Okay, so I have had a wonderful boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean I was a normal kid. I wasn’t a kid, in my heart and soul I was at least sixteen. What I had seen, done, and felt I can promise you no other third grader at my school had been witness to. Ever.
I first met John when I was about six. For as long as I could remember my mom would let guys come into the house with her, disappear in her room, and then (just as fast as they came) the men were gone for good. I wish that was the case for all of them, but one was too obstinate to just walk away. His name was John Earnest.
John was a retired military man. He had a son who was older than my sister and a divorced wife who lived in another state. Sometimes I wished she didn’t ever separate from John. Then… maybe… just maybe, life for me would have been normal. To live in the same house or even the same town my whole childhood, what I would have done for that. But I mustn’t cry over spilled milk or spoiled milk at that…
He was a nice guy, like the perfect father. He pushed me on the swings- something my dad seemed not to have time for. He fed me home cooked meals- something my dad rarely did. He helped me bathe- I don’t know why my dad didn’t… He called me sweetie, instead of pumpkin- the name of a fat orange vegetable! Was I fat and orange to him? I guess I’ll never know. Anyway, he was a great father figure, or so I thought!
I mean, his son had everything he could want. He had like a bazillion puzzle majigs that he put together in shapes of ships! He had one the length of his outstretched arm and height of my eight year old outstretched arm; it was a small scale model of the Titanic. Besides that, he got anything he asked for, and by his looks- tall, strong, skinny, gorgeous sandy blonde hair, and glistening blue eyes- one could tell he was well cared for.
To top off all his qualities, John looked pretty decent for being as old as he was. I guess his looks are the reason my mom liked him so much, but that I’ll never know.
Although he seemed like a good father figure, I never really saw him act that way behind closed doors. I mean if you think him trying to seduce me is fatherly, then I guess he was. Now that I look at it dads shouldn’t give their daughters a bath. Besides, usually if they do give them baths they only do nice stuff to make sure that little incident is NOT reported. So I don’t see John as a father, I see him as a molester.
We’ll cover that later. The main thing is that if you are six, you cannot do much by yourself. So when your mom sneaks off with Him for half the day, every day; it is hard for you to be kept in good shape- especially if it is in the summer. As my mom shifted all her attention from her precious six year old, to a guy who was about ten years older than her, I found a new mother.
This new mother is also known as my sister, Danielle. She gave up her live as an ten year old and learned to cook, clean, and teach; just so her little sister could have a childhood. That was an amazing thing for her to do, and I would love if the story just stopped there, but sadly it doesn’t. It goes on to more tragic things.
With John around, the idea that I could have a childhood was spoiled. No, he wanted me to grow up in a blink of an eye, so…so he could have all the attention- sexually, psychologically and physically.
Soon ALL attention was on John. I think that gave him a little too much power because his ego grew so big he found the power not only to molest me but- from her physical and emotional hints- I think my sister got his power splurge worse…

“John- the perfect egoistic jerk that ever walked the earth! I hate him, I hate him, I hate hi………” uncontrollable sobbing filled my little throat and drowned out the McDonald’s music. My sister who was playing on the slide jumped halfway down and ran as fast as possible towards me. As she jutted to a stop, her arms were there; she, my new mom, was holding me tight asking what was wrong. But that wasn’t what I wanted, I wanted to talk to my biological mother to tell her about John, and that is just what I did.
“Mom…I wanted to tell you what has been going on between John and I…”
“Oh, O.K.” At the mention of his name her face brightened, but she was still agitated with me.
“Um… he’s… John goes to bed naked, with me!” I finally managed to say.

Unimpressed and even more agitated she replied, “Don’t worry I’ll tell him to stop.”

I stood up and walked to the restroom. That was the first time I ever thought I hated my mom. ‘How could I think I hated her? She brought me into this world, she can take me out! But she just denied me my right of protection! Maybe she was just upset! But that look on her face…’ My thoughts jumbled into one big blur, a big blob of hate and love and denial.
That was when I realized that Danielle had followed. There we were, together in a one person restroom both fuming and red, but all I can remember was her taking me into her arms and telling me in her motherly voice that she was there for me.
That was exactly what I needed, but not from her! I loved her and still greatly appreciate the gesture, but she should have been my sisterly figure. In a way I took away her innocence too- I made her feel she had to be there for me, that she had to turn into my mother. At the same time, though, that is what I needed, wanted, and why we are so close today. I really and truly needed her there, especially then because my mom never told him and he sure didn't stop on his own...

Dust flies, trees pass, we swerve on the road; we pass it again and again. Each time I feel as if there is no air around me, as if I am drowning in memories intertwined with the present.
“I asked where is it?” his voice was outraged, angry, appalled; but because I knew him I could see the fear in his eyes, I could tell Danielle and I were not the only ones who were scared.

“Tell me!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, every passenger in the car jumped at the startling sound. He counteracted his alarming scream with a “Please…” His lip was trembling as he begged us.

My baby brother, Banner’s, car seat separated Danielle and I but our arms were slid under the back, our hands clasped in the middle. This was it. Tell dad and our troubles would be over as well as we would never see mom again; or we could keep quiet and mom wouldn’t have to go away, but John would still be lurking in our life like Jeepers Creepers.


For a long time Danielle and I stared into each other’s eyes. Around us the noises of Banner’s cries, dad’s shouting, and my step-mom, Esther’s, calm voice. All this and more was around us, but Danielle and I were stuck in our own little world. Simultaneously we snapped back and said in unison, “I don’t remember!”

Then Danielle played the ‘daddy’s little girl’ card intermixed with sobs- “Daddy, I just want to go home… what if you die… I can’t live without you… please… daddy?”

The car stopped and once again daddy saved the day, but this time from his own terrorizing events. He talked to us in a loving tone, apologized, turned the car around, bought us ice-cream, and soon we were at home being tucked into bed.


But it wasn’t over. John was still out there, he was still planning his next visit with us, still being…John.

Some would say we were traders and protected John, but in reality we protected dad. Because what most people don’t know is that dad had a weapon with him; he was planning to hurt John to protect his little girls. Daddy had a weapon, but John had the experience of twenty years in the military under his belt, over twenty guns in a display case next to the door, and hated people who didn’t listen to him. Dad on the other hand may have had spiky scales, but his underbelly was incredibly soft. Besides that he was very overweight and he ran as slow as a snail because he was out of shape. John would have won the fight. Knowing John, he would have went off on Ester, hurt Banner, and done the unimaginable to his escaped prey.
Dad was a great dad otherwise he would never had planned to sacrifice his life for us, but he wasn’t always good. He was also an alcoholic and tobacco addict. Regardless he was my dad and he did try to save us. Even so, his bad habits were catching up with him, and the daddy who had stood as my protector was about to do his last heroic deed…

I sit on the couch at eight in the morning and sing along with Toby Keith to the song “I wanna to Talk about Me” that is currently playing on my dad’s television. At eight thirty, mom has arrived to pick her girls up for the one month summer visit, the court had approved.

In the car she tells us her brilliant plan- apparently whether we like it or not, we are moving away with her and John by the end of the month. At this point I kind of wish that dad got his chance for revenge or that I never got into this car. Within the first week we have a lot of errands that mom makes us do. On Friday she convinces us to go see our dad. Because of his recent gallbladder removal he cannot drive. We go out to a seafood restaurant and my mom sits at the table with us, as if she needs to supervise him. During lunch my dad begs my mom for forgiveness of his many crimes against her, he asks to move back home, and promises all will be better.
Mom… lets just say she is appalled. When we get back to the car she buckles him in and a painful groan echoes in the car; the seatbelt is way too tight on my dad’s surgery area, but my mom just lets out a satisfied grunt. Her last words to him before we drive away are: I hate you, stupid m*****-f****** bastard.
That Tuesday we stayed out all day running errands, and I had a horrible feeling in the gut of my stomach, I felt so bad I decided to cut off my hair. We went to the barbers to do so; my hair was shaved off in the back and cut to where it would hang just above my eyes all the way around my head.
We got home late that night and the feeling in my gut was getting worse. Very quickly we realized my grandma Jorene (Dad’s Mom) had left 27 messages on the phone. Just as my mom stepped out to get a phone card my grandma called back. As soon as the phone was at my mother’s ear, my sister and I were shooed off to our room with our shitzu, Dodger. My mom started screaming and crying, muffled words entered our room but I just tuned them out. I sat and played with my toys while Danielle rocked back and forth on her bed. Suddenly she stopped and our eyes met.
“Dad’s dead… I can feel it.” Her words hung in the air, tight and still; motionless in the room that would become just another memory of the past. My toy dropped to the floor, almost as quickly as I said ‘no’ and was on my feet. Before I realized it I was on top of my sister shaking her saying, “take it back.”
But she didn’t; she couldn’t. My mom didn’t have the guts to tell us. Instead she took us to her friends’ house- a three hour drive- and they held us in THEIR arms and told us. My reality was crushed, but my soul didn’t realize this until the morning; I cried the whole day.
As it turns out he died of an aneurism on the left side of his brain, right below his ear. I wanted to keep him in my memory but my mom wanted to get rid of him. So she pawned every item of his that she could get her hands on, even the things his kids wanted.
I hated her, she didn’t let me say bye to Juan; she sold all of my dad’s stuff; when I cried because I saw my dad’s blood ‘Suck it up’ were her only words; and worst of all when John and my attorney fought for her attention at the court hearing, he won hers and the judges. He got off the hook with community service at a juvenile center- I felt really bed for those kids.

Mom Ruby was not my protector, and soon she wasn’t my guardian either. Twenty-three days after my dad’s death, the cops came and took Danielle and I away. Our new label: foster children…

Alone
I’m rejected and alone,
Everyone looks down on me in shame,
My life is pitiful,
I walk the streets with loneliness crowding around me,
How can I pull this thought out of my head,
I simply can’t,
I walk with this dreadful thought following me,
Although I was a very bright and happy girl,
Those days have seeped away now,
I live here thinking of the old,
Wishing for it to come back,
It isn’t easy in my shoes,
The only other thing I can think of,
Is the hope of one day being happy again...
By: Lauren Tyler-Smith 2009

I remember this shelter- the dark chill it gives me, the lice infested heads running around, the “pretend-to-care” adults that surrounded me, the dark walls, the fake smiles, the shared clothes- it was in my past. Not only was I here physically, but psychologically this was my childhood… I didn’t realize this till know.
Yesterday night was my first lonely night. Usually Danielle and I sleep in the same bed together because we can’t afford a second bed. Even when a second bed is there it is never put to use. The reason being is because I was so scared of being lost.
To be lost is one of my utmost fears- to be surrounded by people and never find one familiar face; to not see a single loved one around me. To be utterly lost in this hateful world of millions, scares me so much I shiver just thinking about it. That’s why I prefer to sleep by my sister every night, because I know I’m not lost, not alone.

But yesterday night, I entered the real world. The staff had no realization of what sleeping alone meant-it terrorized me, gave me nightmares, and worst of all took away my protection- leaving me vulnerable. I awoke this morning to utter chaos, no mom or dad, no warming calls, no bright and shining face of Danielle’s. No, just the shrill voice of life banging at my door saying, “your no longer a child, you can do it all by yourself, so… get to it … stop being a baby… you’re an orphan, nobody wants you… why are you crying? Big girls don’t cry! Want a diaper, ‘cause you aren’t getting one, use your hands!” Life is laughing in my face and tears streak my cheeks, Danielle is too sad to even ask what’s wrong…

I’m in a foster home now. It took me months to get out of that shelter, but I still have Danielle. She’s not the same though. She’s all obsessed with boys, instead of me- like she used to be. What I would give for those days to come back, I loved our closeness.

Wait, why is there an EMC vehicle next to the 6th grade bathroom. Don’t tell me it was Danielle, please no! I’m running across the playground now, although I can’t tell you when I started, I’m almost there. My legs are flying me over to the restroom. Their saying she’s not hurt, but who is She? A crowd formed before I could reach her, now I can’t see. I am jumping up and down, I just caught one glimpse of a bloody wrist- one wrist I know a little too well. I’m on the floor crying now. This can’t be happening! Somebody, please pinch me! Wait no one can because no one’s here.
I am alone in my bedroom now. It was once our shared bedroom. Boy, do I miss her. The days have all blended together since she left. I hope she is okay, an RTC doesn’t sound much fun; but neither is my predicament…
“Alone in a world of millions, unloved in a place called home, what else can I expect, I am just a foster kid.”

At first I cried all night, but now… now I just sit and take it. I mean no one is going to see me tears, hear my sobs, and never, ever will anyone ever get compensation for me. Oh, I wish it wasn’t this way. I am eleven years old, and my sister, who’s far away, has passed into adulthood at age 13! While, my lucky predicament is I’m stuck in my old shoes…
I’ve always been an annoyed child, making “me” and “prey” exchangeable words. The reason for my tears and current anger towards the world is because of what that has caused… once again I’ve become prey.
I’ve been in my current foster home two years. Prey for those whole two years. To whom, you ask? John Earnest, 30 years younger. Actually, his name is Joe. A fat, gangster wanna-be! I hate him! I hate him! I really do hate him! Now that that is out of my system, I’ll explain.
Once my sister left, my role model… my idol, was my foster sister Sally Guevara. I worshipped the ground she walked on, did everything she asked me to, and followed her every move. That’s the reason that when she asked me to date her biological brother- my foster brother- Joe because he really liked me, I said, “yes” in a heartbeat.
I mean- he seemed nice. Yeah, he had his flaws- way over weight, went to a detention correction facility for a school, and was involved in a gang. Still he seemed nice- and it was a request from Sally-so I went out with him. Huge mistake. Biggg MISTAKE! Biggest MISTAKE of my life!
O.K. maybe not the biggest mistake of my life, but it was pretty big. I mean it screwed up my whole life at this foster home…
Today, he smoked Marijuana then made me kiss him! I feel so perverted. He made me do other things that should have made him feel like a pervert because molesting a child five years younger then you shouldn’t give you a good sensation. No, it should be a horrifying experience only forced people should do, but no, Mr. Joe didn’t get that memo. No, he progressed from trying to seduce me, to either sticking a knife to my throat or a gun to my head- literally- depending on what mood he was in.
I feel so violated, so confused- should I let the abuse continue and have a warm home to stay in or tell the truth to a caseworker and… and know not what comes next? How horrible this all is… Oh, how I wish I led a normal life!
I chose the wrong choice! I have nowhere to go now! If he hadn’t died, I mean the foster dad, then I wouldn’t have gotten all upset and then I wouldn’t have told and wouldn’t be in respite now! Mostly, I worry that maybe just maybe I’d have a home right now!
I told the case worker and she put me in a respite home, then a new one, then, oh I don’t even now where I am any more! All the days blurr together! Even the homes have blurred together…
If only if I had kept one more little secret…

Home? There’s no such thing as home for me! Over 21 placements in less than eight years, hurt and sadness are my lifelong companions, as well as my senses of life...
Senses of Life
I saw the man hurting her.
I saw how the mom’s soul didn’t seem to stir.
I saw the car that took her away.
I saw the soul of that little girl decay.

I saw her sadness in her first foster home,
Saw how she wouldn’t even touch a comb.
I saw her heart turn to stone,
For that foster home treated her like a bone.

I saw her move to many different places.
I saw her pass through them unseen by many faces.
I saw her lose hope in the world.
I could see her faith in life had been hurled.

Then I saw her begin to change.
Her life then seemed so strange.
She ate to make up for her pain.
I saw her get huge, and her pain was temporarily slain.

By: Lauren Tyler-Smith
2011

How can a person love you if they have no blood relation to you? I am almost positive the answer is, ‘thanks to a miracle.’ Esther, my step-mom, is that miracle in my life. Esther met me when I was three years old and never gave up on me. When I was put into care at the age of nine, I felt unloved and alone in a world of millions. Then I realized I still had my step-mom; not only has she been by my side she has also been a major influence on my life.

I remember being a young child like it was yesterday…


“Lauren, didn’t I tell you to behave?”

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” I exclaimed with spaghetti hanging out of my mouth.

My step-mom couldn’t help but laugh. Her laugh still echoes in my head today, a soft generous laugh, more like a giggle.

“Lauren sit up straight, chew with your mouth closed, and don’t talk with food in your mouth,” she managed to say after gaining control of herself.

“O.K.” I stammered. Truthfully I was upset.

Looking back at this day in our cozy kitchen I can’t help but smile. I was so mad at the fact that she wouldn’t stop correcting me. Right now I am so glad she did what she did. I look down at myself and see a perfectionist, but one who knows limits. I see a girl who is becoming a sophisticated woman. Thanks to my step-mom, I am not a slob.

“Rubicon Toon, I want this toy and I want it NOW! ” I glared at my biological mother with a parental stare.

“Honey, we don’t have the money for that…” as she started to say this I threw myself on the floor and thrashed about until she gave in.

When my step-mom learned of this incident she put me through another lesson, this time with a harder force. Although my step-mom could care less about my mom, she did love me. She taught me through discipline she could show love. Her discipline was never harsh, it was just very firm. I am so glad she corrected me whenever she was given a chance because if she hadn’t I would currently be a high maintenance tantrum thrower.
When abused both of these males knew what they were doing was wrong, and in each instance there was a witness, one being my mom the other being my foster sister. Both witnesses took the abusers side. In just a few years I was hurt beyond imagination by these people and truthfully I just wanted to die. But I didn’t dare think of that as an option, my step-mom wouldn’t let me. Although she was physically miles away in my heart she was right beside me, teaching me how to live all over again. My step-mom was a great teacher, through her actions she taught me how to love. When I step back and watch my actions, I see that same type of love she gave me being passed out to others. I have become a loving person thanks to Esters help.
Many people would have given up on everything after what happened to me, but I still had hope: my step-mom was still there. She, my guardian angel, was there to be my comforter; to show me love. Because my step-mom showed me how to love I did not give up. I felt as if there was hope for some one to love me, even though my God given parents couldn’t. I give all the of my life credit to my step-mom; after all the I am me because of the gifts my step-mom gave me: love, behavior, and manners.

Esther was a major influence on my behaviors and me. If she had not been there, I wouldn’t be the 3.94 GPA, school loving, dual-credit student that I am. Because Esther held onto our relationship like a dog clutches his food bowl at dinner time, I did not become a sloppy, tantrum throwing, heartless person. I have had a hard life through foster care and an even harder life living through abuse, but I was never alone. Throughout my life I had a form of an angel by my side because I had Esther. Esther was there for me through everything; she loved me, she nurtured me, and she listened to me. Foster care was hell, but through her it became heaven. I am glad to be who I am and without her I wouldn’t be anything that I am.

“She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not, SHE LOVES ME! REALLY! IS IT TRUE? REALLY?…Oh, I didn’t see you here! No…Whoa, way off!.... OF COURSE I am 100% sure I am not bisexual or gay! Why in the world would you think that?... Ohhh, I see! You thought I was trying to see if a girl loved me! NOOOOOOOO WAY Jose! I was just trying to do- well there’s this problem I have- I can’t seem to function properly if I don’t have every little detail planned out and give every object a human characteristic… I know it sounds silly, BUT it IS the truth.

Well, this flower here was taking the shape of my new mom… I didn’t tell you? Well, since it is a long story I better start now:


One day I was sitting in the shelter, Meadowlands- I had gotten really cozy there… I had a fake mom named Victoria, A Girl Scout Mom named Brenda, a fake Grandma named Anita, and best of all my real family came to see me every month! It was perfect! I had everything a teen who thought she was going to age out of the foster care system, could want. I planned out every detail of college, and how I was going to come back to Meadowlands for visits…
It was all so perfect, so dreamy… then uncertainty just had to ruin it! He had to come knocking at my door with a well done steak, a strawberry shake, and a cherry on top! He had no right to blind my peripheral vision so instead of seeing reality, I only saw the ifs- the things he was holding in his hand! As soon as I was vulnerable he dropped the stuff from his hand, and as I began to indulge I realized something- I couldn’t go back! He made it were I had a new reality and the ifs still just keep coming…
Oh…You don’t understand, do you? O.K. I’ll explain the details!

One day at meadow lands I was scheduled to meet an adopted parent, but it got put off so I could meet an adoption family. Well, the family appeared not to want to adopt a teen, but adopt a baby-sitter, or so it seemed to me! So I declined after a few visits and instead met the adopted mom.
This time the prospective adopter was single. She sent me an autobiography and pictures, and then she came to visit. She brought the two other teens she had adopted. I spent four hours- or maybe five- with them in one day! They bought food for me; we had so much fun! After that I called her almost every night, but I couldn’t see her since she lived in Lubbock and me in Boerne.
Finally Christmas came and it was time for our visit, she drove down with the two teens and their three dogs. Then she drove me to Lubbock. On Christmas Eve she gave me what seemed like thousands of presents! Of course it wasn’t; but anyway, then the next day we FLEW- my first plane ride- to SAN FRANSISCO! We spent a full week there, then went back to Lubbock, then I flew back to Boerne.
I don’t know how short of a time later, but we started our life together. So The steak was a family, the shake was a mom, and the cherry on top was, I hate to admit this- but it’s true- the cherry on top was love. But the problem is she keeps saying I am too much trouble, she is even thinking of sending me away! So I was thinking maybe she doesn’t love me, but then- just now actually- I realized she does. The reason for my assumption is because looking at all of the evidence I can see it not me she hates it is my behavior…

So, you see she does REALLY and TRULY love me…

Now I’m hers, and she’s mine…


Forevermore will our linked hearts soar…


Always will our love endure…