“My brother and I went into foster care when we were very young. He was lucky—he went to a family called the Ripleys. I, on the other hand, moved through four different homes in three years, and each one was worse than the last. I could see my brother every few months. Ms. Ripley would take us to McDonald’s for lunch, and that’s when she first noticed the scars all over my body. She immediately made plans for me to join their family. Back then, the word ‘family’ didn’t mean much to me. But the Ripleys made me feel like I belonged.
Whenever I did something wrong, Ms. Ripley would sit me down and explain why it wasn’t okay. Then she would say, ‘You’re not going anywhere. You belong to us now.’ Soon after I joined the family, Mr. Ripley was diagnosed with cancer. Later that year, he passed away. Ms. Ripley’s whole world fell apart. They had been high school sweethearts. Now she was alone with two foster kids. No one would have blamed her if she sent us away.
But instead, she went to court and made it permanent. The three of us moved into a single wide trailer in Mississippi, and that’s where she raised us. She worked any odd jobs she could find. We never had much, but we went to movies, had family game nights, and she kept us busy with little league and Boy Scouts. She must have been very stressed, but that’s not what I remember.
What I remember is the love and encouragement she gave me. She always said, ‘You’re smart,’ ‘You’re handsome,’ and ‘You survived all that because you’re strong.’ She cried when I joined the Marines, but she knew it was my best chance for a college education. Eventually, I graduated from law school.
Last year I had a daughter of my own. That made me very emotional because I realized how every choice I make will affect her future. I also thought about how different my life could have been. My early childhood should have broken me, but it didn’t. Thirty years ago, my Mom decided to keep me. Despite all her sadness and heartbreak, she gave me enough love to heal.”
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