LilMtnCbn
01-09-2004, 08:39 AM
http://www.csmonitor.com/2004/0107/p11s01-lifp.html?entryBottomStory
A home of their own
African-American leaders in Florida push adoption for children in foster care.
By Danna Harman | Staff writer of The Christian Science Monitor
MIAMI – They don't creep out of their bedrooms to flip on TV cartoons on the
weekends, even though their parents tell them it's perfectly fine to do so.
They never open the refrigerator to get a glass of milk when they are thirsty.
They dare not complain when they are cold. They say "Thank you" incessantly.
"We explain: 'This is your fridge. Your food. Your TV. Your home,' " says James
Parrish, a maintenance supervisor in Broward County, Fla., who, with his wife,
Felicia, adopted three young siblings who had been foster children for years.
"We work to make it clear this is not a stopover. But trust takes time to
build. And they have had bad experiences."
Seven-year-old Marri and her two brothers, Mario, who's 8, and Shaquan, 6, were
taken away from their abusive biological parents by the state of Florida when
Marri was barely 1.
The children shuttled between bleak emergency shelters and temporary foster
homes, sharing clothes, eating poorly, and falling behind in school. One foster
mother would lock them in the garage when they asked to play, recounts Shaquan,
stammering as he speaks. And sometimes she put them in a closet and pushed up a
dresser against it.
"I would not want to go back," says the boy, his eyes widening.
These siblings were plucked out of the foster-care system, brought into a
loving home, and will never have to "go back." But some 130,000 other young
Americans seeking to be adopted are not as fortunate, and may go through their
childhood years - feeling lonely, frustrated, angry, unwanted, even unsafe -
without ever being invited into a permanent home.
The problem is most acute when it comes to black children. In Miami and Dade
County, for example, African- Americans make up about 20 percent of the general
population but close to 67 percent of the children seeking adoption.
Furthermore, even accounting for that imbalance, black families are less likely
to adopt than nonblacks, according to studies.
The reasons for this situation may be economic, social (many African-American
families unofficially take in relatives and thus have less room or desire for
strangers), or, as some claim, racial (there are those who think the
authorities take black children out of a problematic family environment more
quickly than they do nonblacks).
But the fact is that the statistics repeat themselves across the country. In
Chicago, for example, 95 percent of children in foster care waiting to be
adopted are black.
Increasingly, however, black activists are saying, "Enough is enough."
Propelled by the shocking story of Rilya Wilson - the Miami girl in foster care
who literally disappeared within the social-service system two years ago -
three black Florida lawmakers have begun a grass-roots campaign to recruit more
and better qualified black adoptive parents.
The project, which they hope to roll out nationwide in a year's time, is called
the Rilya Wilson Legacy Project, in honor of the missing child, who would be 7
this year.
"When Rilya went missing, I could not sleep at night," says state Sen.
Frederica Wilson. "I could not understand how this could happen to a little
girl. I took it personally. I was offended. And I decided to do something.
"Her disappearance has heightened, in the mind of many blacks, the obligation
we have to our children languishing in foster care," she adds. "And we are
going to capitalize on that sense of obligation."
Senator Wilson was instrumental in pushing through legislation earlier this
year requiring the Florida Department of Children and Families (DCF) to place
all children in their custody in preschool - and for those schools to report
any children absent. It's a move that will help alert authorities to trouble,
and had it been in place two years ago, might have helped Rilya.
"But this is not enough," says Wilson. "Government cannot and should not take
care of our children alone. We have to do better. And to do that, we have to
know better."
The project is pulling together organizations involved in adoption, and helping
them coordinate and reach out more aggressively to the larger community.
These include well-established groups such as One Church One Child, which
encourages churches to financially and emotionally support one family from the
community in adopting a child.
Also participating are newer organizations such as the Rilya Wilson Advocacy
Project, which aims to raise community awareness of the incidents of missing
and abused children.
Representatives from these groups and many others are being sent out to all
sorts of organizations that will have them - churches, sororities, professional
organizations - with the goal of providing information and appealing to
potential adoptive parents.
"Rilya is going to be our spark. Her tragedy is going to help others," promises
Wilson.
Meanwhile, in conjunction with these efforts, the local NBC television station
in Miami has started a weekly program called "Forever Family," in which
children seeking adoption are featured and adoption procedures are explained.
"I like to think people are not involved because they don't know what's going
on," says Gia Tutalo-Mote, who initiated and now produces the program. "Every
night you turn on the TV and see horrible stories, but no one ever tells you
how you can help."
Since the TV show began running last year, 13 children have found adoptive
families through the program - including Marri, Mario, and Shaquan.
Ms. Tutalo-Mote says she soon plans to take the program national.
* * *
It's a rainy Sunday in Miami, and Helen Williams, founder of the Rilya Wilson
Advocacy Project, is sitting in the back pews of the Brownsville Church of
Christ, together with representatives from One Church One Child and the DCF.
At the end of a long morning of services, the three women file to the front of
the small room, stand under the faded red curtains, and turn to the fidgety
congregation.
"I know many here have children of their own. But I want you to listen," begins
Williams. "In times of slavery we might not have been able to organize
ourselves to help out children. But those times are long gone, and we need to
go in and save our children."
Toni White from the DCF has a frayed red album filled with pastel sheets of
paper. "Waiting Children" is emblazoned on the front cover, and each page has
on it a pasted photo of a different child: Lakesisha, James, Sammie, Kendra,
Inez, Cynthia, George, Joe, Martin, Jerusetta ... one child after another
grinning for the camera.
"Come look through," implores Ms. White. "Maybe there is a child here that
interests you."
Little blurbs beside the photographs try to present each child in the best
possible light.
"Travis is a cute tyke with big brown eyes who is sure to steal your heart,"
begins one. "Diamond and his adorable sister, Stacy, are very optimistic,"
reads another. "Charming Johanesia is noted for willingness to help with
chores," promises a third.
"[Adopting a child is] a lot of responsibility," admits White. "But the longer
a kid stays in the system, the more they die - and they need your help."
Spread the love, she urges, "and it will come back to you... Who will bring you
that cool drink of cold water when you are old?"
Then, changing tactics, White continues, "You will get financial incentives
from the state."
Prospective parents don't have to be married or rich to adopt a child. The main
thing is that they have to care, she tells them.
As the congregation files out, people are asked to sign a sheet of paper and
note their interest in volunteering. After the sheet goes back to Wilson's
office, follow-up calls will be made.
It doesn't look encouraging.
"I already have my own kids," murmurs one lady.
"Trouble, trouble," says another.
In the column headed "interest" all but one congregant has written "none."
But Wilson doesn't allow herself to be discouraged.
"Look, people stayed after church to listen to us, and [they] signed our
sheets," she says optimistically.
"And you don't know yet. Maybe something will come out of it," she insists.
"Maybe that one person who indicated interest will come through. Even one more
person is good ... we never said [it would be] quick or easy."
* * *
James and Felicia were neighbors when they were growing up and played together
in the streets right around where they live today. After college, they fell in
love, married, and decided to start a family, but were unable to have children.
James coached Little League. Felicia baby-sat for her nieces all the time. But
it wasn't enough. They wanted to nurture children of their own.
In church, on television, and at work they began hearing about foster children
in need, and they began discussing the possibility of adopting one.
But not all their friends thought it was a good idea.
"People said to us: 'Are you sure you want to bring in foster children? Those
kids are scarred. They will be a problem,' " remembers Felicia. "And we thought
about it a lot and decided ... we have something to share. We can show them a
brighter way. And we have faith they will be all right."
Shaquan, listening intently, puts his head down on her lap. She drapes her arm
casually around him, and he smiles.
-------------------------
A good friend will come and bail you out of jail . . . but, a true friend will
be sitting next to you saying, "Damn . . . that was fun!"
-----Unknown
A home of their own
African-American leaders in Florida push adoption for children in foster care.
By Danna Harman | Staff writer of The Christian Science Monitor
MIAMI – They don't creep out of their bedrooms to flip on TV cartoons on the
weekends, even though their parents tell them it's perfectly fine to do so.
They never open the refrigerator to get a glass of milk when they are thirsty.
They dare not complain when they are cold. They say "Thank you" incessantly.
"We explain: 'This is your fridge. Your food. Your TV. Your home,' " says James
Parrish, a maintenance supervisor in Broward County, Fla., who, with his wife,
Felicia, adopted three young siblings who had been foster children for years.
"We work to make it clear this is not a stopover. But trust takes time to
build. And they have had bad experiences."
Seven-year-old Marri and her two brothers, Mario, who's 8, and Shaquan, 6, were
taken away from their abusive biological parents by the state of Florida when
Marri was barely 1.
The children shuttled between bleak emergency shelters and temporary foster
homes, sharing clothes, eating poorly, and falling behind in school. One foster
mother would lock them in the garage when they asked to play, recounts Shaquan,
stammering as he speaks. And sometimes she put them in a closet and pushed up a
dresser against it.
"I would not want to go back," says the boy, his eyes widening.
These siblings were plucked out of the foster-care system, brought into a
loving home, and will never have to "go back." But some 130,000 other young
Americans seeking to be adopted are not as fortunate, and may go through their
childhood years - feeling lonely, frustrated, angry, unwanted, even unsafe -
without ever being invited into a permanent home.
The problem is most acute when it comes to black children. In Miami and Dade
County, for example, African- Americans make up about 20 percent of the general
population but close to 67 percent of the children seeking adoption.
Furthermore, even accounting for that imbalance, black families are less likely
to adopt than nonblacks, according to studies.
The reasons for this situation may be economic, social (many African-American
families unofficially take in relatives and thus have less room or desire for
strangers), or, as some claim, racial (there are those who think the
authorities take black children out of a problematic family environment more
quickly than they do nonblacks).
But the fact is that the statistics repeat themselves across the country. In
Chicago, for example, 95 percent of children in foster care waiting to be
adopted are black.
Increasingly, however, black activists are saying, "Enough is enough."
Propelled by the shocking story of Rilya Wilson - the Miami girl in foster care
who literally disappeared within the social-service system two years ago -
three black Florida lawmakers have begun a grass-roots campaign to recruit more
and better qualified black adoptive parents.
The project, which they hope to roll out nationwide in a year's time, is called
the Rilya Wilson Legacy Project, in honor of the missing child, who would be 7
this year.
"When Rilya went missing, I could not sleep at night," says state Sen.
Frederica Wilson. "I could not understand how this could happen to a little
girl. I took it personally. I was offended. And I decided to do something.
"Her disappearance has heightened, in the mind of many blacks, the obligation
we have to our children languishing in foster care," she adds. "And we are
going to capitalize on that sense of obligation."
Senator Wilson was instrumental in pushing through legislation earlier this
year requiring the Florida Department of Children and Families (DCF) to place
all children in their custody in preschool - and for those schools to report
any children absent. It's a move that will help alert authorities to trouble,
and had it been in place two years ago, might have helped Rilya.
"But this is not enough," says Wilson. "Government cannot and should not take
care of our children alone. We have to do better. And to do that, we have to
know better."
The project is pulling together organizations involved in adoption, and helping
them coordinate and reach out more aggressively to the larger community.
These include well-established groups such as One Church One Child, which
encourages churches to financially and emotionally support one family from the
community in adopting a child.
Also participating are newer organizations such as the Rilya Wilson Advocacy
Project, which aims to raise community awareness of the incidents of missing
and abused children.
Representatives from these groups and many others are being sent out to all
sorts of organizations that will have them - churches, sororities, professional
organizations - with the goal of providing information and appealing to
potential adoptive parents.
"Rilya is going to be our spark. Her tragedy is going to help others," promises
Wilson.
Meanwhile, in conjunction with these efforts, the local NBC television station
in Miami has started a weekly program called "Forever Family," in which
children seeking adoption are featured and adoption procedures are explained.
"I like to think people are not involved because they don't know what's going
on," says Gia Tutalo-Mote, who initiated and now produces the program. "Every
night you turn on the TV and see horrible stories, but no one ever tells you
how you can help."
Since the TV show began running last year, 13 children have found adoptive
families through the program - including Marri, Mario, and Shaquan.
Ms. Tutalo-Mote says she soon plans to take the program national.
* * *
It's a rainy Sunday in Miami, and Helen Williams, founder of the Rilya Wilson
Advocacy Project, is sitting in the back pews of the Brownsville Church of
Christ, together with representatives from One Church One Child and the DCF.
At the end of a long morning of services, the three women file to the front of
the small room, stand under the faded red curtains, and turn to the fidgety
congregation.
"I know many here have children of their own. But I want you to listen," begins
Williams. "In times of slavery we might not have been able to organize
ourselves to help out children. But those times are long gone, and we need to
go in and save our children."
Toni White from the DCF has a frayed red album filled with pastel sheets of
paper. "Waiting Children" is emblazoned on the front cover, and each page has
on it a pasted photo of a different child: Lakesisha, James, Sammie, Kendra,
Inez, Cynthia, George, Joe, Martin, Jerusetta ... one child after another
grinning for the camera.
"Come look through," implores Ms. White. "Maybe there is a child here that
interests you."
Little blurbs beside the photographs try to present each child in the best
possible light.
"Travis is a cute tyke with big brown eyes who is sure to steal your heart,"
begins one. "Diamond and his adorable sister, Stacy, are very optimistic,"
reads another. "Charming Johanesia is noted for willingness to help with
chores," promises a third.
"[Adopting a child is] a lot of responsibility," admits White. "But the longer
a kid stays in the system, the more they die - and they need your help."
Spread the love, she urges, "and it will come back to you... Who will bring you
that cool drink of cold water when you are old?"
Then, changing tactics, White continues, "You will get financial incentives
from the state."
Prospective parents don't have to be married or rich to adopt a child. The main
thing is that they have to care, she tells them.
As the congregation files out, people are asked to sign a sheet of paper and
note their interest in volunteering. After the sheet goes back to Wilson's
office, follow-up calls will be made.
It doesn't look encouraging.
"I already have my own kids," murmurs one lady.
"Trouble, trouble," says another.
In the column headed "interest" all but one congregant has written "none."
But Wilson doesn't allow herself to be discouraged.
"Look, people stayed after church to listen to us, and [they] signed our
sheets," she says optimistically.
"And you don't know yet. Maybe something will come out of it," she insists.
"Maybe that one person who indicated interest will come through. Even one more
person is good ... we never said [it would be] quick or easy."
* * *
James and Felicia were neighbors when they were growing up and played together
in the streets right around where they live today. After college, they fell in
love, married, and decided to start a family, but were unable to have children.
James coached Little League. Felicia baby-sat for her nieces all the time. But
it wasn't enough. They wanted to nurture children of their own.
In church, on television, and at work they began hearing about foster children
in need, and they began discussing the possibility of adopting one.
But not all their friends thought it was a good idea.
"People said to us: 'Are you sure you want to bring in foster children? Those
kids are scarred. They will be a problem,' " remembers Felicia. "And we thought
about it a lot and decided ... we have something to share. We can show them a
brighter way. And we have faith they will be all right."
Shaquan, listening intently, puts his head down on her lap. She drapes her arm
casually around him, and he smiles.
-------------------------
A good friend will come and bail you out of jail . . . but, a true friend will
be sitting next to you saying, "Damn . . . that was fun!"
-----Unknown
