Aged Out

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AGED OUT
nine years in foster care. out at 18. still standing.

If you're in foster care and you found this page, hi. I was you. I'm not going to tell you everything's going to be great. I'm going to tell you what happened to me and what I wish somebody had told me, and you can take what's useful and leave the rest.

I'm Lee. I'm 19. I live in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I stock shelves at a grocery store from eleven at night to seven in the morning, I rent a room from a retired lady who makes me eat breakfast, and I'm in my second year at the community college studying to be a respiratory therapist. I'm tired most of the time. I'm doing OK.

THE SHORT VERSION

I went into foster care in 1989, when I was nine. My mom couldn't take care of us. That's all I'm going to say about that, and that's all anybody needs to know.

Between nine and eighteen I lived in six foster homes and one group home. Two of the homes were good. One was great, and I got moved out of it anyway because the family moved out of state. My little sister Julia went to a different home and got adopted when she was eight. I get to send her cards and I see her twice a year. She's fifteen now and taller than me, which is not OK.

Every time I moved, my stuff went in a garbage bag. Every time. You know what that does to a kid? It tells him he's trash that gets carried out. I'm still mad about that one. I'll probably always be mad about that one.

AGING OUT

For most of us in Michigan, when you turn eighteen and finish high school, you're done. The state isn't your parent anymore. Here's what that looked like for me.

I graduated in June 1998. Two weeks later my caseworker drove me and two garbage bags and a lamp to a room I'd rented over a dry cleaner's. She signed some papers. I signed some papers. She hugged me, which she wasn't really supposed to do, and drove away. That was the last day.

The first night I didn't have sheets. I slept on the bare mattress under my coat. I didn't have a pan either, so I ate cereal out of the box for three days until I figured out where a store was that I could walk to.

Think about the people you know who are eighteen. Are any of them ready to live by themselves with no one to call? Most kids with parents still bring their laundry home at twenty-two. We get a lamp and a handshake.

OK. Done being mad. Here's what helped.

WHAT HELPED

A caseworker who kept calling	Ms. Maynard was my caseworker for my last three years. After my case closed, she kept calling anyway, every couple of weeks, on her own time. She's the one who made me fill out the financial aid form. She still calls.
Independent Living classes	The Independent Living program had classes for kids sixteen and up: budgeting, cooking, how to fill out a job application, how to read a lease. At sixteen I thought they were stupid. They weren't. Go to all of them. Take notes. You'll want them later and nobody will be there to ask.
A mentor	Mr. Colella from the church my last foster family went to. He taught me to drive, to change oil, and to call when I said I'd call. He didn't try to be my dad. He just kept showing up. Every kid in care should get one of him.
Financial aid	I filled out the federal financial aid form, the FAFSA, and got a Pell Grant, which is money for school that you don't pay back. If you were a ward of the court until you were eighteen, you count as independent on the form, so your parents' income doesn't come into it. Ask the financial aid office at the college. They help with the form for free.
A used car	An '87 Buick with a lot of miles and a heater that works, which in Michigan is the only thing that matters. I bought it in January with money from work. Before that I took two buses to get anywhere. A car meant I could work nights and go to school days.
Something to aim at	I had bad asthma as a kid. When I was eleven I ended up in the emergency room, scared out of my mind, and a respiratory therapist sat with me the whole night and talked me through every breath. I never forgot him. That's what I'm going to be.

WHAT I'D TELL YOU AT FIFTEEN

You are not your file. Your file is what grown-ups wrote down on bad days. It isn't you.
Stay in school. I know. Everybody says it. But every move I made cost me credits, and I almost didn't graduate. Ask your caseworker to get your credits transferred every time you move. Ask twice.
Learn to cook three things. Eggs, spaghetti, and one other thing. That's enough to start.
Don't burn every bridge. You'll be angry at a lot of people, and some of them deserve it. But keep the phone numbers of the ones who were decent to you. You'll need a reference someday.
Put the anger somewhere. Mine went into basketball, and later into a punching bag in the group home basement. Find yours. Somewhere that doesn't get you moved again.
Ask for help before you turn eighteen. After, it gets a lot harder to find.

BEFORE YOU TURN 18: THE CHECKLIST

Start on this at sixteen, not at seventeen and eleven months. Ask your caseworker or Independent Living worker to help you get each one. Some of these take weeks to come in the mail.

[ ]	Birth certificate. A certified copy, not a photocopy. You'll need it for almost everything else on this list.
[ ]	Social Security card. The real card. You need it to get a job.
[ ]	State ID or driver's license. In Michigan you get it at the Secretary of State office.
[ ]	Medical records. Your shots, allergies, any medicine you take, the name of your last doctor. I needed my shot records for college and it took two months to find them.
[ ]	School records. Transcripts from every high school, and your diploma.
[ ]	Medicaid card. And find out exactly when your coverage ends, and what you can do after. Get your teeth and eyes checked before it does.
[ ]	A bank account. A savings account with something in it. Even fifty dollars. Some Independent Living programs will help you start one.
[ ]	A library card. Free computers, free books, a warm place to be. I wrote half of this page at the library.
[ ]	Phone numbers of people who care. Written down on paper, in your wallet. Your caseworker, a teacher, a foster parent, a mentor, your brothers and sisters. People move and numbers change. Get new ones every year.
[ ]	Where you'll sleep the night you leave. Not "I'll figure it out." An address.
[ ]	A real bag. A duffel bag or a suitcase. Ask for one. Buy one at the thrift store if you have to. You are not carrying your life out in a garbage bag. Not this time.

Someone told me there's a bill in Congress this year about helping kids who age out. Good. I'll believe it when I see it.

LAST THING

You're going to be OK. Not because it's fair, because it isn't. Because you're tougher than you should have had to be, and that's going to carry you a long way. Find the people who show up. Be one of them for somebody else someday.

If you want to write to me, I'll write back. I don't give advice about your case, because I'm not a caseworker and I'm not a lawyer. But I'll listen, and I'll tell you what I know.

- Lee

people since February. Some of you are kids in group homes reading this on the school computer. Hi. Clear the history.

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Last updated September 21, 1999