FCYU-Feature Story

Little Man's Burden
At age 4, I was trying to support my fam. Then foster care supported me.

By Joseph Johnson

When I was 4, I was living with my mom in Hunter's Point in San Francisco. Times were rough. The house was no good, the neighborhood was no good, the people were no better. We had a full house: me, my two brothers, my sister and my mother.

My father was not really around. He just bounced in and out of my life. When he was around, he would just beat me out of anger or because of drugs. This was no fun and the pressure was too hot to handle.

My mom was trying to get money on her own by doing things that were illegal. My brothers were older than I was. Alex was 8, Sam was 12. They were working. My brothers were the only two who were making much money in the house, but there was one problem: they spent their money on things that didn't help the family, like extra clothes and shoes.

When I was 5 we moved to an even harder place. Things got worse. If there was not one thing happening, there was another. People's houses caught fire, and sometimes someone got shot or worse. My father was back in my life at the time, but I knew it was only a matter of time till he disappeared again. All this made my family a split family. Well, not even a family.

Struggling to Survive

When I was still 5, I decided to go and watch my brothers in action at work. I helped around a bit by wrapping newspapers into a bundle and throwing them into a pile so they could be taken out. The boss and I were getting along great. He was really kind and friendly. My brothers were happy that day. I really had fun.

That night I stayed awake wondering if there was an easy way to live, and if there was, what could it be. Then it hit me: If my brothers can work, why can't I?

That next morning I was the first one up in the house. I woke my brothers up and we were off to work. (Well, they were.) The boss was wondering why we were there so early. I told him I wanted to work for him. At first he said, "What about school?" Then I said, "What about my brothers? They aren't going to school, either."

He looked at me and just laughed. We worked it out and he said to come after school. I said, "Thanks." He just smiled at me and handed me an application, as though him letting me work was legal. I was too young to even write.

Throwing Newspapers at Age 5

I started throwing newspapers after school, which paid $15 a route. So I did two routes, which gave me $30. I gave my mom all the money I made. She knew I was working but didn't really ask where it was from. With the money we had a decent dinner every night, but there was still one problem. There was still rent to be paid. So eventually I felt like I had to drop out of elementary school and get another job at a gas station pumping gas. That job paid whatever you earned in tips.

From there I made a good $35 every night, so all together I made a good $50 in one day. My mom was happy with what I was doing. She thought it was good that I was making money, even though I had dropped out of school.

At the time, my mom was a little stubborn. She would not let people outside of our small family help her. When my aunt, along with other people, tried to give my mom some money, my mom wouldn't take it. I remember her saying, "I don't want the money. I can make it on my own." She had too much pride.

But having the pressure of being the money earner was getting to me. So was everything else in my life and that rough neighborhood-my dad beating me, the kids jumping me, everyone yelling at me, it was all too much. Eventually, I could take the pressure no longer. So I tried to end it all by committing suicide.

The thing that broke me was my teacher. I had been missing school, but every now and then I would bring in a note from my mom saying I was sick. One day I brought in the note and the teacher yelled at me for my absence. She was just another person yelling at me, not understanding what I was going through. First I felt anger and rage. Then came the hurt and frustration. At that exact moment, I gave up. I thought killing myself could be the end to all my problems, so I grabbed my pencil and stabbed myself in the wrist. It hurt like hell.

The Pressure Got to Me

My teacher called the office and yelled to call 911. Then she got out a first aid kit and wrapped my arm.

I was brought to the children's ward of the hospital. It felt safe at the children's ward, and they treated me as though I was a grown up. I stayed there for a while.

My mom came there to visit me. She looked at me and said, "Do you like being here or something?"

I looked at her and said, "Is there any other place that is as safe as this one is?"

My mom said nothing after that. She left shaking her head. Right then and there I knew that the choice was mine whether to go home or not. People had told me I could go live somewhere else, though back then I didn't really know what foster care was. Soon I told my lawyer that I wanted to go somewhere else.

Placed in Care

That was eight years ago. Since then, I've been in four foster homes. Some have been bad, others good. Foster care is not the greatest because you have a lot of rules to go by. You'll get homesick not living with family, and not being together on holidays or birthdays. But if you have good foster parents and a good agency, they will make sure that you succeed in life.

Now I live in a wonderful foster home. I have a foster mom who really cares about me. My foster mom stays on my case, is real strict and lets me do nothing but learn. It's completely different from when I was younger and working. She doesn't let me get out enough to get in trouble. And even though I worked when I was a kid, now my agency doesn't let me work. That's bad because I'm used to working, but it's good because I can focus on school.

After missing so much school to help my mom, it took me a very long time to catch up on my schoolwork. But I found that if you try hard enough, even if you've been out of school for a while, you eventually get where you need to be.

For me, going into foster care was a good idea. If I hadn't gone into foster care, I probably still would've been out on the streets, trying to support the family as a child.

And even though I don't live with family, it has actually helped my relationship with my family. My relationship with my mom is better than ever, and my father…well, my father is trying his best to stay in my life. Oh, and my brothers are out on their own and my sister is living with my mom.

Mixed Feelings

But I still have mixed feelings about that time. Sometimes I think I could have helped my mom more, and then we could still be together. Sometimes I feel that it is my fault that my family split up. When I lived with them, everything was bad, but at least we were suffering together. That's when I have to remind myself that I was only a kid then, and the past is what it is.

Other times I wonder whether my mom would have had a better chance at keeping me or getting me back if the foster care agency had given her money. Now she says she would have taken it, but I'm not sure she would have. I remember her as being too proud to take money from anyone.

The Bad Times Are Over

I also guess there is some advantage to all of us splitting up. After all, everyone is in a better place now, not just me. One thing I do know is that the bad times are all over and I'm glad of that.

Now I feel good about myself, and I've found other ways to solve my problems such as talking to my therapist, who the foster care agency found for me. My life today is fairly OK. I think foster care has helped me a lot.