My Life



        It was the third week in September of 1996, and I was eight years old, in the third grade. And they told me I had to go away.   I wasn't exactly sure why I had to go, but I was told that it was a custody battle. In my young mind I saw a war break out between our each side of our family.  My mother on one side of a grassy knoll, while my father facing her on the other.  Each had their own great army.  An epic battle is what I saw.  But, alas, after asking if I could be a conquering prince, I was told that a custody battle was boring and dealed with the law.  It required no heroes.

        Once I was put into foster care to await the decision everything seemed to settle down.  It was, however, understood that it settled down for only one reason. My father had told me that he was fighting this custody battle because he wanted to raise me in his house.  I was absolutely thrilled when I heard this.  I did love my mother of course, but, in my inexperienced mind, I thought it would be an interesting vacation.  Besides, Mom lived just down the street from Dad's house, and she could visit anytime she likes. This foster-care thing was in itself a vacation that just got more interesting each time they put me somewhere else.  I knew I'd be back at my house soon enough though.  My dad was trying to win the battle, and I knew he could.

But, I began to have my doubts.

        I was told I had to wait six months this time because my dad wasn’t showing up at the battle.  I still liked to call it that. So, according to them, until he showed up regularly, I couldn't go home.  My dad still loved me and wanted me, though.  I knew that.  He was probably just busy...even though he didn't work?  What could make him that busy that he didn't want me back?  He'll do it.  

        My social worker, Chrissy, left after she had told me the weird news.  She was an Interesting person.  Skinny, tall, and pretty, she always even gave me a pretty smile.  About every other time she visited, she took to a cool restaurant like Chucky Cheeses', McDonald's, Burger King, or some other fun place.  The times when we didn't go out, we stayed at my foster home and just talked.  She would ask me how things were going, emotionally, school-wise, and how things were faring at home.
Then she would leave.  And I would be alone again without my family.

I'm told I have to get adopted.  I was twelve.