By Shantae Mearis

I’ve been in foster care since I was a little girl. My mom has been on drugs and in and out of jail ever since my siblings and I were born. I often feel lost and lonely, so peer pressure has become a big issue for me. That’s mainly how I get into trouble, doing things to fit in and feel loved, like smoking weed and ditching school with the ones who seem to love me. I started running away from foster homes when I was 11.

In January 2009, I was 15 years old. I was moving to a new foster family, and I was ready to start a new life. I made a resolution to turn my life around, stay focused on school, and stay out of trouble.

When I met the family, they were very nice—a mom and a dad, three little kids, and two other teenagers living at the house. I was the second foster kid that they had taken in but the other one had left to be adopted weeks before I came.

Right away, they made me feel like part of the family. There was a birthday party at their house my first night there for their daughter Tina, who was around my age. The mom and dad approached me and said, “Shantae, you are more than welcome to join our party.” I thought, “These people like to have fun and celebrate.” I liked it there so far. So I nodded my head yes and smiled and said, “Thank you.”

After about two months, though, everyone’s attitude in the house changed toward me. I wondered why, since I wasn’t doing anything different from when I first got there—doing my chores and homework and showing good manners.

Worse Than Rude

But they were worse than rude to me. They would tell me that they were just going to the store and end up leaving me home by myself, returning home a few days later. One day during a home visit, my social worker asked me, “How do you like your babysitter?” I was confused, and then I realized that the mom was telling my social worker that a responsible adult was looking after me when they left town. I went along with it because I didn’t want to tell on the mom. I didn’t know what the outcome would be.

The mom was the one who made all the plans without me. She was always acting like I wasn’t a part of the family and barely talked to me. The dad’s face seemed to say that he disapproved; he would be nice to me when no one was around. But he was scared to stop the nonsense. I heard him say to his wife one night, “I will always be on your side even if you’re wrong. I wouldn’t want to take the blame for this family breaking up.” The kids treated me the same way the mom did; it was like they didn’t know any better.

I hated being treated that way. My past was already bad enough—feeling neglected and hurt my whole life and now this. It seemed like no one wanted to stay a part of my life. People have walked in and out since Day One.

Family Game Night

Every week the family had a game night. The way it was announced was everyone would receive cards with their name on the front and the position they were going to play in the game that week. I never received a card, so I assumed I wasn’t invited. Sometimes they would invite other people, but usually it was just the family.

One game night, I finally asked. It was cold and raining outside. I had been living there for a little more than half a year, and they still hadn’t invited me to join them. Tina, the daughter who was my age, came up into the room we shared to put on a sweater. She had long black hair and big brown eyes and always made people feel as if they were little compared to her. As Tina came into the room, I took a deep breath, deciding whether or not I should start this conversation. I decided to do so.

I asked, “Why doesn’t your mom invite me downstairs when it’s family game night?” Tina replied in a demanding voice, “It’s called ‘family game night’ for a reason. And in my eyes you are not family! You’re just a kid that my mom took in from the streets. That’s all my mom had to do was take you in, nothing more. You have a roof over your head now, so stop complaining!”

This was the first time Tina ever said something like this to me. Before, she always used actions and not words. She would roll her eyes at me when I ate the last of the cereal, or lock me out of the house on purpose. I don’t know why she did these things to me. Maybe it made her feel like she had control over me.

I crossed my arms, and asked, “What’s the point of your mom taking me in if she doesn’t really want me? Why don’t y’all just take me back, it’s less of a hassle. Why am I here?” I thought since Tina was my age, she might give me a more understanding answer.

I Was a Paycheck

Tina put her hand on her hip as if she were in charge and jerked her neck. “Well you can’t complain too much because we are not abusing you, physically anyways. You have food on the table. And to answer your question, we are only keeping you for the extra money. Duh! I mean, wouldn’t you do the same thing? It’s kinda smart, huh? Hahahaha!”

I thought about it. The mom did usually give me the leftover food after the whole family ate, as if I were a dog. The only time the family called me down to eat dinner with them is when company came over.

I felt mad and used. I wanted to get away. I ran downstairs to head outside and saw the family playing their game with smiles and laughter. Seeing this made my insides hurt and knot up because that is what I wanted, a family. With no one following me, I ran outside into the cold rain and sat on a curb in front of an abandoned house crying my eyes out.

Shantae Takes Charge

I know that it wasn’t right to be treated this way, almost illegal. I decided to take action, and I called my action “Shantae Takes Charge!” It was late, but I called my social worker and left a message. She called me back first thing in the morning and got me right out of that home. I had to spend a couple weeks at a temporary children’s shelter, but I was just glad to be out of that house they call home.

The whole six-month experience made me more depressed and angry. I started anger management classes and got on anti-depression pills. The feeling of being treated differently than biological kids is one of the worst feelings a foster kid could have. Nobody wants to feel inferior in her own home. Every child is supposed to have a place to call home—where she feels safe, somewhere to run to.

Foster kids who are being treated differently feel like they don’t have that home. They don’t feel equal or loved. They feel like outcasts.

I am currently at a great new foster home where they treat me as if I were one of their own. They tell me that they love me and reward me for my good behavior and grades. They call me down for every meal and they never leave me out of game nights. They tell me not to be afraid to tell them anything and that telling the truth and speaking my mind will only make things better. I almost never feel reminded that I am a foster kid.

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