On November 5, 2011, my beloved Mother, Nancy Larson passed away. This is the day I most feared. Losing a parent is hard, but losing my Mother I could never imagine. My Mom was the most special person in my life and helped to shape me into the man I am today. Without her love and support, my life would have most definitely taken a turn down the wrong path.
Nancy Larson came into my life when I was two-months old. She was my foster mom at that early age. As a baby, I was placed into foster care after my birthmother left my father with three children under the age of 2. That's a lot to handle for anyone, let alone a single man who hadn't done much child-rearing himself. After my birthmother left, my father decided that it would be best to place us boys in foster care. This was probably the most wise and unselfish thing that he could ever do for us. I believe it saved my life and I am grateful for his decision.
When I entered the foster care system, I was placed apart from my biological brothers, James & John, who were one & two years older than me, respectively. They were placed together in one home, while I was placed in a different home. That home would become my lifeline, even more than I ever would know. As I was a newborn, I don't recall being placed with the Larson's but they certainly recall that day. Robert & Nancy Larson (aka Old Daddy & Mrs. Larson) and their four children, Connie, Karen, Joan, & Mike became my foster family sometime around November 1969. Maybe I was an early Christmas present, because they always made me feel like I was a gift from God. Nancy, who I would call Mrs. Larson, until I was a teenager, said that once she saw me she felt an instant connection, the same connection she noticed when Grady first came into my life as my foster child. Mrs. Larson took one look at me and said that she couldn't believe that someone could ever give up such a beautiful child. The Larsons have always told me that I was "the most beautiful baby." Mrs. Larson certainly made me feel beautiful and very special every moment of her life, as did the rest of the Larsons.
My early childhood memories are filled with lots of love, laughter and good times. I feel as if I was handpicked by God to be part of the Larson family. Although we were from very different backgrounds, me being a biracial child from inner-city Detroit and them being a caucasian family from the suburbs, we were a family who loved each other very much. If you look at photos from my childhood, it is evident that I am "different" than everyone else in the photo. In a sea of blond hair and blue eyes, here I was, a biracial kid, with a very curly afro. It was a noticeable difference to anyone who saw us, but the most special part of being in this family, was that I was treated the same as everyone else. That's how the Larsons made me feel. Some foster children have horrible memories of being placed in homes that are not loving or where they are made to feel different. This was never the case with the Larsons and I loved being part of this family.
When I was almost three, it was decided that my father would get us boys back. He had remarried and started a new life and was ready to be a parent. Mrs. Larson was a bit shocked by this news, as my father had never made contact with me or them during my time spent with the Larsons. The plan had been for me to be adopted by a family who wanted a baby, so it came as a big suprise that I was being returned to my birthfather. This was a sad period for everyone, as the Larsons wanted to remain in my life in some capacity, but the social worker said that they would have to give my father at least 6 months to be alone with me and were forbidden to make any contact with me. I don't actually recall that day, but I'm sure it was extremely hard for everyone when I left the only home that I had ever known. With no information available on being able to stay connected, I'm sure the Larsons thought that this was a final goodbye.
I returned home to my birthfather, biological siblings and a new stepmother but I know in my heart that I missed the Larsons. How does one express their sadness at age 3? I'm not sure I even processed the whole thing and I'm sure life just moved into this new direction. The Larsons were heartbroken that I was no longer part of their lives, but God has a funny way of doing things. A few months after my departure, my oldest foster sister Connie was at a festival in downtown Detroit with friends and she spotted me with my birth family. She didn't know the people I was with, but she was definite that it was me, so she approached them, introduced herself and told them how much her family missed me and would love to reconnect with me. My father and her exchanged contact information and this single act changed the rest of my life forever. My birthfather didn't know very much about the Larsons, but for whatever reason, he allowed them to be a part of my life. I am forever grateful for his decision. Funny thing is, I never knew about the story of Connie seeing me at a festival and making the reconnection until very recently. I always thought that when I left the Larsons, it was assumed that they would always be a part of my life. Such was not the case. This was a divine intervention at hand.
Moving forward, I would visit the Larson family on random weekends, holidays, summers and as often as possible. We never lived more than 10-15 miles away, but there was a huge difference in the life that I once had with them and the life that I was now living. There was stability, love, warmth, structure, rules and an overall feeling of family with the Larsons. I don't recall many of those things with my birth family. We were always moving from place to place and living from paycheck to paycheck. I can't recall how many elementary schools I attended, but it was well over 10. It seemed like we would be in a place for a few months and then move onto another place for just as long. When we did stay longer in a place, it usually amounted in the conditions getting worse and worse over time. No electricity & food, drugs & alcohol everywhere, people coming and going at all hours of the night, fights, screams and beatings, which we called "whippins". These were administered with belts, switches from a tree and extension cords and would be given as to us while we were stripped naked. We were on a downward spiral and this was definitely not the place for small children. Whenever we moved, I would immediately call Mrs. Larson so that she would come and get me for a visit. I still remember the phone number, 313-274-6613. I can't tell you how many times I called that number and arranged for a visit. Mrs. Larson would always pick me up, usually bringing someone along, as it was probably not a good idea to visit alone. I lived in the "hood" and it scared me, so imagine what it must have been like for a middle-aged, white woman from the suburbs. Nonetheless, she was always there to bring me back for visits and I don't ever recall her saying that she was ever too busy to have me come.
I visited as much as I could and would look forward to these visits like a kid looks forward to Christmas. They couldn't come often or soon enough. While I looked forward to the visits, I despised returning back home to my birth family. I would kick and scream each time I had to return home. Even today, thinking about those moments upset me. I couldn't understand why I had to go back, especially since the only attention that I ever got at home, was negative attention. It was also very hard on Mrs. Larson to see me go through this, but it was out of her hand and I suppose she was happy for the times that we could be together. There were always lots of tears, but she always reassured me that she would be back.
While I loved my birth family, I didn't really have a strong connection to any of them. I was so drastically different from all of them, which they always pointed out. "Why you tryin' be white?" "Don't act like a honky." "You a Oreo, black on the outside, white in the middle." I can still hear these words to this day. My brothers came to despise me for being "good", doing well in school and for "talking proper". Also, they were on a completely different path then I was. We had no direction at home and oftentimes were left to our own devices. It's no wonder that as adults, my brothers would eventually serve prison sentences of 19 & 20 years, as well as become "crackheads". We were growing up in 1980's Detroit and it didn't get any more dangerous than that. These visits helped me to stay on the right path and were instrumental in shaping the rest of my future.
Throughout my childhood, I played a constant internal dialogue over and over in my head about escaping my birth family and returning to live with the Larsons. While I could never share this with my birth family, I did share it with the Larsons. I didn't want to upset my father, but most importantly I didn't want him to put an end to these visits. I believe that my father was jealous of the relationship I had with the Larsons, but on another hand, he could see what they meant to me and probably helped to take some of the burden of parenting off of him. When I was about 10 years old, my father and stepmother split up and we shuffled back and forth between living with one of them or with friends. It was a mess! We had nothing and were really struggling, which I completely understood as I had this "other life" that set an amazing example of what a family is. My brothers thought this was how every family lived and pretty much resigned to the fact that this was a normal existence. It's so sad when this is all you know, so I would try to include them on visits to the Larsons whenever I could. Unfortunately, these visits were always a disaster, because they didn't know how to follow rules or be respectful to anyone. I can't really blame them, as they knew no better, but I finally stopped inviting them.
When I was 12, my brothers and I were living with my father in a house in Detroit. A few things struck me funny about living in this house: it had about 6 bedrooms (there were only 4 of us and we boys stayed in one room together), we seldom had electricity and my father was never around. My father wasn't around very much. He was often away working odd jobs, bowling or drinking at the bar. I spent many hours doing homework by the light of a candle and warming up a can on soup by the same flame. To this day, I cannot stand the taste of cold soup! There was a very nice older couple who lived next door, who would sometimes invite us over to watch television and have a bite to eat. They must have known we were neglected, but they never mentioned it or asked us where our parents were. I think it was a pretty common thing to be left alone where I came from, so no one thought much of it.
One day after school, we arrived home and found our belongings on the front lawn. There was an eviction letter on the front door. I had no idea what that meant, but as the door was bolted and we couldn't get into the house, I knew it was not a good thing. We didn't have many things, so it wasn't as if we were losing a lot, but to not have a home was something I couldn't even begin to imagine. We wanted to speak with our father, but as we didn't even have 25 cents to use a pay phone, we decided to walk to his job at the time. He was working at a restaurant not far from our house, so off we went. When we arrived, he wasn't there so we asked to use the phone so that I could call the Larsons. Unfortunately, they weren't there either, but I knew they would eventually turn up, as they were likely out playing bridge. 3 hours and about 10 miles later, we made our way, walking along the side of the expressway, to the Larson's house. When we arrived, we waited at the neighbors until the Larsons arrived and I instantly felt better.
What happen directly thereafter, is a bit of a blur but the end result was that the three of us boys were placed in a group home. We stayed in one group home together for about a month and what I remember most is that they would lock us in our rooms each night like prisoners. I was so confused by it all and couldn't understand why we couldn't leave. Eventually, my brother James and I were placed in another group home, much nicer than the first, although I longed to be in a permanent home. I'm not sure where our brother John went, but if I had to make a guess, I would say he probably ran away, as he always ran away. Being the oldest, he took the brunt of everything, so sometimes it would just be easier to not have to deal with it at all. During our time in these group homes, I don't ever recall speaking with my father, which isn't suprising given his history of parenting.
During this time, I still remained in contact with Mrs. Larson and needed her more than ever. She came to see me, brought me treats and even took me to her home for visits. I don't remember this, but Mrs. Larson told me that I insisted on my social worker to contact her, because I was set to attend the wedding of one her children. I'm not sure whether or not my father was privy to any of this information or if he had to agree to the terms, but I was granted a temporary release to attend the wedding. Being with the Larsons only made me long to be there forever. Eventually, we were due to be returned to my father but I told the social worker that I refuse and that I would run away if I had to go back. I couldn't imagine things changing much and didn't want to go through it again. Anything would have been better and I begged them to put me back into foster care and I knew exactly the family that I wanted to be with; the Larsons. This sounded like a great idea to me, except the Larsons were no longer foster parents. Their kids were all out of the home and they were nearing retirement age, so the thought of having a teenager in the home was not the first thing on their minds. After speaking with Mrs. Larson, I told her of my desire to live with her and to my delight, she gave it some thought and discussed it with Mr. Larson and I was allowed to return to their home. I would later learn that she would have had it no other way and the choice was made from the moment the planned was conceived in my mind. Once again, I had been rescued by my Angel on earth, Mrs. Larson and it would lead to me becoming a forever member of this family.
I could not have been more happy that I was back with the Larsons. I kept in contact with my birth family, even going for occasional weekend visits but eventually lost touch with them after about a year. I would not hear from any of them again until 2004, after more than 20 years. To say that they had a hard life would be an understatement, which was so sad to see but reconfirmed the fact that I made the right decision not to return to my former life. A big decision for anyone, let alone a 12 year old kid.
At this point, I had a forever family and lived the life that I always dreamt of. It wasn't always easy, but my family was always there and I finally could call the Larsons, Mom and Dad. What a blessing it was to have parents of my own, especially my Mom. She is every thing you think a Mom should be and so much more. She helped me gain confidence, learn to trust, care for others and be the person I am today. She taught me the importance of family and commitment, how to be a good Christian and a kind person. I went on to do things that I would have never done such as attend great schools, go to camp, take family vacations, have food in my belly and have a home where I was always welcomed. I graduated from college, moved to New York City, had great professional success, travelled the world, met the man of my dreams and became a Dad myself. Without Mom, I am confident that I would have been another statistic of the foster care system.
I thank you Mom for all of the gifts you have given me and will think of you each and every day. Your spirit continues to live through me and your beautiful grandchildren, Grady & Cyrus. A star shines in the sky for you each night and I know that it will remain bright 'til the end of time. I love you Mom.
Your son, Calvin
