I Was A Foster Kid

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Christmas Memories — Mostly suck when you grow up a foster kid.
December 24, 2009

Each year I pray that I survive today and tomorrow. When you have no-one in your world, holidays like these are so painful, most of you can’t even imagine. You think it gets easier over the years? — it NEVER does. No matter how many years go by, no matter how many movies I rent, no matter how many times I pet my animals, no matter how much junk food I eat; the pain at this time of year is absolutely incredible.

You can’t ignore it. TV commercials, radio, everything touts this “as the most wonderful time of the year.” —Family, food, presents, memories, Hallmark….I goto the store and people talk about cooking and baking, talk about unwrapping gifts, talk about seeing Grandma soandso and Aunt soandso….they talk about having not enough time……

……………..well if you live my life, NONE of this is real and I wish time stopped.

First Christmas Times: Christmas with my bio-parents did not exist. I remember getting the shit kicked out of me several years for asking why Santa did not ever stop by “our house.” See, Santa is everywhere — do you think poor kids don’t know he exists? But he never came around, not once. I guess I didn’t deserve a visit from Santa. We had no Christmas tree. We had no ham, no turkey, nothing. …so for me, I was usually hungry, because if nothing was open on Christmas, there was no way to steal something to eat. And the pizza place from where we would steal pizza out of the trash was usually closed before and after Christmas…no pizza. The only neat thing about Christmas with the bio-parents was running through the snow-covered sewer pipes with my brother. They weren’t in the ground and I don’t know why, but they were in empty lots covered with snow. We would hide out all day and night until it got too cold, making snow forts and watching the ghetto-world pass by. They felt safe.

— Enter the world of foster care. A couple good Christmas times and many bad.

Some good Christmas Times: The Bentons gave me a cool art set. It had markers and paper and chalk in it. They also had a big fancy dinner and a real Christmas tree. I learned about lasagna then, because they made it to go with the ham. The tree smelt so beautiful and the needles would come off when I touched it. It was cool. They were fun. They moved. There was the Olsens and their two bio-kids. . They were very religious people and Christmas had alot of meaning to them. They took me to church. I learned all about Jesus and the story of Christmas. I am not sure I understood it at the time, but they tried to teach me about hope. They got rid of me….I don’t think I fit into their family…they were “good people” and well, I was “bad people.”

Some Bad Christmas Times: There were many bad Christmas times too. CPS remember this one? I was staying with the Rippons? It was me and Kelly, that other foster kid. CPS, Remember Mr. Rippon? At Christmas, he dressed up like Santa — and we had to give him a gift, to get a gift. CPS, Remember this? I was already good at this type of “gift-giving,” because I had plenty of experience living with my bio-father. It doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Poor Kelly, it was new to her. Remember that CPS? Thankfully you finally listened to me and Kelly…how long did it take? The sad part about this experience, I think gifts need to be paid back now. I think it ruined it all.

Or how about the Stocktons? hahahaha. I was told for Christmas that I was “just the foster kid” and “there was not enough money” for anything and that included Christmas meals. They had a big gathering with all their fat-ass relatives. My skinny-ass was locked in the basement. Another wonderful Christmas.



Christmas is just another indicator of how I don’t fit in society and probably never will. Christmas is a holiday for families and continuation of family memories. I have no continuity in memories; as they are all different from growing up in 13 different “families” – one bio-family and 12 foster/group homes.

Even during foster care, when there were times of presents or food or family gatherings, it was NEVER MY FAMILY…..I was always truly an outsider. And for outsiders, this is not the “most wonderful time of the year,” but “the most painful time of the year.”

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