The foster care system through my eyes.

  Life is given to us from our parents and we are all forever grateful for the gift we have received.  Some more than others but that's another topic.  Even though we are receiving the greatest gift of all, those who give us this gift earn the biggest responsibility of their lives.  Being in charge of another life can sometimes overwhelm those who can't handle it.  For whatever reasons, anyone can give up a child for adoption.  

    Adopting a child means giving that child a second chance at life.  A better opportunity to become a successful member of society.  At least that's what everyone thinks happens when a child is adopted into a good home.  How many people do you know who were adopted? Do you know anyone who has adopted a child? Or have you yourself adopted a child?  I ask these questions because an adoption affects more than just the child.  It affect everyone who is connected to both families.  So maybe some of you can shed some insight into this subject.

    I was born in the early 80's when New York City was infested with drugs.  At that time the city was a war zone full of zombies.  The crack epidemic tore up households far and wide across the country.  I remember going to school in elementary and seeing the playground littered with different color top crack vials.  

     My mother was born in Puerto Rico and didn't grow up the way I did.  Puerto Rico is a different world than here in the US.  I don't know too much of my moms history and I wish I knew more.  What I do know is that my mother struggled as a young mother in the city.  She already had my two older brothers and things were not easy.  So in comes me in 1983 and exactly a year later my younger brother was born.  Things must have really gotten hard because me and my brothers ended up in foster care.  

     We landed in a Costa Rican household in Brooklyn.  From what I was told I was around 2 years old.  I guess the one good thing is that I ended up in a house where Spanish was the language spoken.  Back in those days and probably even now they tried to keep the siblings together.  So me and my younger brother ended up with the same foster family.

     You see the foster care system is a wild one in the city.  Most of the kids in foster care are older with problems most with behavioral ones.  

     The neighborhood I was in is called Bushwick. Made up of Latinos and blacks at the time.  Lots of corner store bodegas ran by Dominicans and the sound of salsa flowing in the air.  Just a small community in a big borough in a large city.

     By the age of four I was still in Bushwick and I didn't speak a word of English.  Like I said Spanish was the only language spoken at home.  I started school in Pre-K at P.S. 377 on Woodbine st.  

P.S. 377 Elementary

I believe it was 1988 or 1989.  I don't remember too much from back then but I do remember being extremely shy and scared in school.  I was not used to all the different kids in school speaking English.  But eventually I picked up English real quick. By the time I went to kindergarten I barely spoke Spanish and preferred speaking English.  Around this time I remember having weekly visits with my real mother.  I remember the visitation started slowly. All me and my brother knew about our mother had been told to us.  We both envisioned her to be a bad person.  I remember not wanting to go the first visit.  Most of those memories are blurry and hazy but I do remember going to a place named Angel Guardian. 

Angel  Guardian

To me the place looked like a castle and I remember them having a yard inside the walls with a flower garden.  I also remember not liking to go that place.  It reminded me that I was different and didn't live with my real mom.  My foster mother had light skin with blue eyes and I could never fool any of my friends that she was my real mother.  But I never told a soul.  I was scared the kids would make fun of me and make my life a living hell. 

      

     As the years passed the visits came and went.  I remember a long period with no visits.  Than one day in third grade my foster mother got us both dressed up nice and took us to Angel Guardian.  We arrived and I knew something was very different about this visit.  We went into a part of the building I had never been in.  We entered a room and there were two gentlemen sitting in a large oval desk.  On the table was a million files and some presents.  One of the guys in the room began reading from the paper and I heard him say my name. Than he looked at me and said is this what you want.  I looked at him a little confused and he repeated himself.  "This is going to be your real name from now on.  Do you want that?" So I agreed.  And for the first time in my life I signed my name with the last name Viquez. 

     The Costa Rican lady had just officially adopted me and my younger brother!!!!!!!!     

To be continued.....

Photo credits : Wikipedia and New York Post

I hope you enjoy this short piece of my life.

Until the next post.

STEEM ON!!!!!