The Beginning To The End Of My Childhood: June 1986

As the car approached the long, steep driveway, I was suddenly overcome by panic. I had never had much of a normal family life before. But now as the new foster home approached larger than life through the windshield, I realized for the first time that I was an orphan. Maybe not in the traditional sense of the word, but being given up by my father to live with some family was all I needed to be convinced that I was not wanted.

Life hadn’t been very easy for me in the past few years. I had already experienced homelessness, being stuck in the middle of a divorce, and taking care of myself for days at a time. Now, as I was approaching eleven years old, I was headed for a whole new playing field. A whole new game where I was the mascot, and the other team was kicking the shit out of me every chance they got.

The Division of Youth and Family Services (DYFS), had been called at my father’s request. He wanted me placed in a new home. He had told them that he would no longer take care of me. Opting instead to start a new life with his new fiancee, Nikki, She was like my sworn enemy. A woman that I couldn’t even try to like or respect.

Since my own mother was unable or apparently unwilling to take me, DYFS stepped in. Placing me at the starting line of what would be a race that would go on for decades. A race that would lead me through each and every facet of the juvenile system, while preparing me for my inevitable transition into the adult criminal justice system. A race that I am still running today.