I Narrowly Escaped Foster Care When I Was 15

I owe an incredible debt to Huckleberry House.

I’ve always considered myself an open person, but this is not a part of my life I am comfortable talking about. It’s taken me several tries to get my thoughts out, but I believe that if my story can shed light on the need for our government to invest in social services, and soften the heart of even just one of our legislators, perhaps my experiences were not in vain.

My relationship with my family has always been complicated. I grew up as the oldest of four in the Outer Mission in San Francisco. My parents were very strict, Conservative, and deeply religious. As punishment my father would hit us with a large stick he used to keep on the window sill, but one day that stick broke while he was hitting my brother and he began to use a black braided belt instead.

The physical punishments became a lot worse once I started high school. I attended George Washington in the Richmond District, which is on the other side of the City from where I lived (and an hour and a half bus ride). Oftentimes after a long day at school and exhausting bus ride home, I didn’t want to do anything except take a nap before diving into my homework and repeating it all over again the next day. But that was unacceptable to my father, who demanded that I finish my chores before I start on any homework.