ͳe mrst day I got there, she and my social worker were
smoking weed and talking about me. ͳey were sitting
there, having a powwow in the living room, talking about
me, getting high.
Foster Mom: “Well, is she fucking? Is she having sex?
That’s what I need to know.”Social Worker: “Well, she’s thirteen.”Foster Mom: “ͳat don’t mean shit. Is she fucking?
That’s what I want to know.”Social Worker: “I don’t think she’s fucking. I’m pretty
sure she’s not fucking.”Foster Mom: “Hm, hm, you’d be surprised, these little
kids be out here fucking. ’Cause you know the last one
you had up in here, she was eleven years old, and I
had to get her a whole box of condoms.”I was standing there, right in front of them, and they just
talking all this shit. ͳen she decided to take me, and that
was that.
She had her dad living with her, and she told us to call
him Foster Grandpa. And he didn’t have no teeth or
nothing. He was kind of creepy, but he was nice. At least it
seemed like it.
Foster Mom give me a tour of the house. “ͳis is the