveway with rocks. I was being dragged across the gravel. Not in a hurtful way, but it was just like my toes were diggin into the ground and gravel as I was lifted away, causing the rocks to kick up. I fought, but I was weak. They pushed me into this gray cadillac/lincoln, put my belongings into the trunk, and proceeded to drive away.
On that day I met my "new" brother. He also sat in the backseat of the cadillac/Lincoln. He had hazel eyes...he looked at me then turned his head and said nothing. He was their child, their natural child. I was the "bought" child. The funny thing is I looked EXACTLY like the mother...maybe thats why they picked me. As they flipped through the binder that held the pics of available children, they saw me and was like "She looks like us! Let's buy her" I looked like them, but I never accepted them.
Anywho the father was driving...the mother was in the passenger seat. The father yelled at me to stop crying. He didnt understand that at this very point in my life, I was being traumatized. He yelled at me, and me being the rebel that I am(even at a young age) I smacked the back of his seat and cryed even louder. That was the only way I knew how to protest this injustice,this blatant disregard to my personal wellbeing. The state of Virginia ain't give a damn about me at that point...that's real talk.
I remember crying to the point I was choking. I looked out the back window as my vision of home and security began to fade away. My heart started to harden that day. The process started that day. It baffles me how an institution that SHOULD be founded in principals of family, security and long term positive growth of a child, totally EFFED ME UP!!
The institution I speak of is Social Services, which is ultimately backed by our corrupt government. Tell me, how does it profit the government to rip a child away from a loving, secure family? Here is how (in my situation): ADOPTION FEES...plus they NO longer have to pay the foster family provider for their services anymore. Mess a child up for life, scar them for life...but it's all good cause you are saving money and making money at the same damn time. Don't get it twisted, there are people that work for SS that actually envoke good...I thank God for you ANGELS...but ultimately the theory of SS is BS. The reason why I say that is because where is THE VOICE OF THE CHILD? Why could I have not voiced my opinion and have told SS that I felt comfortable and wanted to stay with that family? I understand that the viewpoint of a child at that age has reason to be thouroughly observed. That is smart. But what is smarter is to have a psychologist/psychiatrist examine and converse with the child to make sure that their acceptance/unacceptance of a family is based on the fullfillment or unfullfillment of basic physiological/emotional needs. Not based on profit or gain. In my situation, Im wholeheartedly convinced it was based on gain.
So that is one of my earliest memories...I was adopted, but that didn't last. Lol, have you EVER heard of an adoption being reversed after 5 years?? No? okay...STAY TUNED...PART 2 NEXT WEEK. Foster care is a freakin joke. I guess I should be (and I am) greatful my mother did not abort, murder, or sell her children like these crazy THOTS is doing these days...anywho.