When I was 10, my parents became foster parents, and Nathaniel and his sisters were our first placement. Though he lived with us for only two years, Nathaniel quickly became part of our family.
We sang Backstreet Boys in the minivan, traded baseball cards, and cheered at soccer games. He was bright, scrappy, and resilient — the kind of kid who found ways to thrive despite hardship.
Family Bonds Last Beyond Foster Care Placements
Even after leaving our home, Nathaniel remained close. We visited him and his sisters on weekends, drove long hours to see them in Los Angeles, and supported him through his teenage years as he worked to avoid gangs.
With the help of a mentor, Nathaniel graduated high school and later college, proving his determination to succeed.
Decades later, when I wrote my first middle‑grade novel, I named the main character Nathaniel — a fourth‑grader, just like my foster brother when he left our home.
At his baby shower this year, I gave him a signed copy, ensuring he knew he would always be my brother. Foster care may have dictated where he lived, but it never defined who we considered family. Today, Nathaniel still calls me his sister, a bond that endures beyond placements and time.
