News Report – Blair Underwood Visits Foster Care Program
February 26, 2010
Here is a great article about Blair Underwood and his ties to foster care! ABC 7 – East Bay News
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Foster Care’s Silent Warrior Campaign – Letter to Oprah
February 25, 2010
Silent Warrior Campaign
I recently created a new campaign called “foster care’s silent warriors” to generate some attention to all things relating to foster care. Part of the campaign’s plan includes a personal letter to Oprah’s producers that asks for help with regard to public exposure for foster care. It is such a large issue in America that it deserves LARGER THAN LIFE ATTENTION which is where Oprah comes in. A publicist recently shared with me that the best chance to reach Oprah with an idea is to speak to her producers so that is what I did.
Email Oprah Producers and tell them you want to see shows that highlight Foster Care issues.
You can help me get Oprah’s attention by copying my emailed letter (included below) and sending under your name. All you have to do is click on the “Email Oprah Producers” link, fill in your information and then copy and paste my letter ( included below). You can also email her with your own words as well, every email will help get foster care children the attention they deserve. Please help pass along this message!
Email letter to Oprah Producers
Looking back on my own experience as a foster child, I can see all sides of the story as to how and why I ended up there, which in truth matter very little. This site is not a place for playing the blame game. What matters, is choosing to create a future that will be far greater than the past. In my opinion, I am not responsible for the failings of the adults in my life; although I suffered as a result of them I do not believe I should carry this weight on my shoulders. Back then it was all out of my hands and this point is the driving force behind my passion for creating this website. So many former alumni are walking around with a burden that doesn’t belong to them on their backs. Children have a unique way of finding a reason to blame themselves. Many children who end up in foster care feel like it is their fault and these children grow up with this mindset. Some feel they have a stamp of shame or embarrassment attached to them.
My intention is that this site will help millions of former alumni change the way they view themselves so they can recognize, celebrate and embrace the silent warrior that’s inside. We may not be able to alter the course of experiences from our childhood; changes to the past are simply not possible. However, we have the power to make a difference now. Today we are warriors!
I am writing to the Oprah show to ask her to do several shows with foster care as the topic. It is a huge issue in America and I am pleading for some super huge coverage and this I place in Oprah’s hands.
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Special Feature Highlight – From Foster Care to Millionaire – Rhonda Sciortino
February 23, 2010
From Foster Care to Millionaire:
Abandoned at just six months of age, raised by a mentally ill man and an alcoholic woman in what can only be described as a bizarre, emotional roller coaster of an upbringing, Rhonda Sciortino used coping skills to survive the unique challenges of her childhood. She put these same survival skills to use to start her own business and make other investments, which grew to become a multimillion-dollar balance sheet. More important than the financial success are the good relationships and other elements of true prosperity that she has achieved along the way. Rhonda learned that prosperity comes in many forms … it’s not just the money we put in the bank every month, but what we achieve in our personal lives.
In her inspiring book, From Foster Care To Millionaire, she tells of some of the “crazy-making” events of her childhood, how she went from poverty, filth, hunger and loneliness to affluence, order, fulfillment, and relationships and more importantly, how you can use the obstacles in your life as stepping stones to a great future!
Rhonda’s Mission:
“Encourage people living with abuse or other disadvantages to know that someone like them made it out of the abuse and they can too.”
“Show that we all create our own outcomes—good or bad— with the choices we make.”
“Help people intentionally create a great life by teaching them what works, including helping them identify and refine or get rid of the coping mechanisms used to deal with past dysfunction that damage good relationships.”
“To show that there are lots of ways to have a great life other than what kids typically categorize as success, like being a professional athlete, actor, musician, celebrity of some sort, professional poker player, or some other unlikely career.”
“Raise awareness in the general public that all people who have been abused do not turn out to be criminals, child abusers, or dysfunctional in relationships. In fact, former foster kids and other survivors of abuse are everywhere. We are business owners, attorneys, physicians, contractors, judges, escrow officers, insurance brokers, executives, and in every other line of work you can think of. We are co-workers and neighbors, and could wind up marrying into your family! I’m hoping that readers who have been hurt by a person who came from a dysfunctional family will come away with a better understanding of why that person hurt them, and perhaps more importantly, that the person who caused the hurt can change. Radical, dramatic, life altering personality change can, and does, happen. I’m proof of it.”
About the Author:
Rhonda is the Founder of Child Welfare Insurance Services, which is the only insurance organization in the US dedicated to protecting child welfare organizations and helping prevent injuries and deaths of youth in foster care. Rhonda hopes to implement a program of work ethic, character building, and money management for disadvantaged youth. She knows firsthand that an earned paycheck will help develop dignity and self-esteem like nothing else will. Rhonda and her husband live near their daughter and her family in Southern California. In January of 2009, Rhonda joined forces with Markel Insurance to continue to enhance her 25 year history of helping people who help children. For more information on Child Welfare Insurance Services, visit www.Markelinsurance.com. For more information about Rhonda, visit www.rhondasciortino.com.
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Random Thoughts from Childhood Series – Toy Gun
February 17, 2010
Mat's Memories From Childhood
TOY GUN
Before I can start this story, I must return to the beginning when my brother and I first arrived. We met the house parent Tony for the first time and he went over a set of rules we must follow. The one rule I remember is the no gun policy. We could not have a toy gun, use an object as pretend guns, or use our fingers as guns.
I believe it was a week or two since I got back from the hospital because I still had a patch on my right eye. All the kids where lining up to get their allowance and I thought for sure I would not get mine because I had been in the hospital and did not do my chores. I got in line anyway and waited my turn. To my surprise fifty cent was slid out of the change envelope and handed to me. The house parent marked my name off and I turned to leave and looked for my brother. I found him and in great excitement headed to the corner store to purchase candy. We exited the back gate at Ivy House and hung a left and ran to the corner store. We entered the front glass doors and headed for the candy section, but before I could get there a beautiful red and white toy ray gun caught my eye. I do not know what it was about this gun, but it pulled at me like a light to a flying insect. I picked the gun up and started pointing it at everything I saw. I had to have this gun! I called my brother over and said “Let’s buy this gun!” I looked at the price and reached into my pocket and pulled out my allowance and realized I did not have enough money to buy the gun. My impulse to have this gun was so strong that I quickly formulated a plan to get this gun. I was going to steal it! I grabbed the gun and pretended that I was invisible and simply was going to walk out the store and no one would ever know. My plan was flawed! I was not invisible and the store manager yelled “Stop.” I’d been caught! The gun was taken from me and the manager asked where we lived. I said Ivy House and he stepped behind the counter and picked up the phone and called someone. The manager hung up the phone and told us to go home.
I was so scared. I knew Tony was the house parent on duty and all that went through my head was “No guns.” Not only did I try to steal, but it the item was a gun. The walk back seemed to take hours though it had only been about ten minutes. My brother and I walked through cottage one doors and there stood Tony waiting to intercept us. I stood in front of him in shame looking at the ground. He told me to look him in the face and asked why I tried to steal? Without wasting a moment, I said because I did not have enough money to buy it. To my surprise his chin started to quiver and his eyes swelled up with tears! He bent down and picked me up and kissed me on the left check. Not sure if it was because I was wearing an eye patch or that I told the truth. Anyhow, he set me down and told my brother and me that he was taking us back to the store for us to apologize to the manager. He walked us back down to the corner store and made us wait at the front glass doors to the store as he went in to talk with the manager. After a brief moment, Tony motioned for us to come in. Tony then told the manager that we had something to tell him. I looked at the manager and told him I was sorry for trying to steal from him. At this point Tony told us to head back to the cottage and wait for him. We both got back and took a seat on the green couch. My head was swirling and the anticipation of his return put my stomach in knots. Tony walked through the door and came up to me. I stood up from my seat and he knelt down and told me the next time if I wanted something not to steal it, but come and talk with him. He then pulled from behind his back the ray gun I had tried to steal and handed it to me. I was speechless! I was in conflict! What about the rule? I simply said thank you and ran off with my new ray gun yelling POW POW………………
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Great Information from Website of Child Welfare League of America: Quick Facts About Foster Care
February 17, 2010
The article below is copied from Child Welfare League of America’s (CWLA) website. It contains some important data and reports. For more information about this data or CWLA, visit www.cwla.org
Quick Facts About Foster Care
Children in Care
513,000 children were in the U.S. foster care system on September 30, 2005. Most children are placed temporarily in foster care due to parental abuse or neglect.
Age of Children in Foster Care
Average age: 10.0 years
| Age | Percentage |
| Younger than 1 year | 6% |
| Age 1-5 | 26% |
| Age 6-10 years | 20% |
| Age 11-15 years | 28% |
| Age 16-18 years | 18% |
| Over 18 | 2% |
Race/Ethnicity
As a percentage, there are more children of color in the foster care system than in the general U.S. population. However, child abuse and neglect occur at about the same rate in all racial/ethnic groups.
Read the report, Children of Color in the Child Welfare System, from CWLA’s National Data Analysis System.
| Ethnicity | Out-of-Home Care | General Population |
| Black, Non-Hispanic | 32% | 15% |
| White, Non-Hispanic | 41% | 61% |
| Hispanic | 18% | 17% |
| American Indian/Alaska Native, Non-Hispanic | 2% | 1% |
| Asian/Pacific Islander, Non-Hispanic | 1% | 3% |
| Unknown | 2% | N/A |
| Two or More Races, Non-Hispanic | 3% | 4% |
Gender
| Gender | Percentage |
| Male | 52% |
| Female | 48% |
Length of Stay
For the children in foster care on September 30, 2005, the average amount of time they had been in the system was 28.6 months. Half of those leaving care that year had been away from home for a year or longer. 54% of the young people leaving the system were reunified with their birth parents or primary caregivers.
Foster Homes
In 2004, there was a total of 153,000 licensed/certified/approved kinship and non-relative foster homes nationwide. In 2005, 24% of youth living foster care were residing with their relatives.
Adoptions
In 2005, 60% of adopted children were adopted by their foster parent(s). The “foster parent” category excludes anyone identified as a relative of the child. 25% of children adopted in FY 2005 were adopted by a relative. A “relative” includes a step-parent or other relative of the child.
Siblings and Extended Families
Over 2 million American children live with grandparents or other relatives because their parents cannot care for them. When relatives provide foster care (known as kinship care), siblings can often stay together. Kinship care also improves stability by keeping displaced children closer to their extended families, their neighborhoods, and their schools.
Youth in Transition
Each year, an estimated 20,000 young people “age out” of the U.S. foster care system. Many are only 18 years old and still need support and services. Several foster care alumni studies show that without a lifelong connection to a caring adult, these older youth are often left vulnerable to a host of adverse situations:
| Outcome | National | Regional/Local |
| Earned a high school diploma | 54% | 50%-63% |
| Obtained BA or higher | 2% | 2% |
| Became a parent | 84% | 42% |
| Were unemployed | 51% | 30% |
| Had no health insurance (unable to obtain health care because they lacked health insurance or sufficient money) | 30% | 29% |
| Had been homeless | 25% | 36% |
| Receiving public assistance | 30% | 26% |
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February 2010 Face of a Foster Care Graduate – Maddy Magdalene
February 6, 2010
Our February feature comes to us from California. She was in foster care from 5 years old until she aged out of the system (18 years old) about 5 years ago. We are grateful for her detailed account and her bravery in sharing her life with us. Please welcome Maddy…….
Name: Maddy Magdalene
State: California
Occupation: Future Writer/Photographer
Favorite source of inspiration: Enjoys writing and photography. Favorite author is Ronald Dahl.
Young Maddy
I was born into an unhappy, violent, abusive home to drug addicted parents. Fortunately, many of my extended relatives offered help as they could during my early years, though it was still a rocky start. Also, my paranoid and drugged mother refused to allow me to stay with them when she went to jail one night, and that was my first experience with the foster care system. I was about five. My parents had long since separated, my father died a few years after, and i was left with my mentally ill mother and her abusive boyfriend, whose first baby she was about to have. Any help the relatives offered would never be enough, and as all involved realized this, we drifted apart.
Soon it was just my half siblings, my stepfather, mom and I, and since my parents were wary of strangers, I didn’t really have anything to compare my pathetic life with. We could never stay in one place, there was always a problem with the landlord, and I was constantly the “new kid” at school. We lived in some pretty bad neighborhoods. There was constant fighting, screaming and throwing and hitting and pushing. I knew by now this wasn’t normal but the one time I tried calling the police I received a sharp slap to the face and made to call right back. My job was to do my chores, watch the babies when the grown ups went out, and keep my mouth shut.
In the midst of all this, I began to struggle with Manic Depression. Mental illness runs in my family but feeling suicidal at the age of eight is simply not normal. Along with the depression and rage came hallucinations and confusion, plus a lot of other things that made it hard for me to communicate my situation. CPS kept taking my half siblings to foster care but leaving me to fend for myself. I was hurt and confused but I was too scared to speak up. I mostly just kept to myself during this time, my nose stuck in one book or another. Classmates teased me and called me “Matilda”. I don’t know if you’ve heard of that book, it’s by Roald Dahl. I’ve always liked Roald Dahl as many of the children in his tales escape a terrible fate, and to me as a young child the thought was quite comforting.
Finally, years later, we moved to another state and after months, maybe more of fighting, abuse, etc…my mom finally got rid of my sibling’s dad, and a vicious battle for custody began. Unfortunately, I was lost in the fray. This time of my life is a blur of images with a lot of missing pieces…me alone in my room trying to block out the screaming…counseling with my mom that was way too late to help matters…bouncing from basement apartment to motel to living in a school bus on a friend’s property…starting respite care with a great family…overdoses…hospitalizations…all this before my twelfth birthday. Finally I called my grandparents in CA and they flew me down immediately. However, after my life of freedom with a parent who’s too wasted to care what their kid does, I felt strangled in this house where I wasn’t even allowed to say “darn”. So, I did what I knew worked: told them I wanted to go back to my mother or i’d kill myself.
The cops were called, I spent some time in the hospital, and was soon on a plane back to the mountains, where my mother and her new boyfriend waited. I could smell alcohol on her breath, and my stomach sank. I didn’t even last two weeks before I was carted out of there on a stretcher and soon I was to be sent to a real institution.
My caseworker and mom drove me, if i recall correctly, but i didn’t stay long. As soon as I turned 13, I was moved to the adolescent wing, where the older girls had plenty of fun picking on me. I had been “cutting” for some time but soon I learned more ways to harm myself. When my mom saw my mottled arms and thighs, she pulled me from the program.
I was placed in day treatment, where I excelled not only at all my school work but managed often to daily disrupt everyone as well, somehow. Some days, I just went back home, to the motel, and on one of these days I took a large number of pills I found on the counter and that is all I recall.
The day treatment closed and I was thrust into public school without a clue. I got a 504 plan, and was placed in a girl’s therapy group. I promptly began getting ISS, then simply began skipping school to go hang out with older kids, and my much older boyfriend. Then I decided too run away. What did not cross my mind was that not many places welcome 13-year old runaways. I got a friend to come with, and we dyed our hair in a public bathroom so people wouldn’t recognize us. Unfortunately, all the speed I was doing (I was afraid of sleeping) caught up to me one afternoon and I fell down and had a seizure right in the middle of a nice neighborhood. An ambulance was summoned, and at the hospital my friend’s father came to get her. I was alone, and they wouldn’t treat me because I was a minor and when they entered my name something must have come up, because soon I was being lead out of the hospital and shoved into a police car, handcuffed and dizzy. During the short drive to the place we were staying all I remember is the cops angrily telling me what an ingrate I was, that I should be glad to have such a nice mom who cared enough to go looking for me? Then she answers the door, I could barely see her in her nightgown, and soon the cops are sheepishly returning to tell me I am going to respite care for the night so things can cool off.
Next thing I know, mom’s disappeared and left me. I’m placed in a home with an amazing lady who wants to adopt me, but is moving to connecticut, already finalizing her first adoption of a girl just a little younger than myself and who is having F.A.E. symptoms so severe that she was currently hospitalized. I’m just glad to have someone who seems to genuinely care in my life, and soon my grades and behavior are improving drastically. Next thing i know I’m being carted off to a “wilderness camp” for behaviorally challenged youth. The respite care has failed. Therapeutic foster homes have failed. I’ve burned my bridges. My last foster mom promises if i can keep it together she will bring me to connecticut. I don’t believe her or a word any adult says. I feel tricked and trapped. I am the youngest one and I have just lost my mother (she is in jail somewhere last i heard). This whole situation is too much. I lose it.
Unfortunately for me, unbeknownst to me at this time I have been transferred from a local agency to DPHHS, and am now a ward of the state. The woman in charge of making decisions about my life, where I stay or go, all that has been handed to her in what I assume must have been a hefty file. Even more unfortunate, is the sad fact that I will not find out until many years later: she’s got around ninety of these cases, just as bad or worse than mine. I can count on one hand the times I’ve met this woman, and she made every major decision of my life without even consulting me once. and this in a state where the population is fairly low. This is the reason I chose not to study social work: I entertained the idea briefly but came to the conclusion that it would only make me tired and more bitter. I decided the next best thing is to speak up, get my story heard, and hopefully get some others to, as well, so we can all learn from our mistakes.
The years I spent as a ward of the state are a nausea-inducing blur to me: first there was the lockdowns, the therapy you didn’t want, and the pills you had to take. Being a teenage girl is hard enough and having to take pills that make you get acne and gain weight do nothing to help, that I could see. Initially I was wild, going from silent and sullen to out of control, running around, breaking everything I could get my hands on. I spent many hours being held against my will, by the bodies of the staff or straps buckled to beds and the like. I always finished my schoolwork early and correctly- no problems there. Once in a while I would be released to a lower level of care – a group home, in my case usually a therapeutic group home, but I never made it to public school, and there was always someone telling me what to do, when, and often how.
In short, I became institutionalized.
As my seventeenth birthday approached, I found myself in a meeting with my treatment team at a well known children’s hospital that also had a psychiatric unit. I must have sold myself well, because soon I was packing my bags to a group home with a promise: succeed there and they help you pay for an apartment. I faced a few challenges: I had more than enough credits for a diploma but none of the institutions offered this service so I would be forced to enroll for a semester in public school. I immediately sought a program that helped foster kids get jobs by paying their wages for a few months, and got in, and did well. I also managed to graduate high school with a 3 point something GPA, and did all the paperwork (with help of course) so that I literally graduated on a Friday and started college the following monday. It was incredible.
Soon summer came and I was growing tired of the group home and impulsively, I bought a Greyhound ticket for Florida and nearly ended up in a very bad situation from which my grandmother rescued me with a plane ticket. Unfortunately she also alerted the group home of my impending arrival, and with all the nasty things in my system and frustration over my situation, I snapped and took off. Next move was to a receiving home type place, after which I was sent out of town, for fear I would call upon one of my friends and disappear again. One month from my eighteenth birthday I spent my final summer as a kid going to horse therapy, doing chores, and going to bed at nine every night. I was furious and stole bottles of cough syrup and spent hours in my room with my music loud, drinking and cutting. The only thing I had to look forward to was going back to college- it was my only option at that point. I had no where else to go, so I reserved my dorm, picked my classes, and waited like a good little girl until about two weeks before I turned eighteen when I was given an envelope from my social worker containing 20 dollars and a Greyhound ticket.
I packed my bags again.
Someone from the transitional living program was supposed to meet me at the bus station, but it was dark out and empty inside when I arrived so I used my precious twenty to call a cab. I had way too much to carry all the way across town to the dorms and no phone numbers with me.
I was soon informed that because I was not yet eighteen the transition program couldn’t legally help me. They tried calling my social worker, to no avail. and the cruel reality of my situation sunk in. One of the transition workers was nice enough to buy me a few things-detergent, shampoo, etc. but other than that I was on my own. School started and I was not into it. I felt no motivation and less than worthless. On my eighteenth birthday I went out and met a bunch of nice people at a bar, and soon I was spending more time with them partying at night than I was in class or studying during the day.
After all this, I learned the school and state wanted their money back because I failed all my classes and was already on academic probation. So, I pretty much have put aside that goal – for now.
A grown up Maddy - Ready and determined to take her life back.
Right now I am focusing on myself and realize I am all I have really, and it doesn’t even really make me a bit sad to say that. I’ve got a lot of things to do: help people from repeating my mistakes, get my illness to the point where it’s manageable, make a living doing what i really love (writing and photography have become my outlet and my passion) and living life so I can have something to inspire me makes it all worth it.
Basically, my best personal advice is first, always get your needs met. Do not be afraid to ask questions. Be involved, it’s your life, and if you don’t catch yourself you’ll slip right through the cracks, much like I did. Do everything you can before you come of age to learn about being an adult, because life is going to throw things your way and knowing how to deal with it just makes things that much simpler.
Next is to keep yourself and your dreams and desires close, but to also look at the bigger picture. I know it can be hard, and it’s easy to say, “take it one day at a time” but when you’re at the bottom of a barrel and your back’s against the wall, your one day might not do. I know I have spent an inexcusable amount of time and effort being worried about my problems, my past, other people, what they think, etc. time wasted that I could have spent bettering myself.
I’m taking that time back now, because it’s mine.
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