Living in Foster Homes Through a Church
It was called AGAPE and it was a foster child placement agency where Church of Christ members take in abused and/or neglected children temporarily, sometimes leading to a permanent placement later. Although my sister and I had attended this particular church a few years earlier, we were not currently members but had no other resources at our disposal.
Having made the call to Cindy that summer day telling her that things with my dad had escalated to the point where I was in fear for my life and terrified that he was going to cross the line to intercourse with me, she and I now sat in the small lobby of AGAPE and waited to talk to a counselor. Numerous pictures lined the halls and walls in the building of happy familiies with their children and foster children.
Nervously we explained the situation and I was told I would be placed for three weeks with a couple who had two daughters until a permanent foster home could be found for me within the church.
It’s all fuzzy as to how I managed to get away from my dad the day I left to move in with this family. I only know Cindy rescued me once again to take me to the agency, whose counselor would then drive me to my new temporary home close by the church.
The Letchworths were in their 40s and their little girls, Jill, 1, and another daughter, age 7, were avid churchgoers with their parents. Carol, the mom, was a homemaker and her husband Tom was a gentle, loving provider who reminded me of Mr. Cunningham from the show “Happy Days”. Their older daughter was a feisty one with lots of energy and often lots of tantrums. Jill was adorable and had long blondish-brown hair and chipmunk cheeks, usually with a smile on her face. I still have a picture of her somewhere.
From the beginning it was peaceful, the most calm I’d ever felt in a home. There were no fights, no throwing of dishes, craziness, and no parties. I was given a few chores, though not many and basically all I had to do was go to school, do my homework, and be the fifteen-year-old I was.
Although my time there was brief, I have fond memories of my stay. Carol cooked every night, the family ate together, dealt with their older daughter’s outbursts, doted on the kids, watched t.v., and did the typical domestic things a “normal” family would do.
On Labor Day we went to one of my favorite beaches, a man-made beach where Cindy and I had gone to day camp. I remember just sitting on my beach towel, calmly, watching this foster couple I lived with tend to their children. We later picnicked with no drama or trauma, just as a family.
During this entire time I was in touch with Cindy through letters, visits, and phone calls and we were both grateful I had a good home even though we knew it was temporary. I figured if the permanent one was going to be anything like this temporary one, I was home free.
As part of wanting to please this couple, I got baptized in their church. I had no religious leanings nor beliefs except for maybe being mad at God for my childhood though I didn’t know that at the time. But I saw how important being baptized was to them so I volunteered one Sunday night much to their extreme excitement.
They got on the phone immediately afterwards and told my soon to be permanent foster parents who I hadn’t met yet, also church members and the four of them were now so excited for me, so proud. I couldn’t let them down.
So I didn’t have any behavioral problems while living with my temporary family because I felt accepted, loved, and I didn’t want to mess up my permanent placement. I didn’t know at the time I was angry for the past or present because I wanted so much to have a permanent, good, safe home. So I just stuffed my feelings and put all my energy into pleasing everyone.
It touched me that Mrs. Letchworth trusted me with her kids, even if it meant just for a minute as she ran in the store for a second. She made special meals for us, asked me about school, and hugged me good night. I didn’t feel unsafe with her husband and sometimes in the late afternoon as I lay in bed I could hear the high school band practicing and I would fantasize about being a majorette, twirling my baton high in the air and being admired.
I had taken up baton twirling at the age of ten and was good at it but never good enough to make it on the squad though it was something I’d always dreamed of. I was too shy, too awkward, and it was all I could do just to survive and get through a day. It took all my emotional energy to tend to what I had to do every day.
When I hear stories about foster kids being abused in their new foster homes I am always so grateful that that didn’t happen to me and very sad for them because they were being re-abused.
Not long before I left The Letchworths they told me they were going to be moving out of state, back toward one of their hometowns. I was sad about this but I hadn’t gotten too attached since I was only there for a short time.
Soon the time came for me to meet my new foster parents, the permanent ones where I was supposed to stay until I graduated from high school. They were excited to meet me and lived close to their church, also.
I said a sad goodbye to The Letchworths but knew where I was going was going to be just as nice if not even better.
Or at least that’s what I hoped for and expected with all of my heart.
