There was always an atmosphere of high energy activity – sometimes even chaos – at my aunt’s house when we visited. She and my uncle lived in a farm house with one bathroom, thirteen children, and one farm worker (who was more or less a family member).

That was 16 people standing in line for the shower before the hot water ran out.

I don’t remember how many siblings shared a bedroom, but if I wanted to stay for a sleep-over, there was a way to accommodate me. And enough hot water for my turn in the shower.

Everyone ate three meals a day around a giant table. And five days a week all of the kids managed to get to the school bus stop on time with their hair combed.

There was enough love to go around in the household, and enough to share with others. It was the place the extended family gathered for special occasions. Some of those cousins have gone on to adopt from the foster care system.

So when I heard Tanya talking in a meeting last week, I understood her point. “We are committed to keeping sibling groups together,” she said.

She has carried out her commitment through adoption and is the mother of 23, five of whom are at home at the present time.

Tanya’s message to workers in the adoption field is: Don’t worry about how many children a family can adopt. Pay attention to the issues and needs of the children; explore with the families how they will cope with the issues the children bring.

Makes sense to me.

None of us likes to wait. Being put on hold when we call for information. Standing in line to buy a ticket. Listening for our name to be called for a restaurant table.

The kids in foster care don’t like wafting either.

Michael was 10 years old when he wrote this poem. The first stanzas remind us of how he felt.

The latest national data tell us that the average child in foster care is eight years old and has waited 24.6 months since termination of parental rights.

That’s two more birthdays and two more Thanksgivings .. going on three .. after being legally free for adoption. They were already in foster care before that milestone made them free for adoption. And now, two and a half years later, they still wait.

Waiting since they were just six years old. Checking every face, and wondering…

Michael completed his poem with these last two verses.

At last Michael’s long, long wait is over.

If something needs fixing, we usually want to speak up. Or do something.

I can remember being told that our actions speak louder than our words. What we do lasts longer than what we say. Our hands and feet speak loudly and forcefully.


About 114,000 children in the United States foster care system are waiting for families.

Not everyone adopts. But every one of us can do something to keep a child safe, to give a child a loving family. And if we don’t do something, who will?

Angels often come to The Adoption Exchange disguised as volunteers. No sandals or robes or strikes of lightening. Just ordinary people. When asked why he dedicated so many hours of his personal time, Bob simply said, “It is the right thing to do.”

Hundreds of people do the right thing for children week after week. There are volunteer opportunities in any of our offices. Click here to learn more!

Children in foster care don’t have contact with the people who write the legislation, create the policies, or make decisions that impact their lives today and their opportunities in the future.

Someone choosing to remain anonymous penned the following poem.

The poem was dedicated to Pat Keller, an active advocate for children until her death.

She is gone now. And if we won’t speak for the children, who will?

This morning the website brought me an email from a long ago adoptive mom. Her daughter (now grown) is about to become full time guardian of an at-risk teenager.

A couple of weeks ago I heard from the wife of a former Wednesday’s Child. This couple is planning to adopt a child from foster care.

I’m not saying that either of these young adults had easy childhoods. Quite the opposite. They and their adoptive families met the challenges. And now they’ve grown into adulthood with the desire to pass love along to someone else that needs to be safe and needs a place to belong.

Several years ago a couple of caseworkers and their supervisors, along with some generous volunteers and supporters put love in motion for one boy and one girl. Now those efforts are rippling out to two more youth in the next generation.

As happens every year at about this time, I have been doing some cleaning up in my office. There are notes on pieces of paper in every size and color. Some have bright yellow highlight to remind me of things I must do. I see the phone number of a retired colleague that I’d like to stay in touch with. And I found a punch line for what was probably a good joke.

There is a stack of stuff that needs immediate attention (so why does it get bigger and not smaller?). And a stack of stuff that might come in useful.

Some notes are well organized. Most aren’t.

As I file things away, I come across a provocative item from another year. Tucked away in a binder, it stopped me in my tracks today. It is a sort of diary on half a page, with two dated entries. The first is rather descriptive. The other – well, it’s short.

Quit trying?! That couldn’t happen today, could it? Somebody please tell me that wouldn’t – couldn’t – happen in 2010.

Sitting at a table at the Denver 40 Under 40 luncheon, I was asked by the young man at my left how long I’ve been doing the kind of work I do. When he realized I’m every bit as old as I appear to be, he then wanted to know how I keep from burning out.

“Don’t the stories of the children tear at your heart and wring you dry?” he asked.

I’ve answered this question in different ways on different days.

Today I say I don’t get burned out because I have great role models – people who are determined to improve the lives of vulnerable children.

Barbara is one of the people who helped me un-learn the early lessons about not getting emotionally involved. Several years ago a psychotherapist told Barbara that the child she was working with could not make it in an adoptive family.

Barbara objected.

The therapist then reminded her that she should separate her emotions from the matter, like a professional. “You’re acting like her grandmother,” the therapist accused.

Barbara replied, “Well, someone has to care about her like a grandmother!” And then she found another therapist for that child – who now has a family because Barbara believed in her and cared about her.

A national survey in 2007 revealed that 45% of the American population thinks children are in foster care due to their own delinquency (AdopTalk, Fall, 2009).

So let’s set the record straight.

It not the fault of the children that their parents and care-givers are too lost in their own dysfunction to care for them. It is not their fault that there is no food, no heat, and no one to take them to school. It’s not their fault when their parents don’t come home at night.

It’s not the fault of older siblings that they are left to raise the babies. It’s not their fault that they have been beaten, pinched, kicked, burned and used.

Having their innocence stripped away from them before they lose their baby teeth is not their fault.

The children are not to blame that family holidays become nightmares of substance abuse and that violence is a daily occurence.

Hello out there – They are children!

It is not their fault.



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