The Lost Boy

crystal clear: “It takes a community to save a child!”
    All too often, as a result of dissolving families and values, a lack of concern for minors and a lack of proper guidance, children grow up to become “killing machines.” By investing in our “youth at risk” today, does society not stand a better chance of a “higher yield” tomorrow – an adult serving our community rather than rotting away in some jail?
    While “The System” is not perfect, it does in fact work. In my estimation “The System” will never be perfected – the demands from society are just too much. Many of us look toward “The System” and demand that “they” solve our problems, to our satisfaction, right now.
    Like the Jaycees and The Arrow Project, maybe society can ease some of the frustrations of those in their chosen field. Maybe
we
can mail a card to a teacher for no special reason and just say thanks, or give a small bunch of flowers to a social worker. Perhaps the next time
we
see a police officer,
we
can smile and wave hello; or present a foster family with a pizza. If
we
can treat those in entertainment and sports like gifts from the gods, why can’t
we
show a little bit of gratitude to those who play such a priceless role in _our _ community?
    As much as this book takes the reader behind the scenes, its main theme is always that of the child who seemingly comes from another planet. Some people may believe that once a child is removed from a threatening environment, the minor’s problems instantly disappear. The actuality is, that is when the troubles begin. Like so many other children who enter “The System, ” I was brought up in a violent, controlled environment. My problem was twofold: first, the need to deprogram my hideous past; and second, the need to be guided into mainstream society.
    In so many ways I was so lucky. I was able to use my dark past to propel me to a brighter future. But like so many other lost children, in the beginning I failed to realize that I could take the same techniques I had used to survive my abusive past and apply them to the real world. In general, foster children are far more mature, resilient and focused on their futures than mainstream children because foster children have had to adapt at an earlier age. (The key word is adapt, not give up!) Foster children, for the most part, do not sit around waiting for the silver spoon – they rely on themselves. I could have fallen through the cracks and then blamed my failed future on my past, had it not been for proper guidance and a little bit of love. However, the single biggest mistake I’ve ever made was dropping out of high school. But like most foster children, I simply had to adapt and overcome. After being exposed to a different world, in order to make it, I knew
I had to want it more.
    While at times foster care was frustrating, it did give me the chance to see how other families lived. Like a great deal of those in foster care, I didn’t know how good I had it until I moved out on my own. Foster children
never
forget their foster parents. I am the same. Like others, I have many regrets. One of them is that Harold Turnbough passed away before I had my son, Stephen. Another regret was not being able to present Harold with my first book, which was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. However, today Alice Turn-bough lives hours from my home. The highest compliment I can pay to my foster mother is this: Alice is my son’s grandmother. That’s how much foster care means to me.
    In January 1994 I had the privilege of presenting a training program in Ottumwa, Iowa, for a group of foster parents who had traveled from throughout the region during the middle of a snowstorm that closed down that part of the state. I presented a program on working with children who come from abusive backgrounds and how to better deal with them. During the course, I gave an illustration of how I used to escape my pain by dreaming of a hero. On the outside my hero did not fit into mainstream society, yet on the inside my hero knew who he was and wanted to do good for others in need. In my dreams I saw myself as my hero. I flew through the air, I wore a cape of red and I had an ‘S’ on my chest. I
was
Superman. When I stated this, the foster parents erupted with applause. As tears rolled down some of their faces, they held up a bumper sticker that read, SUPERMAN HAD FOSTER PARENTS .
    To all of you who work with
The Lost Boys and Girls,
God bless