Challenges of a New Foster Parent
Coming to terms with the job
Danny and I met the first week in January. I had started the training to become a foster parent almost three years ago. It had taken me a year to complete the requirements the county put before me. It had been almost two years since I completed the training, so I mentally gave the county until my next birthday in March to match me with a foster child. If they failed to match me with a child by then, I would take my life in a different direction.
They reached out to me last October. They said they had a good fit for me. It was so strange. Up to that point, I could only vision how being a foster dad would magically transform my life into something greater, something happier. Once I got off that phone call, all I could think was, “Oh my God. What have I done to my life?”
Danny and I got to know each other over three months prior to him moving in full time with me. The county was terrible. They seemed to operate on some sort of time line that makes no sense for the foster child or the foster parent.
“Wouldn’t it make more sense for Danny to finish the school year in his current school, than transfer in the last quarter to a new school?” I asked.
“No. Why?” was their reply.
Danny was living in a group home. The foster parent there told me to make sure Danny took his ADHD medication prior to our first overnight visit.
I asked the county social worker, “Did you know Danny has a diagnosis of ADHD and he takes medication for it?”
Uh, well, I know he has ADHD (he really doesn’t), but I didn’t know he took meds for it,” the social worker replied.
On our second overnight, Danny told me his ADHD medications had been discontinued. I asked the social worker, “Why were Danny’s medications discontinued?”
“Uh, I don’t know. I guess he doesn’t need them anymore,” she replied.
“Was it secondary to me informing you he was on medication?” I asked.
Uh, I don’t know,” she replied.
This appeared to be how the county worked. I was fed information as they deemed fit, or more accurately, after I brought it up. The county would frequently tell me that they were there for me for anything I needed, yet they were rarely up front with information.
The county seemed in such a rush to get Danny with me full time, and then get the adoption process initiated so he was no longer their responsibility.
“Why do you guys keep pushing these arbitrary deadlines that don’t seem to be in the best interest of Danny or me?” I asked.
“Its not us,” she replied. “The courts want to see progress. They want to see all the cases moving forward.”
I had everything set up for Danny when he moved in full time. He was 14 years old. Old enough to enroll in high school in the fall. At the final meeting prior to Danny moving in with me full time, attended by five social workers familiar with Danny, I was given his “individual education plan” or “IEP”. I leafed through the papers during the meeting. “Um. Did anyone here know that Danny has been tested at the third grade level in math and reading?” Silence.
My plan for Danny was that I would exhaust him each and every day. We would work hard to get his studies back on track so that he could be at grade level before he graduated from high school. As far as physical education, Danny showed no hand-eye coordination in the slightest. He expressed interest in playing basketball in school, but the first time we went to shoot baskets he managed to shoot the ball on to the roof of the school. That was a $40 basketball. Well, he’ll be a runner then. We’ll run and run. That will build his confidence and be physically healthy for him.
Danny would not run. Not if he was chased by a lion and there was a hot fudge sundae at the finish line.
Danny told me he was great at everything before he moved in. He was smart, he was a great basketball player, he was great at this and great at that. We went to play laser tag one day. Everyone entering the laser tag game area was under 10 years old except Danny. He excitedly told the woman at the counter he was about to smash every record this establishment had. They had a scoreboard outside the gaming area where parents could watch how their children were doing. Danny finished dead last, and not by a little. The winner scored over 1000 points. The little girl that finished one slot above Danny scored 113 points. Danny scored negative 62 points.
“Were you standing in a corner shooting yourself,” I joked when he came out. Oddly, he didn’t find that funny. An eight year old girl in coke bottle lensed glasses crushed him on the scoreboard. He went back in a second time, but the result was the same.
After Danny moved in, he told me he didn’t really want to do anything. He wasn’t exaggerating. Danny liked to game on Play Station, and he liked me to buy him fast food and things on Amazon. That was it. Danny’s trifecta of what he was interested in. The Play Station became a bit too taxing for him after a few weeks, so he stopped doing that, and instead began to watch YouTube videos of other people playing with their Play Stations.
My efforts to get Danny an education were met with hostility. We started with second grade math. We would boot up the Khan Academy and watch the videos together. When the video would start, Danny would lie his head on the table and fall asleep. After the instructional video, the math problems would come on the screen that the student were to complete. Danny would say, “I don’t get it.” I would show him how to do the math problem, and Danny would say, “I still don’t get it.” I’d explain it to him in a different way, but he would reply again, “I still don’t get it.” This is second grade math. Did I mention that Danny was supposed to be going into high school in the fall? Did I mention that I used to be a teacher?
I would check Danny’s math skills while at the store. When it came time for him to buy some of his favorite foods at the supermarket, Danny showed the ability to add and subtract prices of food in his head, equations far more complex than the second grade problems in the Khan Academy that he said he couldn’t do.
Danny was lazy. He didn’t have ADHD. I asked him to help me sort the recycling for which I’d pay him $15 (the amount I received for the recycling). Danny lasted five minutes on the 20 minute job before he quit. He somehow spent the five minutes making the job a 30 minute job now by spreading the recycling over the entire garage. I asked him why he quit, and didn’t he want the money? He said it was boring, and that he didn’t do things that he found boring, but that since he did some of the work, he was entitled to all the money. He was flabbergasted when I told him that in life, if you don’t finish a job, you don’t get paid for the job.
Danny didn’t see the need for bedtimes or waking times. He didn’t see why he had to pick up after himself. Every time we made an agreement on desirable behavior, he would not meet it, and then get angry when I pointed it out to him that he failed to meet his obligations.
Danny would say, “I’m trying”, and that trying was all that was required. I countered with, “There is no ‘try’. There is ‘do’, or there is ‘don’t do’.” Something Yoda would say in Star Wars. He loved Star Wars, but it didn’t make a dent. “I’m trying” became his mantra. “I’m failing” became mine.
Danny lies. And he is a terrible liar. He doesn’t put out any effort to make his lies believable. I sent him upstairs four times in an hour to brush his teeth. He went up every time and returned with his breath as bad as it was before, claiming that he brushed his teeth each time. The same thing with showering. He wouldn’t even take the time to run the shower so that it would be wet in order to make his lie more convincing. I got him an attractive baby sitter for the days I was at work, hoping this might stimulate his interest in personal hygiene. Danny, if he doesn’t shower every day, has terrible body odor. The sitter would openly tell Danny he smelled bad, but it didn’t bother Danny.
Danny wears a diaper. Not because he’s incontinent, not because he has a medical problem, not because he is disabled in any way, but because getting up to go to the bathroom is “too inconvenient”. I once discovered his diaper in the trash. He had managed to pass stool the size and hardness of a lacrosse ball. It would have taken great effort and time to do this, not to mention pain. Danny decided to do this in his diaper, not on the toilet. He had terrible constipation. Taking fiber once a day takes care of this problem, but Danny says it doesn’t work and he refuses to take it. When I force Danny to drink it or he won’t be allowed any electronics, he does take it, and he has no trouble with constipation.
Things were not working out. I was getting extremely frustrated. We had several talks a week about what type of life he was going to have if he didn’t start making healthy decisions about his education, his hygiene, his lying, his laziness, his refusal to follow the most minimal of rules in the house. He always promises to do better.
Danny says, “I understand and I will start to do better tomorrow. You’ll see.” He never does.
I lamented to the social worker about Danny’s behavior, and what to do about it. She referred me to on-line parenting classes. Unfortunately, the topic of dealing with a teenager who is so lazy he chooses to wear a diaper has yet to be addressed. When it came to his education, the social worker told me, “With Danny you have two choices. You can have happy, uneducated kid. Or you can have an unhappy, uneducated kid. Its your choice.” My dream of Danny standing on the stage as valedictorian of his high school class, secondary to my countless hours of tutoring him at great personal sacrifice was slipping away.
Danny is a nice boy. Very polite. Excellent social skills. He will chat up anyone we meet in the course of our day. Strangers at the market, a coach putting his team through practice drills, my siblings. As long as Danny calls the shots, dictates how things are going to go for the day, he treats me like the dad that he always wanted. If I suggest he do something he doesn’t want to do, he’ll get nasty. He’s incredibly intelligent, knowing what buttons to push to get a rise out of me. He’s like a surgeon to my psyche. He’d make a great litigator. He takes a lot of satisfaction when he knows he’s successfully frustrated me to the point where I give up for the day trying to show him how to be an adult.
“Do you not understand that in less than four years, you are going to be out on your own, fending for yourself? I make this promise to you. If you work with me, if you listen to me, I will spend all the time with you that you need in order to make you a successful, happy adult. I will spend hours with you daily on your school work. We will go on awesome trips and have wonderful adventures together. I will pay for college or trade school so that you will be able to provide for yourself one day.”
“Ok. Ok. Let’s start tomorrow,” Danny says. Tomorrow never comes.
On the good days with Danny, I’m not sure if we’re starting to develop a real relationship, or he is just manipulating me to get what he wants, which is me to buy him stuff and to leave him alone. Some days I am happy with my decision to be a foster parent. Other days, I wonder why I consistently choose the difficult path in life.
“I was hoping you would be more of a ‘life coach’, and not a teacher,” Danny said to me once.
“OK,” I replied. “Life Coach Lesson 1. Education is extremely important.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Danny replied.
After three months together, I’ve learned that Danny wants a safe place to live, a refrigerator full of food, a healthy allowance so he can buy stuff, someone to listen to him drone on and on about what he saw on a YouTube video that no adult could possibly find interesting, and for me not to tell him anything he needed to do.
I was miserable. I was losing sleep. I was getting short tempered with Danny, with my friends at work, and with my family. This wasn’t who I was. I knew I had to change, because Danny wasn’t going to change for me.
So, I’ve decided to let Danny fail. I’ve decided to remind Danny once a week what I was offering him. The potential of a terrific life if he would only let me help him realize it. Other than that, I would let Danny dictate the relationship. I would model healthy behavior. I would let him see me study. I would tell him I was going for a bike ride, or shoot hoops, or simply go for a walk. That I would love it if he would do it with me, but I wouldn’t insist he do it with me. I would model healthy exercise, a healthy diet. I would be a man of my word. I would keep an immaculate cared for home, I would let him see me sacrifice for the sake of others. But I would never insist he do the same.
I would let Danny fail.
Perhaps something will happen that will spark him to life. He’s only going to be with me for four years. I could not let this be my failure, it would have to be Danny’s. The best I could do is offer Danny an opportunity, and I’m doing that. That would have to be enough for me.
The probable scenario that will play out on his 18th birthday will go something like this…
“So Danny, you’re an adult now. That’s wonderful. What are your plans? Where are you going to live? Where are you going to work? What are you going to do with your life?”
“Umm. No plans. Thought that I’d just keep living here, with you. Doing the same stuff.”
“No. Like I’ve been telling you these last four years. If you work hard, I’d make sure you had the tools, the opportunity, and the finances to live a happy, productive life. But if you chose not to take advantage of that, you would be on your own on this day forward.”
“But I’m not prepared.”
“No. No, you’re not, Danny.”
Post script
I drove Danny to a boys home today, just over a year after we first met. Danny’s psychologist said his placement with me had not worked out, that Danny had “failed to thrive” and needed a “higher level of care”. Danny now was the responsibility of 24-hour professional staff members; housed with other challenging foster kids.
The year with Danny had been extremely difficult. Danny was more manipulative, stubborn, and lazy than when he first moved in. I had the feeling that Danny was always “managing” me, trying to secure his placement with me, while working hard to determine the conditions of the placement. Danny saw me as a roommate, a roommate that was responsible for all the bills.
Danny failed all his special education classes this year, even though he does not have a learning disability. There were no tests, no homework. All he had to do was participate in the in-class activities. He seemed to enjoy interacting with his teachers and the other students, but it appeared to be a game to him. He was manipulating them, as he was manipulating me.
Danny refused to follow the few simple house rules there were. He refused to perform the simplest of chores (I offered to pay him $1 each day I did not find any urine on the toilet seat). The only time Danny would voluntarily spend time with me is if I promised to buy him something. I’d like to offer that Danny was a product of a troubled childhood, but he spent his first 12 years being raised by his grandparents. I spoke with three people who knew his grandparents intimately. They all praised them as wonderful people. If they had a fault, it was that they spoiled their children and their grandchildren to a great degree.
Danny refused to participate with his therapists. His behavioral therapist asked to be removed from Danny’s case secondary to Danny’s repeated disrespectful behavior. Danny’s psychologist couldn’t get Danny to participate. She considered it a “success” when Danny would pick up the phone for a session, just to say he “wasn’t feeling it today” and that he wouldn’t stay on the phone. Not picking up the phone was considered “a bad” sesssion with Danny.
Danny lied to me EVERY day. He never made a promise he didn’t live up to. He was extremely happy, except when I insisted he do something he didn’t want to do. He would start with verbal abuse, then move on to threats of physical abuse, and if that didn’t work to get me “off his case”, he would become incontinent of stool and refuse to change his diaper. To my knowledge, Danny stole from me five times, for a total of approximately $500. When confronted, he would deny it. When I provided physical evidence of his theft, he would continue to deny it, eventually feign ignorance and say that it was someone else’s fault, and then finally say “sorry”, yet show no remorse.
My feelings are jumbled up. I hate Danny. I hate that I hate Danny. And, I really hate that I hate that I hate Danny. Why should I feel bad that I hate someone that made my life so difficult this past year, when I was offering him the opportunity of a lifetime? Part of me feels like I failed him. Part of me is thrilled that I have my life back, and my home is again a place I look forward to being in. Part of me is very sad that my dream of having a son is no longer a possibility. I think that’s why I hate Danny more than any other reason. That he took my dream and killed it. I offered him the opportunity to realize his dreams, and in turn, he squashed mine.
The social worker encouraged me to maintain contact with Danny, to visit him at his facility. I’ve declined. There are so many ways to make this world a better place. Why spend your time on something that rejects your assistance? That would be a waste of my time, and a waste to my community. Without Danny, I’ll be a better boyfriend, a better son, a better brother, a better coworker, a better member of my community. I’ll be happier and more productive.
Danny has chosen to be on the fast track to homelessness, unemployability, and a miserable life. It is my time take exit this runaway train to destruction. There is no value, no honor in accompanying someone on this journey.
