I hate moving. When I was a kid, my family moved every year or two, and it always made me sick. Hugging the toilet sick. The whole time the U-Haul was being loaded.

I didn’t really get any pleasure out of seeing my new bedroom or exploring a new neighborhood. Mostly I spent the first few days worrying. Wondering if anyone knew where I was. Would I be able to get on the right bus at school? And off at the right stop? I didn’t even know my address – how would the bus driver? Would my grandparents be able to find us for my birthday party? And how would Santa know where we were? 

Those nerves could be largely settled by one simple thing – getting mail.  Not mail for my parents, mail for ME.  Mail meant that someone knew where I was.  Mail meant I wasn’t lost.  Mail meant I was thought of.  And, if I was lucky and the mail was from my grandparents, it usually included stuff – stickers, toys, activity books, crayons – you get the picture. 

Foster kids move a lot too – an average of 4 times in 20 months, and of kids who age out of foster care, 1/3 of them moved more than 8 times while they were in custody.  Each move means a new house, new neighborhood, new school.  Each move means you lose stuff that matters to you – stuff like pictures and drawings and stories you have written and favorite CD’s.  Each move means new rules – new bedtimes, new chores, new ways to fold towels and make your bed. 

And, they wonder if anyone knows where they are. 

I wonder how much difference a piece of mail would make to a foster kid.  A birthday card, a random note, a care package.  How much does it matter to you to not feel “lost”, but rather “found”?

Beginning next week, my office will be sending birthday cards to the foster kids who see me for health care.  What can you do?  Look for opportunity.  Teachers, coaches, kids pastors/church workers - take special notice of the foster kids who cross your path and send them a word of encouragement for no particular reason.  Foster parents – teach foster kids your address and phone number.   

He was 17.  Tall and handsome, with thick, curly black hair and dark brown eyes.  He created distance with those eyes – they weren’t emotionless or cold, but they did express a sort of reservation to engage in a conversation.  He answered my questions without elaboration - mostly “yes” and “no”.  What grade was he in?  He wasn’t sure – hadn’t been in school for a couple of years, and the case worker hadn’t tried to enroll him yet.  The last grade he had completed was 9th.  He looked surprised when I asked what he wanted to do after he turned 18.  What did he want to achieve?  Did he want to get some additional education?

“I’m not smart enough to go to college.”

Many kids in foster care and the juvenile justice system find themselves educationally delayed, losing one or two school years by the time their peers reach 12th grade.  The delays occur for a variety of reasons, largely related to school attendance and continuity.  As tragic as that is, perhaps the greater tragedy is that the kids often don’t understand why they are behind.  Just that they are 1 or 2 years older than anyone in their class.  And often that translates into the belief by themselves or others that they aren’t intelligent, aren’t as capable as everyone else at setting or achieving educational goals.

At age 18 kids “age out” of foster care.  15% of them do not have a high school diploma or GED.  Only 2% will graduate from college.  The lack of education translates into poor job options – by 25 years of age they will earn 1/3 less than their peers and be less likely to have a job that provides important benefits such as health insurance.

But what disturbed me most was the hopelessness of his statement.  I’m not smart enough…Who told him that?  More importantly, who is going to tell him something different?  Will you?

What YOU can do: tutor, buy school supplies, sponsor a kid’s school activities (sports, choir, etc.), help kids apply to or visit college and vo-tech campuses.  Contact your local child welfare/foster care agency and ask how you can help.

She was 13 when I met her.  Much of her last 3 years had been spent in and out of foster homes, with some occasional brief stints with her parents or other family members.  She was polite but a little distant and suspicious of me – I suspect that she saw me as  yet another adult with lots of questions to ask, but no compelling reason to care about or even consider her answers.  I rattled through my usual list.  Any major illnesses?  Medications?  Allergies?  Feeling OK today? 

Then, a question that struck a nerve.  “What grade are you in?”  Her head dropped, and the walls defending her soul lowered for a second, revealing shame.  “6th, but I am supposed to be in 7th.” 

A common answer – I’ve heard it a thousand times.  Educational delay is a ubiquitous struggle for kids in state custody.  The average foster kid is one full grade behind their peers by 6th grade.  The lack of life stability, both before and during placement in foster care, causes them to miss valuable chunks of school.  They change schools frequently, often several times a year.  And even if they are able to attend, exactly how are they supposed to pay attention? Can you imagine sitting through math class while wondering if anyone knows it is your birthday?  Or how your siblings are doing?  Could you learn about history and ignore the thought that your own life is likely sooner to be written about on the obituary page than in the history book? 

My heart broke for her.  “No worries – everyone here is a grade behind.”  Her head snapped up and her eyes met mine with a question. ”Everyone here is a grade behind,” I said again.  “It’s because you have moved a lot, right?  And every school has different curriculum, different schedules.  Plus, it’s not like you haven’t had other things to think about.  Don’t worry about it, just keep going.  They won’t throw you out.  Just keep going, keep learning, keep showing up.”  A faint smile, a brief hug, and she was gone.

She needed what we all need – acceptance, validation, encouragement.  She needed to know that it was OK to keep going.

Today I went outside to play with my kids in the snow.  Snow is somewhat of a novelty in Oklahoma – that was apparent by the motley collection of coats, hats and gloves that we gathered up to keep us warm.  A snowball fight, wrestling match, and a few snow angels later, I found myself lying flat on the ground in a pile of snow staring up through bare tree limbs.  The snow continued to fall, and I was hypnotized by the swirling flakes and the silence.

When I am quiet, my mind often drifts toward foster kids.  I wondered about those kids who wouldn’t get to play in the snow, who didn’t have a warm coat or a pair of boots.  I hurt for the kids who did not have a home to warm themselves – whose childhood memories would not include making snow ice cream or having hot chocolate and a picnic in the living room floor near the fireplace. 

What does it take to change the direction of a child’s life?  It is easy to convince ourselves that it takes a tremendous amount of time and effort – a commitment that most of us are not interested in making.  After all, none of us want to complicate our lives.

But what if the answer is much simpler?

Perhaps it is snowball fights and snow angels and hot chocolate – occasions when a child, if only for a moment, is able to simply be a child.  Innocent, safe, cared for, loved.