Saturday, October 29, 2011

Silent Voices

Before sharing this journey I have embarked on with you all, you first have to understand my history and how I arrived at this point. I consider myself to be an intelligent, talented and confident individual; however, it has been a long process. My upbringing was highly unconventional. One might even compare it to a fictional movie. Unfortunately, I never had the pleasure to rewind, pause or fast forward my reality. Nevertheless, each event in my childhood was a lesson that gave me strength and endurance.
I have not always desired to attend a university. I just simply did not have the time to focus on such an idea. It was not because I was preoccupied with childhood joys, like playing outside, sleepovers, or learning a new sport. That satisfaction was never afforded to me. I had a one-track mind, survival.
I remember the first time I entertained the thought of attending a university. My reasoning would probably be considered atypical. For me, I saw it as my escape. It was my way out. I was in an earthly hell and college was my heaven. Every negative, painful and abusive (physical, mental and emotional) event I experienced was fuel to my engine on my passage to refuge. I admit, the comparison may seem a bit dramatic, but I assure you it is an adequate description.
I was in an emotionally, physically and mentally exhausting and abusive place. My home life was horrifying. The woman who adopted me was not who she appeared to be. She received praises in our community and newspapers for adopting four children. They knew her differently than I did. She was a beautiful humanitarian in the community, but in our home, she was everything but beautiful.
In my time spent in her home, she made it her daily goal to teach me how worthless she felt I was. It was made clear that I was merely a check in her pocket and as a black male, I was beneath her. I was severely beaten and excluded from the family. She instilled her racist teachings in me and my non-black siblings. I, as a black man, was taught that my kind was the worst kind. I was the black sheep. I remember a lot of painful experiences in that home. Some scarred me, and others made me much stronger.
Every morning I had to leave the house a few hours after sunup. I was only allowed in the home after sundown. The weather did not matter. Rain, sleet or snow, I wasn’t to set foot in the house until it was dark outside. My adoptive mother didn’t care where I went, what I did or if I ate. I would sit on the front porch and wait for night to fall and then I would hear the door unlock. I would wait five minutes and then proceed upstairs into the attic where my room was.
Things got really bad. The abuse and maltreatment became routine. I had taken all that a child could bear.
I was tired of being homeless during the day, the beatings and most of all feeling like I was not worth anything. I could not wait for the first day of my eighth grade year in school. It was a date that lingered in my mind all day and every day until its arrival. I had a mission. I would return to the foster care system. I needed to find someone who would not just hear me, but take heed to what I was saying. It was time to tell. I knew from previous years of school that there was a guidance counselor/ social worker accessible to students. The thought of landing in the same situation or worse worried me. I was living in fear, but I knew it was possible to have better. I was not afraid of the unknown anymore. I tried to look forward to it.
I didn’t know that this was the beginning of a very long journey to re-enter the child welfare system.





Lesson 1: Self Motivation

It was imperative that I gained the ability to motivate myself, because I truly was all I had. There was no other force driving me. I became self driven.


Articulation and eloquence were skills I had to master. During the summer of eighth grade, I found my voice. I understood that abuse was not normal, and I deserved better. My biggest tasks were figuring out what I wanted and how to get it. Choosing to leave my adoptive home forced me to doubt and question things. I asked myself was there a home and family that could love me? Would I end up in a worse situation? Will I see my adoptive siblings again? How could I leave what and who I know behind? Through my journey, I found answers.

Not every foster home is abusive or prejudicial. In fact, I know there are many loving and accepting homes for our youth. These homes can be stable, educational and nurturing environments. I encourage foster parents and social workers to challenge our children. They need help support; most importantly, they need to be heard. Unfortunately, a child’s voice is often lost. I cannot stress enough how significant it is for a child to be able to articulate their needs, wants and concerns. It is equally important that we listen.



Writer : Sixto M. Cancel
Editor: Brooke Drumgole

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