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What Family Means to Me
by Emily Taveras
Names have been changed. My first childhood memory is being in a strange room with other kids crying. I entered the foster care system when I was 2 years old, and the memories I have of growing up in care are mostly fragmented, glued-together pieces.
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With Help, I Made My Own Home
by Anonymous
I first went into foster care when I was 12 years old because my mom abused and neglected me. (My father was mostly not around.) My last placement was at a residential treatment facility called Madonna Heights, where the other girls bullied me.
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Almost Derailed by the Pandemic
by Vinay Hinduja
Last year I was in the spring semester of my junior year at Queens College when COVID-19 shut school down. At first, I was excited that I wouldn’t have to wake up early for class anymore. Then I found out I was getting kicked out of the dorm—which was my home.
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Life On My Own
by Bryant A.
Foster care was a pretty good experience for me. I came into care when I was 15, and was placed with a good foster mother, Blanca, right away. She helped me stay on track, and so did some of my foster care workers.
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Unplanned Parenthood
by B.A.
Names have been changed. Daisy and I knew each other for about five years before we cuffed. We have a lot in common: We are both from Brooklyn. We both have a good sense of humor and like hip-hop, action movies, and comedy.
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I Finally Got an Apartment, but I Still Want to Be Adopted
by B.A.
Names have been changed. My parents abused and neglected me, and I went into care when I was 15. I lucked out getting Teresa for a foster mother. She was the first true mother figure I had. Six years later, I am still living with her and she is in the process of adopting me.