Tension, Anger & A Show (13)

Each day on the farm was getting more interesting and at the same time more frustrating. With each passing day, I was more convinced that I was hated and not wanted. Nothing I desired to with my life seemed to matter to anybody in that house.  The family was getting more entangled with the ATIA  church and home school curriculum and it seemed like the adopted parents were getting more brainwashed into believing things that just weren't so.
 For instance, the ATIA group believed that college was never intended for girls and that for them to go to college would tempt them to do things and become people that were rebellious or always into boys. They believed that young girls were supposed to learn how to become homemakers, stay at home moms who always were sewing clothes, or baking bread from scratch all day long. Girls were supposed to taught how to love and respect their husbands and how to not to be rebellious towards them and be submissive.  Everything that was being taught inside this ATIA group was just twisted and it was being taught inside the church, from behind the pulpit. We were always being preached to about always being right with God, and never being out from His umbrella of protection and authority. We were always being taught how to live by the letter of the law from God’s word and rarely were we taught about Grace and Mercy! It was almost like we weren't deserving of His grace and mercy. 

So, with that said, the day that the adopted mom sat my brother and I down to ask us what we wanted to do with our lives, we might as well have not said anything at all. I remember telling her that I wanted to be in the medical field, I think I remember specifically wanting to be a paramedic and or working as a nurse. Well, of course that idea a few weeks later was shot down because, first, she thought since I wanted to be a paramedic that I just wanted to be someone special or important and she thought that was wrong and then second, in order for me to go into the medical field I would have to attend college and since college was evil for girls, that was totally out of the question. I remember her telling me that she and my adopted Dad wanted me to learn how to be a ‘homemaker’, how to take care of a family and one day be a good wife. I remember thinking to myself, I already know how to clean a house, cook what few meals she was willing to teach me to make, I knew how to do laundry, I could teach the other siblings, so what more was there to do?
 I was never allowed to learn how to sew because the adopted mother knew how to do that and any thing that anybody else knows how to do and might have a chance of doing it better than her was not allowed. She was so unbelievably competitive and it would hurt me so much later in life. So, I was never really taught how to prepare a meal, or how to sew, or taught anything really.

Sitting there that day as she told me want she and my adopted Dad wanted for me, I just felt doomed. I was going to be stuck here in this house with her who was so unwilling to teach me anything and I just hated the idea of being stuck in that house until I turned forty.

Every day was becoming harder to get through. Michael and I were never allowed to just go about and do what was expected of us or what needed to be done. We were not even allowed to get out of the bed in the morning until the adopted mother told us to and when we were finally told, we were expected to go straight into the bathroom, change our clothes, brush our teeth and get our hair brushed and ready for the day. If we didn't do it fast enough, we got fussed at, if I didn't brush or put my hair up right, she would yell at me or like she did one day at the Retreat Center, just cut it off. Yes, she did that. We were out there one morning and I was supposed to always wear my hair a certain way, the front from the bangs would get pulled all the way back in a clip and then the rest of it which was rather long would get pulled back into a hair tie. I wore my hair that way every single day. There were days where she would try to get it to fix right or do something different with it but because it was thick and it curled naturally, it would never work ‘perfectly’ the way she wanted. She would always get frustrated with it, she would pull my hair, and or just cut it off. That morning, I had to walk up to the dining hall to help the adopted Dad with breakfast and I was walking up the hill in tears. When I got there, he didn't know what to say. He could only look at me and shake his head. He didn't understand why she had done that, she didn't style it or anything, just took a random pair of scissors and cut it off. I would leave home soon with my hair just past my ears.

So, anyways, back to the daily schedule, we were always being told when and what to do. We would either have to sit on our beds or at our school desks in our rooms and wait for her to either call us to breakfast or tell us what to do. We started to have routinely morning and evening chores and that usually consisted of us going to feed the dogs and clean their kennels.

For our first Christmas at the farm,  each of us kids had been given animals for gifts, animals that would be our own for our own individual stalls in the barn. I was given more cats and a rabbit. Michael was given a pair of pygmy goats and Matthew a cow. So after the animals came there were even more chores to do, well, chores for Michael and I to do. Matthew would be required to come out and ‘feed’ his cow but he didn't really have to clean out it’s stall or anything.

Everyday we had some kind of routine, but just Michael and I. Matthew was allowed to get up from his bed and go and do whatever he pleased, which would usually be to go to the parent’s room and hang out there until they all decided it was actually time to get up and get the day going. Sometimes, the parents would sleep in and we wouldn't get up out of our beds until 10 am or even later. We would be up late most nights working or doing whatever and that would result in a late morning. We were always called to our meals, always handed our plate or directed to go and sit at the table, pray and eat without talking and then dismiss ourselves, put away our dishes and go back to either working or school.
One day the adopted mother decided to throw our lunches at us. She was in one of her bad moods that day, we hadn't gotten a dining room table yet and for some reason, either Michael or I pushed the wrong button and so standing there while we were getting ready to receive our plates of a sandwich and chips, she got all mad and threw our lunches at us. She then left the room and slammed herself into her bedroom while my brothers and I picked up our lunches off the floor and proceeded to sit on the kitchen floor and eat our lovely lunch. 

It was outbursts like this that was starting to increase with each passing day. Something would trigger her outburst of anger and hate and it was always directed at Michael and I. Either we wouldn't do something perfectly or do it right the first time which would indicate we were wanting to do things our way and be rebellious. I never knew from one day to the next what the definition of responsibility or obedience meant because she changed the definition every time to fit her need to be angry. Eventually, the bi-polar mood swings would carry over into any where we went, including church.

Church was always interesting. Because the church was almost an hour away for us, we like most of the families there, would come to church, bring something for the potluck lunch after morning church and we would all stay there on the church property until evening church started and then we would all go home. It was an all day ordeal, there was food to make and pack, our changes of clothes to pack and bring because in the afternoons or after evening church we would play, the boys either playing baseball and us girls playing our instruments in the sanctuary. It was kind of a break for us, or at least that’s what it was supposed to be. I would be allowed to go off with some of the girls my age and do things with them. Then there was children’s choir before evening church to attend and then church. Usually though, I was taking care of Jacob so that the adopted mother could go and socialize with the other moms. I wasn't the only ‘oldest’ daughter/sister taking care of the younger siblings, there were others but the other girls weren't doing it all the time like I was. Their mothers would actually do their job as a mother and take care of the younger siblings.

The adopted mom felt the need to always sit and talk with the other moms, and they did kind of all had something in common I guess so she would always sit and talk. I was never allowed to talk to the adults though, especially to the moms. When I did, I was taken to the van in the parking lot, yelled at and slapped and then made to sit in the van all day long. She hated the fact that I would just say hello to someone, or if the other mom or adult would initiate the conversation, I always got into trouble.  So, the opportunity of going and hanging out with the other girls started to diminish. I was always by her side, always watching Jacob or sitting in the van. Michael and I were never allowed to go to our appropriate Sunday School classes, we couldn't be trusted, I couldn't be trusted to not say anything to the adults about what was going on at home and Michael just couldn't be trusted to behave. We would go to Sunday School with Dad, while the adopted mother went to the ladies Sunday School class or wherever she would go and Matthew got to go to his own class.

Church was such a show though, so full of hypocrisy and I wasn't sure if our family was the only one acting like that or putting on a show. It seemed like the other families there at church were relatively normal, the mothers treated their daughters right, the families acted like they loved each other. So why was ours putting on a show? We would fight on the way to church on Sundays, when we pulled into the parking lot in our 15 passenger van, we would all put a smile on our face, I would brush away tears that were slipping out and we would all march into church smiling and being friendly. I didn't get it. I wasn't fooled though, I knew that the adopted mother was putting on such an act and I wondered how many of the other moms were grasping on to the idea that something with our family was just not right.

Everything was just getting tense, at home, at church, at the Retreat Center. At the Retreat Center, a huge incident would occur between Michael and I that I would later learn about as being borderline molestation. It was quite the ordeal and it would lead to other issues that would start to happen from Michael. He would try to look at me while I was in the shower by looking under the bathroom door at home and other things would happen. I started to hate him. I wasn't fully aware of what a pervert was because that kind of thing was shielded from us kids but I knew that I didn't like Michael because of what he was starting to do and how he was starting to act. I would hate it so much that while the family went to the store or go some where, we were always left in the van to do our school work, or at least that’s what we were supposed to be doing. No, we would fight, He would pull my hair, I would hit him, he would do something else to me and I would go wailing across the seats and hit him and do whatever I could to hurt him. He was being psycho with me, he wouldn't stop touching me and the only thing I knew to do was hurt him. Somehow though, we would always manage to stop the fighting by the time the parents and Matthew returned to the van and we both would act as if nothing happened. I knew I couldn't say anything to the parents about him doing stuff to me, they wouldn't believe me and they probably wouldn't care, so it was pointless and Michael and I would fight until the day I left and yet nobody would know.

Tension between the adopted mother and I was really getting worse. It would get even more worse after we found out that the adopted Dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor. The tumor was causing him to have a certain kind of seizure that would cause him to kind of space out and the doctors said they couldn't remove it because it was right behind his left eye and in front of his left ear. If the doctors tried to remove it they could hit a nerve that would paralyze him. So, they gave him medication to shrink the tumor and it get to a reasonable size to live with but he would always have the seizures and he would lose his drivers license from that day forward and would never get it back as long as he lived.

The day we found out that he had the tumor, we were on our way to the store to pick up groceries for an event out at the retreat center. My adopted dad went into the store, leaving myself, Michael and the adopted mother in the van. She turned around and told me that I was not allowed to talk to my dad at all. If I had a question about something whether we were at home or at the retreat center working, I was to ask her, not ask him. I was strictly instructed to leave him alone, that he didn't need to be stressed or anything else. I was totally blown away when she said that. I didn't  have a clue as to why she would say that, other than that she knew that my Dad and I were pretty close, that we got along and I could talk to him a whole lot easier than I could talk to her.  So, now there was a ban on having a relationship with my adopted Dad. The one day at the Retreat Center when I casually without thinking asked him a question about setting up the dining room, and she heard me, she pulled me aside and slapped me in the face for talking to him. Of course she waited for him to leave the room. Dad wouldn't know until several years later that she had done that, and I was the one to tell him that.

The slapping was getting worse, the yelling, the degrading, the screaming was just getting worse and I couldn't take it. I would lay in bed at night and while I heard Matthew and her eating ice cream in the kitchen, I would just cry. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to escape from that house and I entertained the idea a few times but every time I did, I would remember the belt and the whipping I got last time I had to come back and it just wasn't worth it.

Everybody was just getting frustrated with everybody. She was getting frustrated with me, Dad was getting frustrated me because he didn't know why she was getting frustrated with me and I hated Michael and pretty much hated Matthew. I was angry, deep down inside but I was never allowed to portray that! I was never allowed to scream, or talk back in fear of being slapped. When she would sit on the edge of my bed and preach to me about why I was being independent and why I was always wanting to do what I wanted to do because I wouldn't do something the way she wanted, I could just sit there. In fact, there were times she would get mad at me because I would never say a word, she would force me to say something to prove I was listening but anytime I would try to voice my frustration and why I was struggling, I was told I was being wrong, so it got to the point where it was pointless to say anything to her. She was always right and there would be no point in saying anything.

 I remember clearly one night at the retreat center she was mad me again and we were sitting on the bed and she was talking again, I finally told her I didn't understand why she favored Matthew over me. Now, this wasn't the first time I had brought up this concern, it had been coming up for years but it would always be shoved into the ground some where and there was always an excuse as to why she ‘treated’ us that way. She claimed that she loved us all differently and blah, blah, blah. But this one night, she actually had the nerve to tell me that she couldn't love me the way she loved Matthew because she did not physically give birth to me. There it was. She finally had pretty much summed up what she should have been saying to me all these years.  I was adopted though! She was supposed to love regardless of where I came from! I couldn't believe she had said it but then I felt kind of relieved. I felt like she should have said that the day she screamed at me that she hated me.

Talking to her just proved to be futile and I just didn't care anymore. I would just stand there and wait for her to slap me and yell at me about how I was being rebellious because I wasn't cleaning the darn bathroom the right way. I hated cleaning. I was always cleaning, cleaning bathrooms from top to bottom, making beds all the time.  I was tired of the work all the time. I understood that kids were supposed to have chores and all but I wasn't just doing chores. Between the house work and farm work, the work at the Retreat Center, I was just getting physically tired of it. My back was starting to cause problems and even though I would mention it to her, she wouldn't care. She knew it hurt, she asked me one day after I made 3 sets of bunk beds if my back was hurting and I told her yes. She didn't do anything so I am not sure why she bothered asking. I would deal with back problems until this very day and I truly believe it had to do with the physical labor that I was doing. I was 17 years old, I was a girl and I was just doing too much.

Among the tension though, our family decided to adopt a set of sisters. Yep, I said it. We were actually contemplating adopting three sisters from one family and we would do that. We would go down to Brownsville and meet them, we would get to spend some time with them and get to know them. They were stair steppers, the oldest being six, the next five and the youngest four. Nicole, Ashley and Crystal, those weren't their original names, the adopted mother had them changed for some reason. Nicole’s original name was Alexandria so, we kind of kept it but her name would be Nicole Alexis. Ashley’s name was something other than that but I can’t remember exactly what it was. She would be Ashley Rebecca and then Crystal’s name was changed as well to Crystal Joy.  They were all individually different, but a lot of fun. Our family made the trip to Brownsville to meet them for the first time and it was a very interesting trip. I had never been that close to the border and it was very intimidating and a little nerve racking. To get to the foster  home to see the girls, we would have to drive right along side of the border and we had to do it at night and during the day.
We would visit with the girls and get to know them. We were allowed to bring them to our hotel and let them spend time with us. Nicole and Ashley were very hyper and we would soon find out that they were on Ritalin, in fact too much of the medication. I remember the first night we had them, we all went to Golden Corral for dinner and I got to kind of be like the big sister and help them get their food and all. But, I will never forget sitting there at the table, the three girls across from me and they had been given their medication way before we went to dinner and the poor things looked like zombies. Their eyes were glassy, they were way too calm and they just looked sad. I remember tearing up at the table, afraid to let the tears fall because I didn't want the adopted mother to see and wonder what the tears were for. I was literally heart broken for these girls, I knew they needed a home and someone to love them but I wondered that night if they would be loved or would they get treated like me. I would never really know. The girls got to come home to us a few weeks later and we would kind of be like their foster family until the exact arrangements were made and ready for a final adoption.
It was crazy bringing them home. I moved into Michael’s room, the three girls got mine, and Michael went and bunked with Matthew and Jacob. The girls, all three of them were just wild though, they didn't know how to behave, they didn't have any manners whatsoever. They were still kind of speaking Spanish, even though they spoke English. It was just crazy. The girls would be given some of my special dolls, just because the adopted mother was getting angrier with me and she thought they should have them even though they would destroy them. I remember the day she told me that she might just be able to have the relationship with the girls that she should have had with me all along. Again, I couldn't believe she had said that.

I would get quiet, would do what was expected of me but for some reason, I was just making mistakes, in her eyes they were acts of rebellion. She would tell me that her and Dad were talking about sending me away, they had thought about the Navy for some reason, or somewhere in the military. The bottom line was, that they wanted me to leave the house, that my bad attitude whatever attitude that was, was beginning to effect the family and influence the other kids.

They finally got in touch with someone at the church who knew of a place where I could go and I would go there. But, all hell would literally break loose from the time I found out that I was going there until the time I actually left home.  In the midst of trying to adopt three girls and dealing with Dad’s tumor, I guess they thought the best thing was for me to leave the picture. Maybe that would make things calmer? I had no idea.

I had no idea that I was about to leave home for good, for the rest of my life. I had no idea during the month of May 2000 that my life was about to change forever. I was going to be 18 in June, I didn't know that when you turned 18 that you could be on your own. But, I think the parents knew that, and in order to keep me from running away on my own, they were going to get rid of me, but it would happen a month away from my 18^th birthday.  Little did I know that I was about to be free but little did I know I was about to start a new chapter in my life, a chapter of confusion, of more hate and meanness. But, it was going to be worth it, just to get away from that so called ‘family’ that was just putting on a show for everyone to see.  This new chapter that was about to start was going to start the rest of my life as I know it now and it would take me on a journey that I never dreamed of. That chapter would start very suddenly though and it would get off to a start in a flash.

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

~The Adopted Child

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 

Life In My New Home (15)

I would finally turn 18, on June 28^th at the home. Turning 18 wasn’t anything elaborate or thrilling but it was a special birthday to me. In birthdays past, it was a very confusing time for me. I felt like doing anything for my birthday was something that ‘had’ to be done. When I was younger as a little girl, I remember celebrating my birthday at a restaurant and received a few gifts but looking back, most of those gifts were either taken away over time or just somehow disappeared. The older I got, the more I kind of dreaded my birthday. One year, I was grounded on my birthday, it was celebrated after the grounding was over but again, the celebrations didn’t seem genuine. It was like it was just something to do. I certainly didn’t feel loved or appreciated. So, my birthday at the home was special to me but heartbreaking. I didn’t get a card or anything from the adopted family. It was sad that strangers would make me feel more special than my own so called family. 

The day I turned 18 came and went and life at the home really started to begin. When my dorm mom, Ms. Bobbi finally realized what kind of person my adopted mom was, she would spend many nights talking to me in her own apartment. Even though I had turned 18 and was in a home where the adopted mom’s rights to me were handed over to those in charge of my life, the adopted mom would stop at nothing to control me and control what I did in a city almost three hours away. The adopted mother would persistently call the home, call the pastor in charge of the home, demanding that Ms. Bobbi keep me from doing things that would be considered a privilege and ‘fun’. She didn't want me to sing with the ensemble that was formed there in the home, she didn't want me to wear any kind of clothing that she hadn't provided for me, there was so much she didn't want me to do because she simply believed that I didn't deserve it.

She would try to convince those in charge of the home that I was a rebellious little girl at home, causing strive and problems at home, hence my reason for being sent to this home. This home however was one home turned into 5 different ones on one piece of property, the homes were designed to help troubled people, who had addiction problems, who had serious issues, issues I had not been exposed to. There were teenage boys in one home, teenage girls in another, there were three different homes for the men and women older than 18. There were people in this home that were there for stealing, doing and dealing drugs, drinking, counterfeit, dealing with depression, and so much more. Everything that the adopted mom had worked so hard to shelter me from and keep me from being exposed to was the very thing I was being exposed to at this home. I was very such like a fish out of water and the girls in the home with me, used to ridicule me for even being there. Eventually though, they found out why I was there and like myself, they all determined that I was safe here.

Soon, the adopted mom backed off. I think that between Ms. Bobbi and the administrator of the Home, they both had put her in her place and she would stop the relentless phone calling, emails and borderline harassment. Besides, her attention would be needed back at home where rumors and people at church were speculating as to what happened to me and why and how I just disappeared.

After being at the home for a few months, I finally started getting mail from home but it wouldn't be from my so called family. It would come from a few families from church, the church I had been attending up until I was sent away. It was brought to my attention that people back at home at church had somehow found out where I was and they wanted to reach out to me. Not too many would reach out though, and I would find out later that it was because of running into the wrath of the adopted mother if she ever found out that they were communicating with me.  I would find out over time that the adopted mother was telling people that I was being left alone at home by myself on Sundays, of course people wouldn't believe that for a second, we kids were never left at home by ourselves, well Michael and I were left at home once but she threatened me that if I stepped foot outside of my room that I would be in trouble and she would know because they had put a camcorder at the end of the hallway to record anything.

So, the adopted mom kept up with her lies as long as she could but I think after having been at the home for about 8 months, her lies would fall apart.

While the months went on at the Home, I was making new friends, friends that I would have with me for many years to come. I was becoming more and more exposed to what the ‘real’ world was like, a world I should have been at least kindly exposed to. I didn't know anything about sex, about the names of drugs, what kind of alcohol there was. I didn't even know that word ‘gay’ meant totally something other than what I had been taught it meant. My exposure to the types of issues being rehabilitated there at the Homes was rather interesting but more like a culture shock to me. I was finding myself becoming disturbed that the adopted mom hadn't done her duty as a mother and had told me about some of this stuff. Did she really think that I was going to live under a rock the rest of my life? Did she think that I was going to keep growing up into this little quiet girl and not learn anything about life? I had been missing out on life, I had been kept from being normal. But, I wouldn't realize this until years later. While I was at the home, there was much about how I was raised that had convinced me that it was all normal. In fact, I kept waiting to meet a girl or a lady there who had a background like mine. I never met anyone that had a background just like mine but I did meet someone who had been brought up in the Gothard home school group like I had been. Shannon and I became good friends quickly. It made us both feel good knowing exactly what we had been brought up in and in some sense we felt relieved that we had gotten ourselves out of that so called mess. Shannon and I stayed in touch over the years but soon lost contact. I would stay in touch with her Dad though and to this day we exchange letters and updates about our families.

But, I would never find someone who had a background like mine and the more time that went on that I didn't find one like myself, the more I was becoming convinced that my background wasn't ‘normal’. I was starting to wonder what was normal, what was right, what was worth believing in.

The Home had a church on the property; it wasn't just a church to the homes there but to many in the city of Corpus Christi. It was a rather large church and the pastor was Pastor Cameron, who also oversaw the Homes. He was an amazing preacher and he preached sermons that were a bit different than I had heard at the so called ‘Gothard’ church I had been attending before leaving home. He preached about Grace, Mercy and forgiveness. Yes, he preached against sin but he also preached about second chances, about freedom in the Christian life. He preached sermons that I had not heard of before and part of my soul longed for more. I would sit as attentively as I could every time we went to church, I would take notes and I would grasp onto everything that was being said behind the pulpit. Nobody was forcing me to go to church, although it was the rule that when you were in the home you attended church, many in the homes dreaded it but I embraced it with open arms.

As the months went on while at the Home, I was becoming more involved with activities there, activities that would have drove the adopted mother crazy had she known what I was doing. I was now singing with the ensemble of ladies there, the ensemble got to sing in the choir in church which was a lot of fun. I had been in choirs my whole life, starting from little children’s choir, in fact for me not to be in a choir would have been odd. I would participate in Bible verse competitions, the girls and Ms. Bobbi would soon find that I had a memory like nothing in this world. I think in the first month of being there, I had barely gotten into one of the competitions that had been going on. The challenge was to memorize the whole chapter of 1 Corinthians 13, the ‘love’ chapter. The ladies and Ms. Bobbi didn't think I could do it on such short notice but I did and it blew them away. What was the reward for memorizing so much? An outing to TGIF’s for dinner with the others in the group who had memorized their verses as well. It was so nice and for once I felt like I fit in somewhere, I was accepted for once in my life and I will never forget that night.

I was always making friends with anybody there. There was my friend Jessica who had arrived a few weeks after I had, she was shy but sweet and she and I became very close friends almost instantly. She was kind enough to share her mom with me after she learned what my story was. Whenever her mom would send her a care package, she was kind enough to send me one too. It was so kind of her. I don’t think many realized how hard it was for me to be there and not have anybody send me anything or care enough to do anything really. It was heartbreaking.

After you had been in the Home for six months, you were allowed to see your family; they were allowed to come to the home and see you and take you off property for the day. Even though my so called family hadn't contacted me since my 18^th birthday, I really had hoped in my heart that they would come at my six months but they didn't. I remember my friend Jessica’s family was coming and she had already asked her mom if I could go with them when they took Jess off property and her mom had said yes but Ms. Bobbi didn't think it was a good idea, she said that Jessica needed to spend time with ‘her’ family and I didn't need impose on that time with them. I was heartbroken and for the first time felt depressed. I was always being reminded that I didn't have a family; I didn't have a mom or dad that cared enough. I always saw my friends in the home getting mail or packages and even phone calls from family but I kind of sat on the sidelines wondering what I had done to deserve to be treated like so. The questioning and wondering never really produced clear answers, just more confusion and heartache.

While most of my friends were working on issues in their lives like addictions and other things, I was working on not becoming angry and bitter towards the adopted parents. Nobody deserved to be rejected and treated like they were a heathen. 

After my six months came and went, I thought I would attempt to write the adopted parents a letter even though I wasn't supposed to be contacting them. I would simply write to them asking them to forgive me for whatever it was that I had done to merit such treatment and un-forgiveness. Even though in my mind, I wasn't sure I had done anything wrong. I wrote the letter anyways, I guess Ms. Bobbi thought it was a good idea too because she had allowed the letter to be mailed out. I really thought that the letter would open a door of communication between the adopted parents and me. I really had a glimmer of hope in my heart that I would have my family back but the glimmer, hope and thoughts of anything positive were all quickly shot down. I would get a letter in return saying that they weren't ready for me to be a part of the family. That my attitude wasn't right, it was full of pride and all kinds of nonsense. It was heartbreaking all over again. I remember sitting in Ms. Bobbi’s apartment that night and just cried. I didn't know what was going on, I didn't understand why I was being treated the way I was. Of course the letter to me was written from the adopted mother, she never allowed my adopted dad to do a darn thing and he wouldn't think twice about undermining her. She of course wore the pants in the family and she wore them rather tightly. Ms. Bobbi did her best to convince me that the purpose for the adopted mom treating me so and saying the things she was saying wasn't my fault, I hadn't done a thing wrong. I wasn't so convinced. I would lay in bed at night and wonder what I had done so wrong to have her treat me the way she did. Why was I being treated like I was a horrible person? Why couldn't she love me? That was why she adopted me right? Because my own biological mother couldn't love me?

 I think a part of my heart was turning a bit cold because I would start acting out so to speak at the home. I think part of me reasoned that I could just do whatever I wanted because I didn't have parents who cared. So what if I got in trouble? I wasn't exactly seeking out trouble on purpose but I somehow magnetized towards it. I was soon falling for the attention that a staff member at the dining hall was giving to me. He was a young guy, not necessarily attractive but he would pay attention to me and I was falling for it. The people ‘in’ the Homes were not supposed to have relationships or anything with the staff. It was against the rules. I didn't realize until later how the rules were there to protect us that were ‘in’ the homes.

What started out as a stupid crush became something that I had to be sneaky about but eventually everyone in the homes and in the dining hall knew about. Those who were all for it would help us find ways to contact each other, those who were against it made sure the guy  and I were caught for breaking the rules. I didn't really care, he supposedly liked me and since I didn't have anybody in my life that loved me, I without really knowing it, started looking for love where ever I could find it.

So, while the months went on by at the Home, I was really starting to develop into the person that I should have become a very long time ago. I was finally breaking away from this robotic person the adopted mother had programmed me to be. I wasn't naturally a quiet, shy, proper little girl that she forced me to become, I was rather outspoken, a leader and one to instigate trouble. The longer that I was in the Home, the more my true colors started to come out. But, I wasn't a rebellious, trouble maker though. I was just trying to find out who I was and I think Ms. Bobbi realized that too and so she was rather lenient with me when I broke the rules. I remember the first time I got in trouble for saying ‘what the hell’ and it was noted as ‘cussing’. I remember arguing that it wasn't cussing; I had heard my own adopted parents say it, they wouldn't cuss, they were church going people. But, I found out it was indeed considered cussing. I remember what a shock it was to me to realize that my own so called parents had been cussing for a very long time around us kids and we didn't even know it. Of course we kids weren't allowed to say it but they were and that was how hypocritical the adopted parents, especially the mother.

I started wearing my own clothes; of course I had to get my own clothes from the hand me down store on property. When I turned 18, I quickly threw out the clothes the adopted mother had sent me there in. Jumpers, one piece dresses that looked like they belonged on an orphan child fifty plus years ago, they had indeed made me look like an orphan child when I got to the Home. I hated those clothes and I would never wear them again.

So, I was really turning into my own person. Not a bad person, just someone that should have been allowed to have developed into their own person and personality a very long time ago. While I was doing that, I was dealing with physical issues that should have been dealt with a very long time ago as well. I had a very bad back, was always in pain from it. The pain had developed at home right around the time we moved out onto the farm and it got worse. The adopted mother knew about it but never took me to a doctor for it. It was something I just had to deal with no matter how unbearable the pain was and pretty much anything I did aggravate the pain. When I was at home, I was always making all the beds in the house, some of those beds were bunk beds and it would require me to be bent over for a while as I made the bed. The work I was doing on the farm at home probably didn't help at all. I was doing the work of a grown man, lifting things that a man should have. So by the time I made it to the home, the back problem was getting worse. Ms. Bobbi eventually took me to a chiropractor who did X-rays and quickly pulled Ms. Bobbi and I into his office. He pointed at the x-rays on the wall and pointed a curve in my spine, he also pointed out that my hips were even which meant that I didn't have scoliosis but I did because of the curve. He quickly put me in a simple back brace to wear most of the day and medication, and told me to limit what I was picking up.

After we got my taken care of, it was time to get my eyes checked out, they were starting to really hurt and simple things like looking at scripture in my Bible was getting harder to do. Reading brought on migraines and it just got more frustrating to do things. My eyes were always tired and the headaches were just getting increasingly worse. Finally, I was taken to the eye doctor where I found out that I did need prescription glasses. Again, we found out that I had a problem that should have been taken care of a long time ago but hadn't.

Ms. Bobbi eventually had to tell the adopted mother what was going, not only did she need to know but the Home needed to be reimbursed for the expenses they had fronted to help me get things taken care of. But, as soon as the adopted mother heard what was going on she threw a fit! She argued with Ms. Bobbi that I was making it all up, that I was just trying to get attention. I think I remember Ms. Bobbi saying that the adopted mom pretty much refused to pay for the expenses. The bottom line was, that the adopted mom was being a complete jerk again and wasn't going to even admit that maybe my medical issues should have been taken care of before I had ever gotten there.

So, while I was dealing with medical issues, developing into the person, the young lady I was supposed to be, I was coming across as someone responsible and trust worthy enough. I found myself being given responsibility and being entrusted to help around the Home. I was really starting to become somebody, as much as I could as someone who was kind of confined to the Home. The girls were taken out on outings to the beach, to restaurants and other small things. Our Ensemble had the opportunity to travel to churches and sing and give testimonies. I wasn't ever called on to give my testimony, I guess it was because compared to the other girls in the group, I really didn't have one, I hadn't done drugs or drank. But, I was grateful to travel and sing. Our Ensemble went places not too many didn't get to. On one trip we went west,  as we traveled to New Farmington, New Mexico, we stopped in places like El Paso,  Albuquerque and other places. One another trip we went with home for girls ages 13-17 to Pensacola, Florida. We all traveled on a big bus and traveled and sang at churches along the way. It was on this trip I decided I wanted to attend Pensacola Christian College. I was able to tour the college with other girls and I was convinced that it was the college I wanted to go to. I had to do something with my life, when my year was up in May of 2001 I was going to have to do something because I was forbidden to go back home, my adopted family didn't want me so I was going to have to do something.

After being at the Home for about 9 months, I had gotten news that had pretty much come out of the blue; Ms. Bobbi told me that my adopted mother was coming to see me. Why all of a sudden she was coming, nobody knew. The girls were as shocked as I was and even apprehensive as to why she was showing up all of a sudden especially after making such a mess about everything that I was doing there. She showed up, we walked around property as I showed her everything, showed her what my life there was like, and introduced her to the people there who had become my friends. We spent some time in my dorm room talking; I don’t remember word for word what the conversation was about. I just remember how uncomfortable I felt and how awkward the whole thing was.
 She was smiling, often getting teary eyed, but the perception radar in me, picked up something wasn't quite right or genuine about the visit. Part of my heart was hoping and praying that she was there for all the right reasons, that she truly wanted to be there to be my mom and I wanted to believe that she missed me and I wanted to believe she wanted me to be apart of the family again. 

But, something just wasn't adding up. She had come by herself to the home, she said that Michael, my brother had come with her but that she had left him at a hotel in town in Corpus Christi somewhere. I assumed that my adopted dad was at home taking care of the kids. The visit ended with the adopted mother and I in Ms. Bobbi’s office, she gave me a necklace, a gold chain with a gold heart and pink rose on the heart. She said a bunch of stuff like ‘I love you’ and other words that I don’t remember. I think she told me that she was proud of me and who I had become? I don’t remember. I hadn't acted any different just because she was there. I had just acted how I had become. I didn't dress the way she would have wanted me dressed. I made it a point to wear very mature clothes that day. I talked to my friends like I had always been talking to them. I hadn't changed anything about who I was or how I acted just because she was there. The little orphan looking girl she had dropped off the weekend of Mother’s Day in 2000 was a very mature young lady.

 Again, the whole visit was awkward and then she left. Ms. Bobbi and I talked about the visit; I think she was perplexed as I was. We both wondered why all of a sudden she wanted to come and see me. Our suspicions didn't last long. A couple of weeks after the visit, Ms. Bobbi brought me some mail. Usually when Ms. Bobbi brought me mail, I knew it wasn't good. She would bring it to me and tell me she didn't understand what the point was behind the letter; she would try to encourage me to not to take the letter to heart and just to ‘consider the source’. This time when she brought me the letter, I read it and cried. I would read it over and over. I gave it to my girlfriends for them to read and it didn't make sense to anybody. The letter was from the adopted mother, she went on for a few pages about how my attitude while she was there visiting was a ‘haughty’ and ‘prideful’ attitude, she went on about how I was being a hypocrite behaving the way I was the day she was there, she went on about how I still wasn't allowed to come home and I still needed to figure out what I was going to do when my year was up, they weren't going to help me or have any part of what I did with my future. It was again, a very heartbreaking letter. I was depressed again. I could feel my heart getting colder; I just wasn't understanding why I was being treated that way! What the heck had I done? What had I done to her? I was just being who I was! I was determined not to become this person she wanted, I was never going to be like that again. Needless to say, the necklace she gave me didn't mean a thing to me after getting that letter. I wouldn't wear it ever again, it sat in a jewelry box that traveled with me for years to come, I think one day I sent it with some other gold to sell. I didn't want it, it wasn't doing a thing for me except for reminding me of what a messed up life I had been adopted into.

The letter from the adopted mother, stirred a lot in me. I was more convinced of what a huge liar she was, she was the hypocrite and so mean and hateful. I would find out later that about the time she came to visit me was the time back at home at the Gothard church where people were starting to find out what had really happened to me. Up until that visit, I had been getting mail from a couple of families from the church and rumor was that others in the church were starting to see the adopted mother for who she really was. Her visit to me was to prove to those back at home that she was the ‘mother’ she was portraying to those back at home, it was just to make herself look good but those back at home were not buying it. I would find out months later what was really going on at home and at the church. For now though, as I sat in my room in this Home in Corpus Christi, I had to find out what to do with my life. I sat there more convinced that I just wasn't wanted; I was just a pawn in somebody’s life. From that moment on, I was on my own, I didn't have a family, was never going to have a family. I was more aware of what was really going on with the adopted mother and the more aware I became, the more I found myself hating her. I would fight hard to keep my anger at bay, to keep myself from becoming bitter but it was hard. I tried to become forgiving but why did I have to do the forgiving? I hadn't done anything but become guilty of being adopted in to a family that didn't want me.

Decisions would need to be made; I was going to keep developing into a person that was just trying to deal with rejection from her own so called family. There was a lot with my life that was on the brink of happening and it was about to unlock a world that I didn't know about but was forced to embrace because there simply wasn't any other option or choice.  The year of 2001 was almost here and it would be the year that would start the adventure of a life time. It would be a year I wouldn't forget. It would be the year I was forced into the real world all on my own. It would be the year I found out what kind of person I really was and should have been all along. It would be the year to unlock the door to many man made promises and heartache all at one time. It would be my year.

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

~The Adopted Child

Christmas and The Holidays (16)

Before my year would start in 2001, I, along with many others in the Home would have to get through Christmas. It was hard, everyone in the Home would be without their families, they would have to be there in the Home for Christmas and nobody was allowed to go home. The staff at the Home would do their best to make us all feel special; they would take us to see A Christmas Story at a theater in the city, and would take us to dinner and to see Christmas lights around neighborhoods. Our dorm mom, Ms. Bobbi, would let us decorate our dorm rooms for the holidays and we had fun.

Being a part of the regular holiday activities helped us all deal with being homesick and missing our families. Even though I was quickly finding out what a decent average family was and that my family wasn't like average families, I was homesick for mine. Christmas was special for me, it was the one time where we all acted decent, where the adopted mom was actually kind. Looking back though, I wondered if it was sincere though, or was she just being nice because it was for Matthew? I couldn't be sure but I would hold on to the idea that Christmas was special, to me anyways.

 Christmas at the Home would be hard though, I missed Jacob and I missed my Dad. But, I wouldn't see my family or really hear from them at Christmas, not that it surprised me. While we waited for Christmas Day to arrive, we would all be busy around the Home getting ready for the day and I would start getting a bit closer to Jonsey. I shouldn't have been getting closer but I was, I liked the attention and I liked feeling noticed. I guess I was just getting comfortable at the Home and with everybody there, including most of the staff. I was liked pretty much all over the Homes, I just had the ability to get along with about anybody, I was friendly and just liked people. I was finding out that I was a people person, probably was along but at home I was not allowed to be around people or talk to them.

Finally, Christmas would come, we would open and exchange presents in the living room in the Dorm. Most of the girls had family send them Christmas presents, the rest of us who didn't really have much of a family, had people outside the home that would volunteer to send gifts to us. My friend Jessica’s mom would send me a few gifts, usually when they sent her mail her mom would include me as well, she was so sweet. The adopted mom sent me a small, desk, daily devotional calendar and that was it. I guess she felt like she had to send me something or it would make her look bad to the Home and she wouldn't do that. I was disappointed but again, not surprised, but my disappointment would be short lived that Christmas Day. After the others had opened their gifts, Ms. Bobbi said she had one for me and she kind of made a big deal about it. As the girls circled around me, she handed me a gift that was wrapped and encouraged me to open it as she held a camera. I opened it and found a flute. I was so surprised and moved to tears, I could not believe it. It was a flute, in a hard case and it was mine. I was told that someone affiliated with the Home had bought it for me; they had heard somehow that I used to play and have one. As I opened the hard case, I pulled the three pieces out and quickly put it together. The room got quiet as I started to play, if I remember right I just started playing Amazing Grace by ear and I distinctively remember a sense of peace in my heart come on as I had found music again.

 Music was therapy for me, always had been and now that I had my flute, the one thing I knew how to do I felt like I was going to be okay. I was in a safe place there at the Home, I had friends (and apparently friends I didn't know about), I had Ms. Bobbi, I had my flute and I was going to be okay. I didn't know what the future had in store but I knew I was going to be just fine.

Until next time, be blessed and inspire to make a difference!
~The Adopted Child

Leaving My Second Home (17)

Christmas would come and go and then the year 2001 would come. I had been in the Home for 9 months now, and I was really feeling at ‘Home’, but I knew that May would come and it would mark my year and I would need to come up with a plan as to what to do with my life. I was never going back home, the adopted parents had made that very clear. I couldn't stay at the Home for the rest of my life either.

As the New Year came and started, I started doing a lot more at the Home and with the church. The Homes were affiliated with People’s Baptist Church which sat at the front of the property. The church had other ministries associated with it and one was a Bus Ministry. I was given special privileges and allowed to work with the Bus Ministry. They needed people to help ride the buses with the children when they dropped them off after church was over. Soon, I was asked to teach a Sunday School class for preteen girls. They needed someone to teach them and I was chosen. It was quite the challenge but Ms. Bobbi knew I could do it.

 After getting my flute for Christmas, I was allowed to play with the others who played instruments in Church. We kind of had our own little mini orchestra, Nathan would play trombone, Jason L. would play trumpet, Micah would play violin (I think) and I would play my flute. I loved it! Playing my flute though meant I would have to step out of the choir but I was okay with that, I would rather play. So soon, my Sundays mornings would be pretty hectic. I would go off to teach Sunday School to my bus girls who I was quickly becoming fond of, rush over to church and get in place to play and then rush back over to the buses and ride with the kids home.
 It kind of broke my heart to see where these girls and bus kids came from. They came from poverty stricken homes, parts of the town of Corpus Christi that was really run down, and most of the kids were Hispanic. I never had the opportunity to get attached to one single child but I will always remember them and I will never forget the introduction I had into the world of the ‘Bus Ministry’, little did I know that later down the road in my life I would get to help with another Bus Ministry.

The months went on, the adopted mother came and paid me her visit that turned out to be heartbreaking (mentioned in an earlier post, kind of got a head of myself). As the months went on though, I was getting more attached to Jonsey, he and I would do whatever it took to pass notes and communicate. The passing of the notes would increase as we would find places to hide them in the kitchen and some of the staff that worked in the kitchen would help us pass the notes. It was silly, looking back and just childish but at the time I was just craving attention and I guess ‘love’. I didn't know any better. I had never been allowed to date at home, I wasn't even allowed to ‘look’ at the boys in the ‘Gothard’ church. The adopted mother was just paranoid about all that, even though she would flirt and smile with men that were younger and maybe better looking than my adopted Dad. She probably didn't know that anybody noticed but I did. She would always smile and laugh and make herself obvious and it was such a turn off.
Anyways, the more Jonsey and I communicated, the more I became attached and slowly but surely I would be convinced that we were meant to be.  But, I would be blinded to all the red flags that were popping up everywhere and I wouldn't listen to people who tried to warn me to stay away from him. So, what were the red flags? For starters, he was always staring at girls, from head to toe. He especially stared at the younger girls in the Home for teenage girls. Any one that was pretty or relatively good looking, he would stare. He would stare and flirt with some of the other girls in my Home but it was the younger girls he would watch the most. Most times he would sit at a table in the dining hall as the younger girls came through the lines and got their lunch. I do remember at one point it came across as odd to me and the other girls in my Home. But, once again, I didn't know what the signs were of a man being inappropriate and I didn't know it would be paired to other acts and signs of inappropriateness.
When I was in the choir in church, I would spot him in the back section of the church where he always sat and he would always watch the girls. The warnings from people? He was angry and had a temper.  I saw it once in a while but I just thought he was just having a bad day. Ms. Bobbi didn't like him, a few other people didn't like him and I just didn't bother to figure out why but then those that didn't like him would never be up front with me and tell me themselves why they didn't like him.  So, I would just keep doing whatever it took to talk to him and I really didn't care what other people said or what kind of trouble I would get into.

But, I did get into trouble as the months went on. In fact the closer it got to May, the more trouble I was getting into. Getting into trouble with Jonsey cost me the opportunity to go on a trip with the Ensemble group that got to go to Missouri, I got to stay behind and be in charge of the dining hall. It was funny how convenient it was for me to have certain privileges while the others got to do things. I was slowly starting to be treated differently. I’m not sure what it was, I just started feeling like I wasn't wanted. There were other girls that were getting more privileges than I would and they would get to do more with Ms. Bobbi. I just wasn't sure what I was doing wrong besides finding every way possible to be around and see Jonsey. He seemed to be the only person that liked me and wanted to be around me.
 Slowly but surely the passing of the notes turned into passing small stuffed animals and other small trinkets. But, the more that was passed and the more I tried to be around him and talked to me, the more trouble I got into. It was out of character for me to be in trouble so much I didn't have a whole lot to look forward to but uncertainty and a future that led to nowhere so it didn't matter much to me.

 The closer it got to May the more acquainted I would get with a man who would frequent the Home while I was there. He had a girls home that was split between locations in North Carolina and Milton Florida and for some reason he would always make his way to Corpus Christi to visit the Homes there. He would come into the dining hall before lunch times and hang around and talk to us girls, he was married (even though we had never seen his wife) so we didn’t think it a bad thing to talk to him. He was kind of odd though but I wouldn’t realize how odd until years later. He would always make his way to the ladies’ Home and talk to Ms. Bobbi, and eventually he would in a way recruit a couple of the girls that were ready to leave the Home or needed an opportunity and they would go with him to work in the girls home in North Carolina. I eventually found out that it was him, Mr. Dave W. that had bought my flute for me at Christmas. He had bought it but had given it to the Home to give to me from them.
 So, for some reason this Mr. Dave had some interest in me and I wasn’t sure why. I talked to him just like the other girls did, not really sensing a problem or anything odd about it. He would soon find out that I was attempting to go to Pensacola Christian College in the fall and he had an interest in that too.

 Finally May came and by then, I had really gotten away with talk to Jonsey and we had managed to pass a lot between us, things that nobody knew about. But, the weekend came when my year anniversary came, it was the 10th and I was excited. I was excited because I finally had hit my year mark, but I was anxious because I still was unsure of what I was going to do with my future. I had decided that I wanted to go to PCC (Pensacola Christian College) but that was in the fall, it was May.  As those in the Homes would hit their year mark or graduation as we called it, they would be represented with a signed certificate signed by the Dorm parent of the Home they were in and signed by the Pastor of the entire Home. It would be given to the graduates in a church service so that others knew they had accomplished something, it was indeed a big deal and meant a lot. My night in church came and I officially graduated the Home, I had finished my year.

As I made plans to go to PCC after my year graduation, Ms. Bobbi and I had realized that I was going to need a GED, I had nothing in the form of a diploma, so we arranged for me to take the test in town over a couple of days. Unfortunately, I was never going to get my scores or find out how I did on the test. For some reason, on a certain day at the Home, Ms. Bobbi would be made aware of how close Jonsey and I were getting and someone had told her that he and I were passing a lot of things between each other and notes. It really made her mad and angry. I never understood why she reacted the way she did ( I heard over time that she was bi-polar and had mood swings),  Jonsey and I were not the only guy and girl who had gotten caught or in trouble for interacting with each other or for passing things to each other. The guys and girls in the Homes did it all the time. But, for some reason what Jonsey and I had been doing and getting away with was just bad. She was angry and said she had to call the adopted mother and tell her what was going on. She also said that I was going to have to leave the Home and that I couldn’t be there anymore. I was totally shocked. Again, I don’t know why all of this was being blown out of proportion but it was.

 Within 24 hours, Ms. Bobbi had me pack up my stuff, she had bought a bus ticket and made arrangements with the Mr. Dave for me to go to North Carolina and work in his girls’ home. It was too much. I did not understand why I was being treated the way I was, Jonsey and I hadn’t done anything immorally wrong. We hadn’t touched each other; we hadn’t kissed or fooled around, nothing that merited that much anger and sudden change in my life like that. I never talked to the adopted mother whom Ms. Bobbi had said she called and who was furious. I never talked to the Pastor of the Home, even though Ms. Bobbi had told me it was him who wanted me to leave. It was all just weird and scary. I packed up my stuff, packed the important stuff that I could fit into the one suitcase that I had arrived with at the Home with a year ago. The rest of my stuff would be packed into boxes and sent to me later.

 The other girls and ladies in the Home were just as confused as I was and the round of goodbyes would be filled with tears, so many tears. The day after the madness had come about, I was taken to the Greyhound bus station by Ms. Bobbi, she would drop me off, hand me my bus ticket, a Walmart sack of snack foods to eat while on the bus and $12 in cash. She said she loved me but part of me wasn’t so sure of that at the moment. If she loved me then why was she treating me like this? What had I done so wrong? I did not understand. All I did understand was that I was about to leave a life I had known and loved for a year, my friends who were like family to me, a guy who I thought I loved (who by the way I was not allowed to say goodbye to or see before I left), I was about to leave it all. I had never traveled anywhere on my own in my entire life. This was the first time. Yes, I was 18 but you have to remember mentally I was still catching up and physically too. I still looked like a little girl to most people and here I was about to get on a bus full of people, strangers and I was about to travel for close to two days by myself. I had no phone, no nothing. I had a backpack that was like a purse because I didn't own one and my one suitcase was underneath the bus, it had everything that was mine that I could take with me.

Ms. Bobbi left as soon as she handed me my ticket and said goodbye. I sat for a few minutes trying to figure out how to get on the right bus, I had to figure out how to read my ticket, I had never seen one before. I managed to get on the right bus; it was full of people, a lot of Hispanics. I had heard over time that when you travel on a bus that you had to protect yourself and hold your belongings close. I found my seat; it was next to a window, I put my backpack on the floor snug in between my feet so no one could steal it. The bus started out and we were headed to Houston, we had a small stop on the way there to have a bathroom break and pick other travelers up. We went to Houston from there, where I would transfer buses.

The Greyhound Station there in Houston was massive and I was amazed that I had found my way to the right bus and didn't get lost. I was frustrated though, I was in Houston, my home town and I didn't have anybody I could call. I just boarded the next bus and moved further towards North Carolina. The whole way there, we would make a hundred stops it would seem like; I remember stopping at the Bus Station downtown Atlanta, GA and it too was big. Little did I know I would live in Atlanta in the future.  On the bus, I sat next to people that were just odd. I remember when transferring buses at one of the stops in North Carolina the bus driver asked me a question and I responded with a ‘Yes sir’. He looked at me oddly and snapped at me saying ‘Don’t say that to me!’ I forgot that northerners did not take yes sirs and no ma’ams as a form of respect and I was quickly reminded that I was indeed up ‘north’.  Somewhere in South Carolina, I met a man who looked like Santa Clause who talked a lot, he was kind enough to buy me a full meal at a burger joint there at the station. It tasted so good, the food that was given to me had run out a long time ago and I didn't have much left of the $12. The Santa Clause man let me use a calling card, where I was able to finally get a hold of Jonsey, he was confused and hurt by all that had happened. We promised to get in touch when I got to the girls’ home and then we said our goodbyes.

 Finally, I would reach my destination which was Asheville; it was the closest to the town where the girls’ home was that had a Greyhound Station. When I arrived, it was late, I think it was after 9pm and it was a very small station, maybe a fraction of the size of the station in Atlanta. There was nobody there waiting for me, I thought that Mr. Dave would be there but he wasn't. I called the number that Ms. Bobbi had given to me to the girls’ home and talked to somebody there letting them know I was there. The town where the girls’ home was at though was like 30 minutes away north of Asheville. It was getting later and darker. I was in a part of town in Asheville that was kind of set apart from the city, probably on the outskirts somewhere. I remember I had to sit outside the station with my suitcase and backpack, I sat in the parking lot in the dark and there were two other guys there who were also waiting for their ride. The guys looked like they were military and eventually as we all sat there, they sounded like they were military. That was the first time I had literally heard cussing and cuss words. It kind of took me by surprise but then it made me nervous too.

Here I was, 18 years old, in a state I had never been to before, sitting close to a couple of guys who were cussing every other word and I was just a little scared. Finally, close to midnight, Mr. Dave showed up, by himself , I felt really relieved to see him. Finally I was with someone relatively familiar. Finally, I was heading to the last stop in my journey, a stop that would start a new chapter in my life. The days of the Home were forever behind me and what laid ahead of me that night was a highway that lead over a mountain, into the unknown, into a life that I would be forced to live in and live out. Until next time, be Blessed and Inspire to Make A Difference.
~The Adopted Child