For many years, my husband and I worked with youth through our outreach program. Back then, he was also serving as a pastor at a small inner-city church. Those years were filled with moments spent connecting with the local kids and being part of their lives.
Courtesy of Mik Taylor
Some were latchkey kids, some didn’t have enough food, and others had been neglected or abandoned.
It broke our hearts to see what these children were going through. We knew the odds weren’t in their favor, especially for young Black boys. We were also aware of how many brown children ended up in foster care. That was the moment we realized we needed to take a bigger step.
Courtesy of Mik Taylor
Because we had room in our home, we decided to get licensed and open our doors as foster parents. We were excited and nervous, waiting for the first call. Soon, a baby boy was placed with us. But even then, something inside us said we weren’t done yet. Six months later, we got another call — this time for a kindergartner.
Courtesy of Mik Taylor
He had already been in another home, but they couldn’t care for him anymore. His caseworker was desperate. She said she had already called three other homes. If we didn’t say yes, she would have to keep looking. She also made it clear we were being called because we were open to adoption.
Courtesy of Mik Taylor
We knew the challenges, especially for Black boys as they grew older. But as soon as we saw him — with his sweet dimples and high-pitched cartoon voice, we said yes.
He was bright and full of energy. His former foster grandma had done a great job keeping him on track at school. But soon we were juggling two kids, two cases, and everything that came with it: doctor visits, court, therapy, and more.
Courtesy of Mik Taylor
Still, he made our home his home. He wanted to stay. He wanted answers. He asked things no child should ask: “Will I move again?” “Will I see my family?”
This was the beginning, the time where he tested if we were serious, if we would stay. Parenting kids with trauma is hard, but he had already started calling my husband “dad.” It took longer for him to call me “mom,” and that was okay.
We had learned that love alone isn’t enough. Foster parenting takes patience, training, and empathy. But even with all the challenges, healing was happening. We were becoming a family.
Courtesy of Mik Taylor
Six months in, he was cleared for adoption. Ten months after arriving, we adopted him. No more moves. No more disruptions.
Courtesy of Mik Taylor
Now, four years later, Dwayne is in fourth grade and doing amazing. He’s smart, strong, and so loved. To anyone thinking of fostering, please don’t overlook older kids. They need love too. And they deserve a future filled with hope.
