School’s Out: A Foster Child's Journey From the Last Day of School to Summer Challenges

“School’s out for summer…” I hear the kids chant as we celebrate the ending of the school year and the beginning of summer. We pile in to the big yellow bus as the excitement and chants continue, it is the final bus ride of the school year. 

I join in with the kids shuffling down the bus isle to take a seat and open the windows to allow the shouts from other buses to synchronize with us. I force a pep in my step and a smile on my face trying to convince the kids around me that I too was excited for the upcoming months of what is supposed to be summer freedom and fun; however, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. A pit in my stomach began to churn as I started to contemplate the loss of the school year, 7th grade was over.  

School was my escape.  It was the place I could pretend to be someone else; it was a place I could connect with friends and immerse myself in the challenges and subjects I was learning; it was a place to refocus my emotions and energy, distracting me from my reality.  So as the warm Minnesota breeze hit my face from the open bus window, I just closed my eyes and savored the few last moments on this last ride before my summer started. 

It wasn’t but a few moments from stepping off the bus that the tidal wave of the reality of my life engulfed me.  My foster mom’s biological daughter, one-year older than me, was having an end of school-year party. Great. At school you try to blend in, hope that people don’t know or don’t care where you come from; but bringing what felt like half the kids from the grade above me to the foster home I lived in and was so ashamed of, was just another blow, another embarrassment. 

I walked into the house, the smell of finger-food and the sounds of party preparations meet me at the door, I walk through the small kitchen to be met by our last after-school snack of the year.  I eat my snack at the table and start heading toward the back of the house to the spiral staircase that led to the attic bedrooms, and I hear my foster mom, “Mandy, I need you to put your stuff away and go outside and mow the front ditch.” I stop at the bottom of the stairs, close my eyes, take a deep breath as I swallow the emotion building up in my throat.  She is going to make me mow the lawn as half the grade above me celebrates the end of the school year. I hate my life. I exhale.

I continue up the spiral stairwell and walk through the two open rooms to the back doorless room at the front of the attic, my eyes focused on the large window on the farthest wall overlooking the driveway, expansive front yard, and corn fields for as far as I can see; kids were already arriving for the party. I sit on my bed knowing there is no choice, I have to go mow the front ditch. I look out the window as more kids are dropped off. I wait as long as I can, delaying the inevitable. I hear my name coming from downstairs, “Mandy, Mandy, what are you doing?” I close my eyes one more time wishing to be transported anywhere else, but instead I hear my name one more time and know I need to hustle.  

I walk downstairs out the front door; I don’t want to make eye contact with anyone.  Maybe if I don’t look at them, they won’t see me either. I walk into the shed and my nose wrinkles with the smell of dust, dead grass, and stale air.  I pull out the push-lawn mower, fill it with gas, and push it through some pine trees to the front ditch.  I pull the string a couple times, prime the gas, and pull again, I hear the roar of the motor and begin walking the length of the ditch back and forth, back and forth.  

All the kids had been dropped off at this point I could faintly see them through the line of pine trees as they were hanging outside, listening to music, eating food, and jumping on the trampoline. I felt a huge wave of emotion from the depths of my chest rising into my throat, instead of swallowing it away I take a gasping breath and let out a sob of frustration, embarrassment, and shame.  I sit down in protest not wanting to take another step, but I know better, I know the consequences if the lawn mower shuts off and the task isn’t done.  I know how to make her happy, I know how to make my life easier.  But that doesn’t make the moment any less tense.  I sit there on the slope of the ditch, my hand holding the mower on as I let tears stream down my face, feeling defeated, feeling the weight of my circumstances on my shoulders. The journey from the last day of school to the onset of summer challenges didn't take long, but the summer came and the summer went and I was stronger and more resilient for having lived through it.

I look back at this moment and still feel the crushing emotion on my chest. The humiliation of feeling like Cinderella, feeling like I couldn’t fight back, and the despair that tomorrow will never come.  But it did.  Tomorrow came the humiliation, embarrassment and despair of that moment passed. In fact, I survived all the little humiliations, all the little obstacles and I survived all the big humiliations and all the big obstacles.  And it was that feeling – that heavy emotion that would arise from my chest in those moments that I have used as motivation to rise above my circumstances.  Motivation to do more, be better, and achieve beyond all I could imagine.  

This experience is an everyday occurrence for many foster kids across the nation.  Whether intentional or unintentional, foster kids every day find themselves in situations that enhance the shame and embarrassment of their circumstances. For many, it cements their belief system, it teaches them they are less, not enough, and unworthy.  I want every foster kid to know they are not alone.  Today’s reality will end; tomorrow will come. Use these moments to motivate you to rise above the circumstances you have been placed in to instead of letting them define who you are.

There are thousands of families that choose to take in kids in need, giving them a family and helping them through an incredibly traumatic time in their life. I am so thankful for all those who are making the sacrifices to impact the trajectory of the lives of these kids. Please remember to see things through the eyes of the child you are trying to help; sometimes perception is reality for a child, even if it isn’t your intention. Be kind. Thank you for all you do.