I recently took the time to watch the painful documentary on PBS about the 1918 Spanish Flu Pandemic. It was sobering. There were so many similarities to that pandemic and our current, Covid-19 crisis, but, fortunately, there were many dissimilarities as well. In 1918, folks feared that we were on the verge of the extinction of the human race. They didn’t have the medical or scientific knowledge or ability, as we do, to fully understand the virus or how to deal with it.
Welcome to our Blog! We post weekly articles written on a variety of topics from a variety of people, including our staff, volunteers, community members, and our parents and youth. The Voices of our Blog are opinion pieces, reflecting the diverse experiences and viewpoints of our community. These articles are not meant to represent the views of everyone at FCNI, our Board of Directors and staff, or present a definitive policy statement, but are designed to be informative and thought-provoking.
While growing up, I think I had an above-average level of exposure to the foster care system. I had close family members and multiple friends who fostered and/or adopted kids. Also, two of my best friends in high school had been in foster care.
Most people enjoy being celebrated for their successes in life. Hearing the words “Well done,” “Great Job,” or “You are a real success story” typically evokes a positive feeling and one of accomplishment. For youth who have experienced the foster care system, however, these same accolades can carry a feeling of being a “poster child”; an image of what a foster youth should look like.
Your fridge is much more than a place for groceries and leftovers. In fact, your fridge shows what matters to you. I’m not talking about whether you’re eating a balanced diet, or whether you are trying to save the planet. Matter of fact, I’m not even referring to what’s inside your fridge. I’m talking about what’s on the outside of your fridge.
This past week has been disturbing and heart wrenching as our country has exploded in reaction to gross injustices and continued racism. For me, it brought back memories of heading to San Clemente Beach in 1965 to go surfing, and passing what seemed like miles of troops heading the other way en route to Los Angeles to quell the Watts riots. That was 55 years ago, but I remember it well. Though I lived some distance away from the tumult, the smoke of those fires could be clearly seen. And, like today, what started in Watts spread rapidly across the country.