The Day I Left Home When I Was 17 (14)

Freedom, it sounded amazing but it would be disguised and it would come at a cost, a cost like I had never known.

The day ‘the plan’ started to come out of the woodwork would be etched in the back of my mind probably until the day I died. I could never forget it, the day, what happened that day and what was said. I can close my eyes and see it all now. We, the adopted mother and I had left the farm, just her and I. I knew something wasn't right because she and I never went any where together. Never. We left with some fresh eggs to drop off at the co-op and on the way which took us 20 minutes to get to, not a word was said. It was a very awkward situation but as soon as we left the co-op, she finally started to talk to me and tell me that we were going to the doctor for ‘lab work’ and of course I assumed blood work, what other kind of lab work was there? I didn't know, I never went to the doctor, the last time I had been was to the pediatrician’s office for a tetanus shot because I had stuck my hand in between the two jaws of dogs fighting in our back yard and me being the peacemaker thought I should help them. That was a bad idea. I have the scars on my finger to prove it was a bad idea. But, that was the last time I remember ever going to the doctor, I should have been there for the foot incident and then for my back which was really starting to act up. I was doing the work of a grown man and I was only 17 and my body wasn't built like one, I looked like I was 12.

 Anyways, this time though we weren't going to the pediatrician’s office, we were going to the adopted parent’s doctor and I immediately knew that this wasn't normal. I had never been seen at this office, only they had.

As we got there, I was told not to talk or anything, not that I would if I could. But as we got inside and checked in at the front desk , I was told to have a seat and oddly enough I was told to have a seat as far away as possible from that front desk window where the secretaries sat. I can’t remember if I brought my school work with me to do which we normally did when we went places and there was a lot of sitting to be done or not.  I just remember getting anxious about what was about to happen. Why was I getting lap work done? What is just blood work and what for? I hadn't hurt myself. I hadn't been sick. I just didn't know. While I sat there, I watched at the adopted mother filled out the paperwork and then proceeded to pull out her own paper work and then she headed up to the front window. I couldn't see what she was saying, I couldn't see what the secretary was saying, she did have a very perplexed look on her face as she looked at the paperwork the adopted mom handed to her. Why would she be giving the doctor paperwork? 

 The whole situation was getting more weird as time went on. Finally, after the adopted mom sat back down and we waited for a while it seemed like, we were called back to our room.  The nurse checked my vitals and weighed me, I’m surprised that she didn't say much about how much I weighed, I don’t remember what the scale said but I couldn't have weighed that much, I was rather skinny, especially for a 17, almost 18 year old girl. After she took my vitals, we waited, I was expecting a doctor and a nurse to come in and take blood but that never happened. Instead, I had a test procedure done that should only have been done on someone who had being sex and sex with multiple partners. But, I had never been given the birds and the bee discussion, that whole topic was considered taboo in our house.  I didn't know a thing about it, didn't know how it was done, didn't have a clue. So, needless to say, I didn't have a clue as to what the doctor was doing to me and was more uncomfortable was the fact that the adopted mom had stayed inside the room while the procedure was being done. The vibes in that room was so unbelievably tense and awkward. The doctor who was a man was trying to be friendly but I am sure was curious as to why I acted so precarious and unsure of what was going on. Soon the procedure was over and we were told to go back out the waiting room to wait, I guess wait for the results, I wasn't sure. 

All I know is that I sat there for a while and by myself for the most part. The doctors and nurses had pulled the adopted mother  into the back and they talked to her for a while. Soon, she came back to get me and then it was my turn to go the back. She brought me to this room where she started crying and looked almost panicked. She proceeded to tell me that her and the adopted dad had found a ‘home’ for me to go, they were sending me there but before I could be sent there I had to have some ‘tests’ done hence the reason why I was at the doctor’s office that day. She went on to tell me as pathetically as she could that they weren't going to tell me what was going on and that they didn't want to tell me, but the doctors and nurses who suspected something was very wrong about how everything had played out while we were there were forcing her to tell me or they would call CPS.

Apparently, the adopted mother had handed the secretary a letter for the doctor, explaining to ‘them’ what was going in general and asking the doctor and the nurses to not tell me what was going on or what they were going to be doing to me. This is what raised the red flags with everyone at the doctor’s office and they demanded that I  be told what was going on. So, the adopted mom went on to tell me that in order to go into this home, I was needing tests to be done, but she wouldn't specifically tell me that I was needing to be tested for STDS or HIV and all that, she wouldn't’ tell me that what the doctor had just done was called a pap smear.  But the tears she was crying and shedding in that little exam room weren't for me, it was for herself, she was scared that CPS and the sheriff’s office were going to be called and that I would be taken away from her and that I would probably tell them everything that was going on in the home.

Finally the doctors allowed us to go home after they were satisfied with the fact that I had been told but I was far from being  satisfied with the answers to the hundreds of questions going on in my head. Where was this home? What a ‘home’? When was I leaving?  How long was I going to be gone? The questions wouldn't stop. But, on the way home from the doctors, while riding home in the big 15 passenger white van, the adopted mother proceeded to tell me that her and the adopted dad had found a home for me to go to where I would be given some help because I was ‘acting out’ at home. I don’t remember the whole conversation we had but I do remember her asking me if I wanted to go to this home and be sent away or did I want to try to stay home and ‘work things out’ and not go? This wasn't a what if question, she was asking me and she wanted an answer. She acted like she didn't want to do this but then she was still all overwhelmed by the threat the doctors had been and she was still recovering from it. I didn't really have to think about the answer, I knew within a heartbeat that I wanted to leave, I knew and I remember vividly thinking to myself that if I didn't leave, I would never get away from that house or them. I wanted freedom, even though I didn't know exactly what that meant, I just knew I didn't want to be around her any more. So, I told her, ‘I want to leave’. She got very quiet all of a sudden and I guess she was just surprised and maybe shocked at my response.

Not a whole lot was said on the rest of the way home to the farm, by then the adopted Dad knew what had happened at the doctor’s office, so there was not a whole lot of surprise left by the time we made it home. When we got home, I was sent to my room if I remember right. All of a sudden everything around me was changing and already changing. If I remember right, I was told to sit on my bed and then I guess the adopted parents went to their room like they usually did to ‘talk’, I guess they needed to rehearse the events of that afternoon in more depth and then the adopted mom would need to relay the conversation she and I had on the way home. They must have been in their room forever talking, and while they did that, I sat on my bed wondering what was getting ready to happen. I actually wondered if the adopted mother was having a change of heart, she was soft spoken, tearful, and kind of acted ‘nice’ to me.  But, as I sat on my bed waiting to be told what to do, I started looking around. I found it odd that when we had gotten home the adopted dad had been carrying around tools and had walked out of the house with the tools. And if I remember right, the adopted mom had made some kind of gesture and asked him if ‘it all had been done’. I automatically assumed that she meant were some odd jobs around the house had been done.

 But, now as I sat on my bed in my room which had moved from the front room to the back of the house so the three girls we were adopted could have mine, I started to notice things. I first noticed the lock on my door knob, it had been turned around so it could be locked from the ‘outside’ of the room. I thought to myself, isn't that odd? And then as I sat on my bed and started look out the bedroom window, I noticed there were now screws in front of the window and in line with the brackets so I couldn't open the window if I wanted to. Looking back now, I can see how much of a fire hazard that room if the door was ever actually locked, it totally wasn't smart.

So, my brain started to race and I wondered what in the world was getting ready to happen to me? Did the adopted do all this knowing it needed to be done from the time we had left the house that morning or was he told to do that as soon as the drama had unfolded at the doctor’s office? All I knew was that it wasn't good. 

So as I sat even longer on my bed, the adopted mother came in and told me that there was a phone call. She told me that I was about to talk to the lady at the home where I was about to go to but the adopted mom would have another phone and would be sitting pretty much right next to me so she could listen in on the call and talk to the lady if she needed to. The lady’s name was Ms. Bobbi and as we got on the phone, she proceeded to tell me who she was, although she wouldn't tell me exactly where the home was and I can only assume that the adopted mom told her not tell me. She went on to tell me what I could expect to find when I got there to the home, that I would work in a kitchen, serve 3 meals a day to the people in the home (I assumed to the other girls in my home, never knew there were 4 other homes where I was going)and then she went on to tell me other things about the home. She told me that there would be opportunity for me to join a choir and an ensemble, apparently where I was going involved church too. She told me that I would probably make some of best of friends I've known there, she told me that once in a while the girls in the home got to go on outings and go places like the beach or to CiCi’s Pizza. In my head, I thought, ‘wow, this is going to be nice’. Ms. Bobbi went on to tell me that there were rules to follow and things like so. In my head while this conversation was going on, I was thinking I was going to finally have a ‘life’, whatever that meant. But, the adopted mom had made it sound like I was going to a really strict, boot camp like place and judging by the look on her face sitting next to me, she was getting a rude awakening. The phone conference didn't last long but it lasted long enough for me to realize that I really wanted to go this place, at least I thought I did. This Ms. Bobbi lady sounded very kind and I knew I liked her already. But, little did I know when I hung up the phone and was immediately sent to my room, that hell was about to break loose and it would get nasty in the next 4 or 5 days

.

The day all the news unfolded and the doctor’s appointment had happened was either on a Tuesday or Monday, I can’t remember exactly, but it was the week prior to Mother’s Day 2000. I would leave home forever that Friday on the 12^th. But, a lot would happen in those few days before I would leave. I guess the adopted mom had figured she was sending me away some place where they would be strict and enforce discipline 24/7 but as soon as the conversation was over with the dorm mother, she turned into the most hateful person I would ever know. She acted like she just hated me. The soft spoken, teary eyed person that was in the van on the way home from the doctor’s office  was gone and I would never see that side of her again. She would send me to my room that night, telling me that I was not allowed to talk to any of the other children. By this time the three girls had been brought home and were in now in our care as a foster family and so there was quite a bit going on.

In the next few days, I would be treated like dirt, looked at like I was nothing, I would be told to scrub the house down because it was the last anybody besides the adopted mom would clean that house. We would go running errands the day after the phone call to the dorm mother and we would go to thrift stores, while I sat in the van, she would go in and pick out the most hideous jumpers that were made a hundred years ago it seemed like. I didn't pick any of them out, she did, I wouldn't see what she was shopping for until later that evening or the next when she had gotten the sewing machine out and hemmed up the jumpers so that they were knee length and any pockets that they had on them, she would sew them shut.  I would try on the jumpers for her to look at, never saying a word, more or less scowling at me or jerking me around to make the clothes fit the way ‘she’ wanted them to fit. 

Besides running errands, I was forced to clean out my room. Anything that was of personal value to me I was told to take out of my room until there was pretty much nothing. I didn't have much to begin with, but those things that were special to me, like my flute, my counted cross stitching kits, my American Doll Samantha, it was all taken out, including my ‘treasure box’. All of us kids had a treasure box that was intended for us to keep our special knick-knacks in, special cards from our relatives, souvenirs from any trips our family would make. It was all stuff that would fool any one into thinking that the so called family we were was anything but that. I watched as my American Girl Doll and any of my special dolls were carelessly given to the three girls who would soon destroy them because they didn't know what else to do with those special things. My treasure box and counted Cross Stitching would be thrown in the dumpster at one of the churches we cleaned. I was never allowed to touch any of it. I didn't understand what was going on! I knew I was leaving but the adopted mom acted as if I was never coming home or acting like I didn't exist. Again, little did I know that I really was never coming home again.

So, as those few days wore on, the cleaning out became more aggressive, I was doing more work than I had ever done. I would have deep clean the house, deep clean the stupid dog kennels, it was one thing after another. I wondered how many people actually knew what was going in that house? We hadn't been to church in a week if I remember right, so I never got a chance to say goodbye to my friends there. Everything was happening too quickly. Then that Thursday night came, the adopted mom would be packing things for me to leave with, but it would be just the bare necessities that I would need there. Nothing extravagant or special. No special pictures or anything that resembled I had a family. Up until that day and even into the next day, I was told to never speak to my brothers or sisters. Any contact I had with Jacob was immediately cut off. That Thursday night, I was told to go shower, brush my teeth and so on, I would be told to go to bed, by bed didn't even have sheets on it. The curtain had been taken down, everything had been stripped out of my room except for the furniture that had gotten left. I didn't even have the clothes I was supposed to wear the next morning, just what I was wearing to bed. Later that night I would hear them lock the door and I couldn't get out of that room if I wanted to. I didn't sleep that night, I knew that we were leaving for the ‘home’ the next day, I just didn't know where we were going.

Finally morning came and it came early. I was handed my clothes to wear for that day, it was a white blouse and a blue jumper I think. I was told to go to the bathroom, change, brush my hair and teeth. The van was soon packed up with what seemed like just my things, I think I remember the adopted mom packing backs for the other kids, so I assumed the trip was going to take a while. Anyways, we all eventually piled into the van, the adopted mother at the wheel and the adopted dad in the passenger seat and we took off and I took one last glance at the farm, at the ‘home’ I had known for at least 3 years now. The barn that I had helped tear down and build, the four strand barb wire fence around the eleven acres, the dog kennels that I would be forced to clean day in and day out. I would never again see any of it again. The town of Waller as we left it would be the last time I saw it until I drove through there for memory’s sake in 2008.

We drove for a bit, again, the whole way there I was told not to speak to anybody, in fact I remember sitting in the back of the van by myself. I had an idea of where we were going, we had been to Corpus Christi before on a family vacation. That was during a time when it seemed like we were a normal family. Things were not tense and weird. But, I had remembered the route to get there and I knew that we were going in that direction.

About 3 ½ hours later, we showed up at the ‘Home’. It was a huge farm like place in the country, outskirts of Corpus, directly away from the beach where we had been the last time our family had been there. We pulled up at a gate where a man told us where to go, we went straight ahead. From what I had seen pulling in, there was a church here, another big two story building next to the one story building we were pulling up to. To the right of this building another one story building sat a bit off and behind all of these impressive buildings were a bunch of other small buildings, and a bunch of land.

We had just pulled up to what was going to be home, my home for a year. As we got parked and got out, I was told to get out of the van, without a single word to my siblings and I knew this was it. Little did I know I wouldn't seem them again for several years, well some of them. I would never see Michael again, nor would I see the older two of the three girls until we became united on Facebook. I wasn't really counting on being able to see them  again or say goodbye to them, it was the adopted dad, my dad who didn't get to say anything but ‘bye’ to me. He didn't even get out of the van. I guess it was too painful for him. I didn't understand what was really going on. All I remember was thinking, ‘shouldn't he be getting out to say good bye to me?’ He never did. It was the adopted mother who was calling the shots that day, well, she pretty much had been calling the shots my whole life it seemed like and she was going to do it today. As I got out of the van, she made me take my shoes off and then she patted me down, I guess to make sure I hadn't taken anything from home, not that I would have or thought about it. She handed my brown paper bag of belongings and she carried an old suitcase and we walked together inside the home. I couldn't bear to look back one more time, I thought I had seen my dad trying to hold it together but I couldn't tell, there was too much going on at the moment. 

We walked into the door and to the right was a little hallway, as we turned, there was an office to the right but further ahead of us was the dorm mother’s personal office. There she was, the dorm mother I had talked to on the phone that day, Ms. Bobbi. She looked like a grandma, with dark short to the ear brown hair and brown eyes. She had an accent when she talked but I didn't know then where it was from. She welcomed us in and low and behold all of a sudden the adopted mother put on her smiley, kind face and acted like she was so distraught over leaving me here. I knew it was all for a show. I didn't believe a word she was telling the dorm mother about how she just hated to do this but they didn't have any other choice. I truly think that to this day, she was just sorry that she was about to let me be some place where I might actually be treated like a human being and be treated with some kindness and compassion, at least that’s what the dorm mother was portraying and she didn't look like she was putting on a show. There was another girl there she looked to be about 17, she was young, her name was Melissa. She apparently had been there for a while and was trusted to help the dorm mother out. She introduced herself to us and told me that she was my roommate. She wore different clothes than me though, she had a straight denim skirt with a really cute top and nice pair of shoes. I immediately knew something was wrong, either she was wearing very privileged clothes or I was wearing something I never should have been wearing.

Anyways, the adopted mother started crying and acting like she was sorry that she was leaving me there, she hugged me which was just weird for me and it felt cold. I was actually ready for her to leave and never come back. She left after a few more words with the dorm mother and I wouldn't see her until about 8 months later. I was so glad she left! I was finally free from this person who obviously hated me! Now, I could live this life here at this new ‘home’ and be ‘normal’. But, I didn't know rudely this wake up call to what was considered ‘normal’ would be. I was 17 years old, I wasn't supposed to turn 18 years old until June 28^th. The home I was in was for women 18 and older and the home was for women who had drug and alcohol addictions, and other serious issues. My roommate Melissa was there for supposedly counterfeiting money or being caught up with someone who was. All the ladies there were there for something that I had never been exposed to, something I had been extremely sheltered to for no reason but selfish reasons.

I soon found out that I was there on special terms, I wasn't supposed to be there in this home until I was 18 but because my birthday was around the corner I was allowed to come early. I soon found out why I was expected to have the medical tests done prior to coming, the home was like a community home. There were two girls per room, with a bathroom in the middle that joined to another room that housed 2 other girls. The tests were to make sure I didn't have STDs because most of the women there had already had sex, something that was taboo to me. In fact, I think when I got there, I was the only virgin there and when I told people that, they didn't believe me, well they did later when they realized how I got there to the home.

I was the joke there for a while, all the other girls wondered why I was there, they wondered why I looked like and dressed like an orphan girl. I was almost 18 but I later realized I had the mentality of a 12-13 year old. That was how sheltered I was from the outside world. I felt so out of place being there, I would be made fun of for what I wore and how I said things, how I thought. I was very quiet, a hard worker, in fact that hard worker thing kicked in pretty quick and the other girls wondered where that had come from. Sooner or later the walls would come down with them and like Ms. Bobbie had told me over the phone that day, these girls became some of my most best friends to this very day.

My life was going to change drastically from just being in this home. I was going to experience what it meant to be loved and cared about. But, I would figure that out after I heard the worst news anyone could get.

On Father’s Day, all of us girls would be allowed to call our dads and wish them a happy father’s day, we all had a prepaid calling card that we would have to use to make a long distance call outside the home. I had one, so I assumed that the adopted parents wanted me to call them. So, that night I called my dad’s cell phone, the one that Ms. Bobbi had a number for and as I nervously waited for him to answer, he never did. I just heard his voice on the voice mail, and I just left a brief message, tell him Happy Father’s Day and that I loved him. The next day Ms. Bobbi told me that she had gotten a phone call from the adopted mother and she went on to say that she was just furious that I had called the adopted dad. She went on to tell me that I was never allowed to call them again, that the calling card they had gotten me was for her, Ms. Bobbi to use. She told me that I would be getting a letter soon from the adopted mother about me not contacting them and she was right, in fact, it came just a couple of days before my 18^th birthday. Happy Birthday to me!

 I was devastated, and I cried. I didn't know how to but I did. The letter went on for 2 pages with talk about how the ‘family’ was trying to heal from what I had done to them at home and that they were trying to be a whole family again. The adopted mother went on to tell me that I was never allowed to contact her or my adopted dad again, not to write or call until my adopted dad said it was okay. I knew that was a lie because he never did or said anything, she always called the shots. The letter was just ‘nice’ and formal because she knew Ms. Bobbi would have to read incoming mail.

Ms. Bobbi wasn't fooled though, she caught on quick to the adopted mom’s conniving words and actions. But, that’s for another story. I was pretty upset when I got that 2 page letter, everything I had known was gone, what hope I had tried to hold on to that I had a family was pretty much gone. The girls in the home didn't understand why I was treated the way I was, nobody did, not even Ms. Bobbi. But, they knew how to make sure that I knew I was loved.  One night when we had gotten back from evening church, I found a cake and presents for me waiting at the dining room table. It was a sewing kit, a really pretty sewing basket with sewing tools and needles. I don’t remember what else I had gotten that night, all I remember was how special I finally felt and how loved I was, by people who didn't really know who I was. I knew I loved these people too though, very much. They not only ‘told’ me they loved me, but they ‘showed’ me was true love was all about.  My year there at the home would be interesting, enough to continue with my story, so my story will go on.

Until next time, be blessed and be inspired to make a difference!

~The Adopted Child