Finding Katie: The Diary of Anonymous, a Teenager in Foster Care

by Beatrice Sparks

  During the night she sneaked over and scrunched up beside me on my tiny cot. She was sure Cha and Belva would tell everybody everything…and more…like she really knew what she was doing. All I could do was hug her and over and over again saying “Shhhhhhhhh, shhhhh, shhhhhhhhhhhhh. God is in His heaven, all is right with the world.”

  I don’t know where I read that or heard it, but it made us feel better and we did fall asleep.

  Friday, May 6

  It’s been a month since the Cha and Belva thing and no one has come to put handcuffs on Lacy, or anything like that. So we’re feeling fairly safe, except that Lacy has lost all of her self-confidence! She used to be Little Miss Sunshine, always trying to make others comfortable and happy. Now it’s like a little black cloud is hanging over her.

  Oh, and a few days ago the Child Protection ladies brought in two truly sad-looking girls. They had been picked up trying to hitchhike to Bakersfield. Both of them are really fat and stringy-haired, and Lacy and I don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Jackson like them very much.

  We’re trying to be extra nice to them, teaching them how to set the table and make beds and…I couldn’t believe that they were so unskilled and uneducated. Lacy once giggled that they must have been raised in a barn. Then she reverted back to her old self and said we must do everything we can to help them out of their black pit. We looked at each other and knew it was dreadful, without either one of them even mentioning it!

  Wednesday, May 11

  Lacy is her old self again. Helping Minnie and Sara with every detail in their lives, adoring her teacher and helping her with papers and things like that. I’m about back to my old self, too, and really trying to make our home, humble as it is, livable. Also I’ve made a commitment to myself that I will teach Minnie and Sara to be refined young ladies. Well…maybe not in all ways refined, but at least I will teach them to bathe regularly, to brush their teeth, to wash their hair, and the joy of studying and learning etc.!

  Thursday, May 12

  I wrote that Lacy is her old self again, but actually she is a completely new self! Miss Lakin, my teacher, asked me to take some things into Lacy’s classroom and when I got there and saw how efficient and confidence-inspiring she was, I wanted to tell everyone there that she is my sister!

  After class I hurried back to Lacy’s room and told her teacher how wonderful Lacy was and how proud of her I was! The teacher laughed and said, “I guess I’ve been taking her for granted,” she paused, “…and when I think about it, I don’t know how I could teach without her.”

  That made me feel so good I was skipping inside myself for the rest of the day.

  Friday, May 13

  It seems like I’ve been here forever, trying to help everybody and everything like Sister Mary taught me to do, but who is trying to help me? I’m not progressing, advancing, moving onward and upward. I can’t think of one thing I’ve learned, and I want to graduate from high school with some honors and go on to college! I must! That has always been my dream. Not the nightmare I’m now in…where I’ll probably be forever.

  Black, Black Tuesday, May 24

  Lacy’s teacher ran into me in the hall and enthusiastically asked me to meet her at lunchtime. She had brought a bag lunch, and we sat out on the old rusty bench by the front door. She shared her sandwich. Then she told me how much she admired Lacy and the wonderful things she was doing for some of the other pupils. She said she had never had a student so willing to learn and so eager to help. Then she shared a secret with me that I promised not to repeat: She had been invited to be a vice-principal at a really nice school in Culver City, and she wanted to take Lacy with her. Her aunt, who lived in Culver City, had taken in foster children at one time, and when she heard about Lacy, “the totally unusual child,” she thought she’d love having her. She had been a teacher herself at one time, and felt it would be a wonderful experience for the two of them, even though now she was too old to take foster children by herself.

  With all my heart I wanted to go with Lacy! The aunt had a cozy little cottage within walking distance of what would be their school. And it was a good school, not like this dumpy one. I could see that Lacy’s teacher was reading my mind by the sad look on her face, and I could tell that the aunt didn’t want two children.

  Life is not kind.

  Sunday, June 5

  I’ve had the flu or something all the time Lacy was getting ready to leave; throwing up and having diarrhea and headaches, as well as a heartache, that has me doubled over in cramps. I want to die! I want to go back to Mama and Daddy. Probably by now Mama’s kicked her problem and Daddy has kicked his. Oh please, Jesus, why have you forsaken me?

  Tuesday, June 14

  I’m back in school but I’m not well. I do everything that has to be done around the house and in class, but I am always so tired…so I-want-to-lie-down-and-never-ever-get-up. I hope I don’t have cancer or something. Maybe I do; it’s got to be something awful. I feel lonely and scared and unwanted. I remember once when I was little, one of the kids in the playground started saying, “Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I’m going out to eat worms.” I don’t know why that popped into my mind but maybe it’s because it is true; nobody does like me. Everybody does hate me…but I’m not sure about the “worms” part.

  Saturday, August 6

  Mrs. Jackson still isn’t well and had to be taken to the hospital. The Child Protection ladies came and took Minnie and Sara and me to a house with six kids in it. It’s a scary place. All of them, including me, are sort of semi-people, at least relative to the girls in the Catholic girls’ school.

  I’m trying to be positive and friendly, but I can’t quite get up the energy to make it happen. It’s like I’m walking through mud up to my knees, maybe up to my chin. I don’t belong anywhere…and I want to belong!

  My mind is tumbling with fears about little Donita and Lacy. Maybe not Lacy, because I know she’s got a good, loving home. I envy her! I truly with all my heart envy her! I know that is wrong, but I can’t help it!

  I guess I shouldn’t be feeling so bad because Joanne, whose bed is next to mine, has been in six different homes since she was taken away from her parents. What a desperate way to exist. I wonder if it’s harder for me because I once lived in almost a fairytale existence? Probably not, even though I’ve got wonderful, wonderful things to think about. If only I could shut out the bad things that seem to always be roaring around in my brain.

  Tuesday, August 16

  Joanne seems much like me, sort of quiet and scared to the bone. I thought it was strange at first that she always wore shirts or blouses with long sleeves and long pants. Then one day I saw her getting dressed and she had a lot of red scars. I’d seen them on baby Donita and knew immediately that they were cigarette burns. I wanted to cry my head off, but I didn’t, I just waited until we had a chance to be together outside and we talked about our problems. Talking is good! I learned that from Jason, who picked me up from the dark, evil, Los Angeles Skid Row streets and took me to the Salvation Army shelter. Dear, dear Jason, what ever would have happened to me without him?

  Tuesday, September 6

  The teachers at our new school are not as much teachers as they are babysitters, just trying to keep the kids halfway quiet and in their seats. I’m getting depressed again because I can’t see that I’ve learned a single thing in the year that I’ve been in the system. In fact, I feel like much that I’d learned before I got into the system has been drained out of me, that I’m getting more stupid each day instead of more knowledgeable! That is pathetic and sad, but something deep inside tells me it’s true.

  I used to think I hated the strict discipline they had in my Catholic school, but now I suspect that would do wonders for schools like this.

  I try not to, but I usually cry myself to sleep wishing I had Donita and Lacy, and…Mama and Daddy…he wasn’t all bad…and she wasn’t well…

  If only…

  I’m lonely.

  I’m scared.r />
  And I’m sad.

  It must be because

  I’m bad.

  Nobody wants me.

  Nobody cares.

  Nobody cares.

  Nobody cares.

  Wednesday, September 7

  Sometime during the night it seemed to me that Sister Mary came and whispered in my ear that the only way to be happy is to help others. Then she told me how much she missed me in school and how I was needed! And that great things were in store for me.

  I could almost feel her and smell her sweet kind of spearmint breath and I couldn’t wait for morning so I could talk to Joanne.

  I was needed! Great things were in store for me! The concept was so uplifting that I knew I would never again in my life feel that I was the dregs of the earth.

  Sad times? Maybe. Hurtful times? Probably! Happy times? Positively! And I suspected I would have to make many of the happy times for myself. But I can do that! And with God’s help, I will!

  For a while there I had about given up on everything! Now! Glory Hallelujah!

  Joanne, aren’t you ever going to wake up?!

  I’m going to teach you everything I know like I did with Lacy, Lacy, Lacy! My friend, my sister, who I know I will someday meet again. Through the Culver City school I will find her…. Hopefully in time, I will be able to contact Donita, too. I pray they are happy and loved.

  I feel that they are and that makes me feel loved, too!

  Thursday, September 8

  Joanne is going to need a lot of help! She’s eleven years old, but she reads at about a second-grade level. Her grammar is atrocious and her manners are nonexistent. Poor little kid didn’t even know how to use a toothbrush. Still she is so gentle and sweet that I sometimes call her “Sugar.” I told her how I’d once seen a movie and the mom had called her little girl “Sugar.” We both laughed about that and kept it as our own secret.

  Tuesday, September 20

  I’m finding it totally amazing that I at first thought that Lacy and Donita, and now Joanne, were all slightly retarded. Then when I started teaching them one on one, I found that they were all starving for knowledge! It’s like it’s a happy, exciting, challenging game that they can’t play often enough. I’m so proud of them. I just hope they will all be allowed to continue having good, caring teachers to bless their lives, no matter where they are.

  I just had a very frightening thought. Is it possible that most of the kids who seem so dumb at the schools I’ve been to since I left the private Catholic school just lack one-on-one teachers? Or maybe disciplined, yet caring, consistent guidance and training? I suspect most, if not all, of them need ego boosting and complimenting, instead of the ugliness and evilness that took them away from their homes in the first place. I wonder if anyone who has not been abused can even conceive of the permanent scars abuse leaves.

  Come on self! Whining doesn’t heal anything. Hard work and faith does!

  Life is hard but it’s still good! Now I’m being Pollyanna Lacy, and I love it!

  Just thinking of Lacy brings up my spirits. Maybe that is what is wrong with the world. Not enough Pollyannas (excessively or persistently optimistic persons).

  Oh, that there were more of them, and I was always one of them!

  Monday, September 26

  Joanne is perhaps the brightest kid I’ve ever seen! When I first met her, she was so shy and mentally and physically uncoordinated that I really did think she was somewhat mentally impaired. However, after I began telling her how much potential she had locked up inside herself, she started to slowly and cautiously open up like a flower in the sun.

  I recited a little poem I’d learned from the nuns.

  You can if you try,

  and then by and by

  you’ll get to the top

  and you never will stop.

  As days pass along

  you will always stay strong.

  Look for love in mankind

  and that’s just what you’ll find.

  Joanne giggled and then repeated the poem slowly and perfectly. That was a blow to my ego because I’d had to read it a few times before I memorized it. I asked her if she’d learned it someplace else and she said, “No.” Hmmmmmmm…

  Joanne’s memory was great, but her spelling, reading, and math were way below normal. As we worked together, I found out that she didn’t even know what the word phonics was. Nor did she understand numbers.

  Every evening after the dinner table is cleaned up, Joanne and I study. I don’t have any material that will expand my mind, but at least I can help her expand hers. She is unbelievably bright once she gets the hang of things, and her retention is amazing, even awesome!

  Friday, October 14

  Joanne and I have been working very seriously for the past five weeks trying to work up to her grade-age level. It’s like I am her personal tutor. There are still many things I can teach her but she’s getting a little bored, and a couple of the guys are trying to sneak up on her. I’m not going to teach her any more about posture and hair styles, etc. She’s too vulnerable.

  What can I do to intrigue her with something positive, something fascinating that will stimulate her brain instead of her hormones? Hormones are a big problem in foster homes.

  Saturday, October 15

  I couldn’t sleep last night I was so worried about Joanne. I tried to think of something. I racked my brain, but nothing came up. As a last resort, I prayed and prayed. Still nothing.

  I woke up just as the gray dawn was beginning to take over the darkness, and since I didn’t have anything else to do, I started writing. After a minute or two I heard and felt Joanne squirming on the top bunk.

  She leaned her head over the bed and whispered, “Are you awake?”

  “Yeah.” I whispered back. “Did I wake you up?”

  She crept down into my bunk and clung to me, sniffling softly, “I’m so bored and left out and empty,” she put her head in her hands and tried not to cry loud enough to wake up the two girls in the beds opposite us. “I don’t want to drink with the guys and take drugs and…you know, but…life is such a bore…a drag…it’s dull and boring and dumb!”

  After a minute or two she looked at me pleadingly and asked what I did to grow instead of wilt!

  I reached over to push my papers away and she looked like the newborn sun was shining right out of her face. “I know!” she mouthed. “You write.”

  At first I didn’t want to let her read my stuff. It was filled with too much evil and degradation. Then I realized that she had, I was almost sure, painful torments of her own to reckon with.

  With some trepidation, we crept into the living room and she began poring over my papers, reading and weeping, then reading and weeping some more. It was hurtful as anything to both of us, but cathartic at the same time.

  Wednesday, November 2

  After that night Joanne lost all interest in the boys that had been trying to seduce her into their lifestyle. She again became fascinated with seeing, in her future, all the things she had only dreamed about in her past.

  For the next few weeks, Joanne took advantage of every chance she had at school, which weren’t many. I tutored her at home, and she accepted every suggestion I gave her as a gift. Each night she wrote religiously on the backs of the principal’s throw-away papers. I never asked her, but I hoped someday she would let me read her journal.

  This evening Joanne handed me her journal and begged me not to hate and despise her because…

  Joanne told me her story.

  Joanne’s mother, Martha, was fifteen when she got pregnant with her. Joanne’s grandmother disowned both of them, and Joanne was born in a junkie’s bed. Her father could have been anyone on the street.

  Joanne was placed in the foster care system and had undergone and tolerated five different placements by the time she was eight.

  I couldn’t stop crying when Joanne told me that things got worse after that.

  Joanne wrote that at one time she lived i
n a trailer with nine other kids. The four smallest ones slept foot to foot, two in a bunk. The foster parents abused them, both physically and verbally. Joanne showed me a scar on the right side of her head where her foster mother had hit her with a hammer.

  When Joanne was ten, the foster care system sent Joanne back to live with her grandmother, who had a scroungy boyfriend who tried to “do” her whenever her grandmother’s head was turned. Joanne was glad when someone shot his face off in front of their house, and he died screaming. Joanne said she couldn’t stop laughing for some crazy irrational reason, and her grandma kept slapping her until the police came and took away both the bloody boyfriend and her.

  Joanne wrote that at the next foster home she stayed in, if anyone wet the bed they slept in it, if they had to throw up before they got outside, they had their face pushed into it, then they cleaned it up, no matter how sick they were. If they didn’t do exactly what the foster parents wanted…Joanne put her face in her hands and sobbingly whispered, “You don’t want to know what they did!”

  I held her tightly in my arms and didn’t want to ever let her go, with part of my heart knowing that any day we could be torn apart, never to see each other again.