Six years, 312 weeks, 2,190 days ―- those are 3 different ways to describe how much time I spent living in 18 different group homes or foster homes as a ward of the Toronto Children’s Aid Society and a Crown Ward. No matter how you calculate it or sum it up, I was YOUR child as Crown Wards are children under legal guardianship of the province. Your tax dollars paid for my medication, your tax dollars fed me, and your tax dollars also paid for the salaries of the people who abused me over this six-year period.
You see, I was born to an intellectually disabled single mother who wanted to adopt me. But my grandmother, who had always dreamed of having a grandchild, stepped in and offered to assist in raising me in return for my mother calling the adoption off. When I was five years old, my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, and so my mother was left to care for a child she never really wanted in the first place. My mother had a difficult time choosing between caring for me and caring for my grandmother, and at times, I ended up facing the wrath of my mother’s hands and other objects.
When I was around seven or eight years old, the Children’s Aid Society (CAS) began to investigate, and when I was nine years old, I was apprehended. And so began my journey living out of garbage bags (that’s what was used to put my belongings in when I moved from home to another). Little did I know that I was trading one abusive environment for another.
Last year, the Government of Ontario announced that it was introducing new legislation in order to enhance the experience of youth living in care. There is absolutely no discussion about having children and youth served by people who are actually qualified to do so. In a previous blog I talked about the need to have licensed workers in group homes and specialized foster homes which would improve accountability.
For most of my time living in care, I had an undiagnosed mental illness that was written off as behavioral, and rather than spending time to dig into what was actually causing my so-called behavior, I suffered abuse and eventually shipped off to yet another group home or foster home.
No youth worker will admit what they did to me was abuse, instead they’ll tell you they were using different techniques as a means of putting a stop to my behavior.
- I remember one day when I was 10 years old I found out my grandmother had been rushed to the hospital, upon receiving this news, I ran to my room, sat in my chair and began to cry. Rather than coming into my room and consoling me, a worker in my group home charged into my room and immediately put me on the floor and restrained me. I later learned they thought I was harming myself because I was crying so loudly. So rather than finding out what was wrong first, they just assumed the worst and restrained me. The louder I cried, the harder the restraint got. This is still a memory that brings me to tears and one that will forever haunt me; I will never forget the person that did this to me, nor will I forgive them.
- In another group home, I had my door taken off its hinges. In that same group home, the residents’ shoes were locked up and as punishment we sometimes had our clothes taken away and given hot pink (or some other really tacky color) of pajamas to wear.
- When I threatened to jump out my second floor window, a worker in my group home brought me a step stool and said, “If you do it, I’ll say you accidentally fell.”
- To deter “behavioral” issues, sometimes my fellow residents and I were given Cream of Wheat or something of that nature as punishment. I remember eating this and having a group home worker tell me, “You’re lucky I didn’t urinate in it.”
- Every child living in care has the right to freedom of religion (and that includes refusing to go to church or other religious activities) in one particular foster home I lived in for several months when I was 12 years old I refused to participate in a weekly bible study session. Over a two-week period that resulted in me having to stay in my bedroom when I got home from school at 3:30pm until 7:30am the next morning. I was only allowed out of my room to bathe or use the washroom. I had to even stay in my room on weekends. All my meals were brought to me. The only items allowed in my room were my homework and a bible.
This is only a small snapshot of the abuse I suffered at the hands of the very system that was supposed to protect me. A few years ago I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), which the psychiatrist believed to be a direct result of my experience with the child protection system.
I did try and assert my rights and stand up for myself while living in care. I made dozens of calls to The Provincial Advocate for Children & Youth (The Advocate’s Office) whose powers are somewhat limited as to how they can intervene. At most my advocate would try to mediate the issue but more times than not that just pissed off the group home which led to the entire house going bowling while I had to stay at the group home and scrub floors.
Each child is given a ‘Rights and Responsibilities Handbook’ which is reviewed with the child/youth every 3 months. Just like the law, every single worker and foster parent interpreted every single word of the rights and responsibilities differently and at the end of the day I was told that my foster parent or group home worker was in charge and sometimes their methods were more creative than others yet had to be respected.
Group homes and foster homes are inspected annually but are usually given weeks if not months to prepare. My experience was that the inspections usually happened when the kids were outside of the house and if we did see the inspector it was just as they were leaving the house. Ask any youth or former youth in care and they’ll tell you that we were rewarded for saying positive things to the inspector and we were all penalized for saying negative things to the inspector; usually in the form of being put off-program (the group home version of lockdown). The government says as part of its new legislation it hopes to include unannounced inspections.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; our children and youth of Ontario deserve better!