A FOSTER kid is burdened with a lot of guilt.
You think it’s your fault when you sometimes see your mum crying.
You think that because you’re in a foster home you’ve broken up your family.
You think that it really is your fault when your foster family says “it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault.”
You think it’s your fault when your mum and step-dad break up, even though he was a jerk.
Then you feel messed up for feeling guilty because it was your abusive step-dad that led to your exile from the family.
Guilt then leads to blame.
I blamed my step-dad. I blamed Mum. And I blamed the Department of Community Services for taking me away from my home.
But actually, it wasn’t DOCS’ fault. It might be a flawed system like every other government department, but I can’t say I was in a foster home because of them.
It was something else entirely.
“So you can either go home to your mum, or we put you in a refuge,” the DOCS manager warned me, while I was watching TV in their office.
“Aw cool, a refuge!” I said, thinking less about potential molestation and more about the midnight feasts you read about in Enid Blyton works.
I was too young for a refuge so they chose the only available foster home instead. DOCS tried to talk me out of it.
The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movie was on, the one where they are in rubber suits. I was never allowed to watch ninja turtles because I would copy their ninja moves in the playground.
If I went home I wouldn’t be able to keep watching the movie.
So it’s obviously the teenage mutant ninja turtles fault.