Too much hype and drama.Too much hysteria.Too many empty shelves at the grocery store. State of Emergency issued for the entire state. School MIGHT be closed. Don't drive anywhere!
Why all this? Because of the weather forecast that started a week ago. You'd think it was Armegadden or Snowmegadden as a storm was called a few years ago. Huge amounts of snow. Freezing rain and then snow on top. Night after night the hype continued THEN ......... the forecast for snow dropped to almost nothing.
So what does this have to do with a potato? Glad you asked! It is about winter. That cold, miserable, windy, freezing weather that Oklahoma gets so often. It reminded me of a Laura Ingalls Wilder book that I read to my 4th graders years and years ago. The title was "The Long Winter."
To say this book is powerful, is quite an understatement. Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote about the long winter in Minnesota in which the entire town was on the verge of starvation. In the book, as the winter howls on, and the only way to keep their house warm (they were in town at the time) was to twist hay tightly into knots and burn it in the stove. The hay burned so fast, that Laura and her father twisted hay all day long to keep them from freezing. All the food in the town had been bought and used up. Most families had little to nothing to eat. A supply train was supposed to bring them supplies in December, but got caught in a huge blizzard. When the train hit a huge drift of snow on the rails, the entire train slammed to a complete stop. They couldn't go on. As the engine cooled, the snow that had melted when that hot engine hit the drift, became sheets of ice that encased the engine in a solid block of ice. The train would not make it to the Ingall's town.
In the Ingall's household, the food was down to one potato per person per day. The potatoes were baked in the ashes of the wood stove and that was their food for the day. Think about that. It is hard to understand in this day of so much food ready all the time. One potato. That's it.
During read aloud time, I read this book to my students. They were mesmerized. One day I decided to do an LEA (Language Experience Activity) with baked potatoes. I put potatoes in a crock pot, and baked them during the morning. When they were done, I gave each student a potato to eat while I read several chapters from the book. I read the part about the Ingalls having only one potato each per day to eat.
Because of the starving families, a group of men went out to hunt, hoping they would be able to find any kind of game. The group saw an antelope which would have provided just a tiny bit of meat for each family. But one of the men was so excited to see a source of food, he shot too quickly and scared off the antelope. I remember the kids gasped when I read that part. Their faces were a mix of horror and anger. I stopped just after the antelope part.
After I read, I told them we were going to write letters/journal entry. I told them they could pick any character in the book - and they were to write a letter or a journal entry from that perspective dealing with the one potato per person and/or the antelope getting away. How did that person feel? Were they angry? Scared? Frustrated? Starving? So my kids wrote and wrote and wrote!
I honestly didn't know what to expect when I read their papers. I was completely blown away - it was so powerful!. Some were mothers not being able to feed their babies. Some were one of the men in the hunting group and the frustration of not getting the antelope. One student wrote as a dad, and his writing made me cry. His letter was pure anguish over not being a good provider for his children, and how upset he was that the antelope got away. He said he felt worthless because he could not provide food for his children. That letter was so powerful, I felt like I was right there in the room with that dad, anguishing over not having food for his children.
All their writing was wonderful. That has been 21 years ago, but I remember it like yesterday. So thus the title - One potato.
This lesson was powerful. Most children today have no idea of what real hunger is. Food is everywhere. In America, food is thrown away every day - in quantities to feed thousands of people. Probably hundreds of thousands of people. In our lunchroom at school alone - the food that the students throw away could easily feed 50 families. The waste is staggering. As I think back to the winter of near starvation for the Ingalls, the contrast between then and now takes my breath away.
One potato. To survive.
Friday, December 7, 2018
Tuesday, October 2, 2018
My Most difficult decision ever.
*** Warning. This post is about being a foster parent. I have changed names to protect the child. There is a lot of pain in this blog. I have not posted about this experience before - although it happened 26 years ago. In November, a couple of years ago, I was thrilled to get to visit with friends that I grew up with in Kansas, in our tiny church. One of my friends has been a foster parent for years. Visiting with her, listening to her talk about her experiences as a foster parent gave me the courage to finally put in print that secret part of me that has hurt for 26 years.
First off - some background. At the time of this foster child, I was 44 years old. I was in college full time for my first year of going back to school to get my teaching degree. It was in April - and I was in the middle of studying my head off for finals. Year is 1995. Our daughter was married and expecting our first grandchild. Our son was in his first year of college in Ashland, Wisconsin. Hubby had retired from the police department after 21 years, and had gone to work the very next day as a criminal investigator for the Sheriff's Department.
The beginning of my journey. As I was coming home from class, my husband called me on the car phone. I answered and he asked me what I thought about taking a foster child. I really didn't know what to say and we had never thought about it. I rather lamely said that I guessed it might be ok. His reply gave me such a shock, I nearly wrecked the car. He said that was good because a foster child was on the way to our home and would be there in minutes.
To say I was shocked was the understatement of the decade. Within minutes of me getting home, a DHS worker drove up with the girl. She was 9 years old, and was wearing a dress that was an adult dress, way to big for her and hung on her little body. She had an old cotton scarf on her head. Then her eyes - they were terrified. Somehow I managed to talk to the DHS worker - I honestly don't even remember anything I said or they said. They left - and all of a sudden I was an instant foster mom.
I talked to this precious girl for awhile and told her that my husband would be home soon. Found out from her that she had been removed from her aunt and uncle's house because of neglect and molestation from her cousins. The little girl came only with a trash bag of clothes. I went through them and was completely horrified to find them dirty, and most of them were adult clothes.
I did remember that the DHS worker said they would give me a check to get her some new clothes and things she needed. I knew a shopping trip would be in the future.
We sat down at our counter in the kitchen and I told her I needed to study. She said ok., and sat down beside me. I studied some, and then looked over at this poor child. She was staring at me with broken eyes and broken soul, her eyes filled with tears. I stopped what I was doing, grabbed her in a huge hug, and told her things would be ok. She took a shower, and I found a T-shirt of mine for her sleep in. Hubby came home. I had choice words for him. Then the rest of the story came out. After they removed her from the home she was at, she came with him to the sheriff's office. She instantly bonded with my big hubby and sat on his lap hugging him because she was so scared and broken. When the DHS worker came to get her to place her in a foster home, she started crying, screaming and asking to go home with her big buddy. The DHS worker said that if my hubby, Charley and I would take her, they could certify us as an emergency foster home. So he did, we did and she came to us.
I can tell you honestly, I fell in love with that sweet girl. Went shopping, bought her clothes, bought her some roller skates and a sewing box because she said she liked to sew. Fixed her hair in two Princess Leia buns for school. Talked and laughed with her. We did all the things that normal people do. We became a family and she loved it.
But she could not maintain at her school She caused so much chaos there, we were asked to remove her. So during the day, she attended school at a mental hospital for children, and came home to us in the evening.
We both loved her so much. We took her with us camping at the lake. She and I took a walk every evening and talked about everything. We laid in my hammock for hours talking, giggling and learning, little by little what her life had been like.
But it wasn't long until bad things began happening. She stole cigarettes from our neighbor, she stole stuff from our daughter and her husband. She ran from us at times and hubby had to chase her down. I found my flip flops outside and the sole was black. She said she borrowed them to go to the creek and that was why they were black on the bottom. I discovered the truth - she had set a fire a couple feet in front of our motorhome, got scared and stomped it out with my flipflops. Our son came home from college, and we had to put a lock on his door to keep her from destroying things in his room.
Again, I have to say - we both loved her deeply. But we saw the signs that whatever she had suffered from in her former homes, it was so deep and so drastic, she was very very damaged. Our daughter was pregnant with our first grandchild. Of course, she was over to our house often and we were at their house. Our little girl started saying things such as: she didn't want our daughter to be here, she hated that baby, she wanted to kill that baby, etc. She drew pictures at school that were disturbing to us. We took them to a child psychologist to see, and to tell them about the things she was doing at home. We listened, and sought advice from two more child psychologists and a DHS worker. They all said that she was a danger to herself and to the unborn child. They all three said that for the safety of our daughter and the unborn baby, she needed to go into an intense specialized foster home.
What a horrible decision to make. HORRIBLE! We loved her but could not risk our daughter or our unborn grandchild. We couldn't risk her setting fire to the house or surrounding areas. She was just too broken.
BUT she loved us, giggled, talked, and dressed up like any other child. We shared stories and time in the hammock. She roller skated. She sewed things from her sewing kit. She loved camping and the great outdoors and the water. But when she realized that she would be competing for our attention with a new baby, she could not handle it. We saw the anger, the hurt and the destructiveness that she had bottled up inside her. It was not something we could fix.
We sat down with her and told her that she was being placed in another home. She cried and cried. I cried and cried. I was told to take her to Youth and Family Services. I did. She was screaming and trying to get away from the worker as I drove away. She kept screaming my name and saying, Marty, please come back. Marty, please come back.
I got a little ways from the center, and had to pull over to the side of the road. I was crying so hard, I couldn't see to drive.
It doesn't get better. DHS didn't keep their word and put her in a specialized foster home. They put her in a mental hospital. We got to see her a few times. Then they moved her miles from us - and told us we could not see her again because it wasn't good for her.
I will tell you that part of my heart broke that day. It took years and years for me to get over that pain. I also vowed never to take another foster child, ever.
Years passed, and we heard she had been put back in her mom's home - where she had been moved from in the first place, because of their abuse. Her mother was a practicing white witch - whatever that was. We did see her a couple of times, and then decided it wasn't healthy for us or for her.
We completely lost contact, heard news here and there of drug abuse, prostitution to pay for her drugs, a baby born, and then another.
I picked up the newspaper one day, and she was on the front page. A police officer had tried to pull her over for some reason. It could have been because she was under the influence of drugs or alcohol, it might have been a traffic related offense. We never found out. She ran from the police in her car at high speeds, and crashed going around a curve, and died. 21 years old.
It flattened me for months. I wondered - if we had kept her, could we have changed things around. Could we have gotten her away from the destructive and dangerous activities. Could we have kept her from dying in a police chase.
We'll never know. I doubt it - because that precious girl was broken.
It happens every single day, every single moment. Before I started back to college, I worked at the Juvenile Office in the courthouse. If we removed a child from their home, we had 24 hours to get the Petition typed and ready for the judge - or we had to release them back from where they came from.
I already knew about abuse - I typed the Petitions for years, with tears in my eyes, wondering how human beings could hurt and destroy their own children. It was awful, awful, awful.
I knew in my soul that we could not have saved her. But it still hurt for years.
The saddest part is that there are thousands of children, just like our sweet girl, who are abused every minute of every day. They are the walking wounded. They are those children who will grow up to commit crimes, or abuse their children. It is a war that will never end.
I have no answers.
First off - some background. At the time of this foster child, I was 44 years old. I was in college full time for my first year of going back to school to get my teaching degree. It was in April - and I was in the middle of studying my head off for finals. Year is 1995. Our daughter was married and expecting our first grandchild. Our son was in his first year of college in Ashland, Wisconsin. Hubby had retired from the police department after 21 years, and had gone to work the very next day as a criminal investigator for the Sheriff's Department.
The beginning of my journey. As I was coming home from class, my husband called me on the car phone. I answered and he asked me what I thought about taking a foster child. I really didn't know what to say and we had never thought about it. I rather lamely said that I guessed it might be ok. His reply gave me such a shock, I nearly wrecked the car. He said that was good because a foster child was on the way to our home and would be there in minutes.
To say I was shocked was the understatement of the decade. Within minutes of me getting home, a DHS worker drove up with the girl. She was 9 years old, and was wearing a dress that was an adult dress, way to big for her and hung on her little body. She had an old cotton scarf on her head. Then her eyes - they were terrified. Somehow I managed to talk to the DHS worker - I honestly don't even remember anything I said or they said. They left - and all of a sudden I was an instant foster mom.
I talked to this precious girl for awhile and told her that my husband would be home soon. Found out from her that she had been removed from her aunt and uncle's house because of neglect and molestation from her cousins. The little girl came only with a trash bag of clothes. I went through them and was completely horrified to find them dirty, and most of them were adult clothes.
I did remember that the DHS worker said they would give me a check to get her some new clothes and things she needed. I knew a shopping trip would be in the future.
We sat down at our counter in the kitchen and I told her I needed to study. She said ok., and sat down beside me. I studied some, and then looked over at this poor child. She was staring at me with broken eyes and broken soul, her eyes filled with tears. I stopped what I was doing, grabbed her in a huge hug, and told her things would be ok. She took a shower, and I found a T-shirt of mine for her sleep in. Hubby came home. I had choice words for him. Then the rest of the story came out. After they removed her from the home she was at, she came with him to the sheriff's office. She instantly bonded with my big hubby and sat on his lap hugging him because she was so scared and broken. When the DHS worker came to get her to place her in a foster home, she started crying, screaming and asking to go home with her big buddy. The DHS worker said that if my hubby, Charley and I would take her, they could certify us as an emergency foster home. So he did, we did and she came to us.
I can tell you honestly, I fell in love with that sweet girl. Went shopping, bought her clothes, bought her some roller skates and a sewing box because she said she liked to sew. Fixed her hair in two Princess Leia buns for school. Talked and laughed with her. We did all the things that normal people do. We became a family and she loved it.
But she could not maintain at her school She caused so much chaos there, we were asked to remove her. So during the day, she attended school at a mental hospital for children, and came home to us in the evening.
We both loved her so much. We took her with us camping at the lake. She and I took a walk every evening and talked about everything. We laid in my hammock for hours talking, giggling and learning, little by little what her life had been like.
But it wasn't long until bad things began happening. She stole cigarettes from our neighbor, she stole stuff from our daughter and her husband. She ran from us at times and hubby had to chase her down. I found my flip flops outside and the sole was black. She said she borrowed them to go to the creek and that was why they were black on the bottom. I discovered the truth - she had set a fire a couple feet in front of our motorhome, got scared and stomped it out with my flipflops. Our son came home from college, and we had to put a lock on his door to keep her from destroying things in his room.
Again, I have to say - we both loved her deeply. But we saw the signs that whatever she had suffered from in her former homes, it was so deep and so drastic, she was very very damaged. Our daughter was pregnant with our first grandchild. Of course, she was over to our house often and we were at their house. Our little girl started saying things such as: she didn't want our daughter to be here, she hated that baby, she wanted to kill that baby, etc. She drew pictures at school that were disturbing to us. We took them to a child psychologist to see, and to tell them about the things she was doing at home. We listened, and sought advice from two more child psychologists and a DHS worker. They all said that she was a danger to herself and to the unborn child. They all three said that for the safety of our daughter and the unborn baby, she needed to go into an intense specialized foster home.
What a horrible decision to make. HORRIBLE! We loved her but could not risk our daughter or our unborn grandchild. We couldn't risk her setting fire to the house or surrounding areas. She was just too broken.
BUT she loved us, giggled, talked, and dressed up like any other child. We shared stories and time in the hammock. She roller skated. She sewed things from her sewing kit. She loved camping and the great outdoors and the water. But when she realized that she would be competing for our attention with a new baby, she could not handle it. We saw the anger, the hurt and the destructiveness that she had bottled up inside her. It was not something we could fix.
We sat down with her and told her that she was being placed in another home. She cried and cried. I cried and cried. I was told to take her to Youth and Family Services. I did. She was screaming and trying to get away from the worker as I drove away. She kept screaming my name and saying, Marty, please come back. Marty, please come back.
I got a little ways from the center, and had to pull over to the side of the road. I was crying so hard, I couldn't see to drive.
It doesn't get better. DHS didn't keep their word and put her in a specialized foster home. They put her in a mental hospital. We got to see her a few times. Then they moved her miles from us - and told us we could not see her again because it wasn't good for her.
I will tell you that part of my heart broke that day. It took years and years for me to get over that pain. I also vowed never to take another foster child, ever.
Years passed, and we heard she had been put back in her mom's home - where she had been moved from in the first place, because of their abuse. Her mother was a practicing white witch - whatever that was. We did see her a couple of times, and then decided it wasn't healthy for us or for her.
We completely lost contact, heard news here and there of drug abuse, prostitution to pay for her drugs, a baby born, and then another.
I picked up the newspaper one day, and she was on the front page. A police officer had tried to pull her over for some reason. It could have been because she was under the influence of drugs or alcohol, it might have been a traffic related offense. We never found out. She ran from the police in her car at high speeds, and crashed going around a curve, and died. 21 years old.
It flattened me for months. I wondered - if we had kept her, could we have changed things around. Could we have gotten her away from the destructive and dangerous activities. Could we have kept her from dying in a police chase.
We'll never know. I doubt it - because that precious girl was broken.
It happens every single day, every single moment. Before I started back to college, I worked at the Juvenile Office in the courthouse. If we removed a child from their home, we had 24 hours to get the Petition typed and ready for the judge - or we had to release them back from where they came from.
I already knew about abuse - I typed the Petitions for years, with tears in my eyes, wondering how human beings could hurt and destroy their own children. It was awful, awful, awful.
I knew in my soul that we could not have saved her. But it still hurt for years.
The saddest part is that there are thousands of children, just like our sweet girl, who are abused every minute of every day. They are the walking wounded. They are those children who will grow up to commit crimes, or abuse their children. It is a war that will never end.
I have no answers.
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