"Give back the little black boy"

We were in a commercial break during our morning newscast.  It was 6:40 and my co-anchor, John, made a quick trip to the KPLC mail room to pick up the mail of the day.

Sometimes it's an encouraging card from a viewer, a news release about an upcoming event, there are the random letters from inmates, and sometimes it is a "concerned citizen."

You don't know what you are getting until you open it up.

John handed me a piece of mail addressed to "B. Glaser" with no return address.

I knew that was a red flag.

But, I could feel there was a card inside of the envelope, which made me think it could be a kind note.  Who would want to waste a piece of stationary on criticism?

So I opened it...

"Give back the little black boy while you have a chance."

I stopped there, feeling my heart racing and the tears starting to rise to the surface.

I couldn't cry.  I was about to be back on camera to read the next news story.

I handed the letter to John, who read it, and whose face could not hide the disgust I knew must mean every word was hate-filled.

In the next commercial break, I picked up the card again:

Brittany,

Give back the little black boy while you have a chance.

They grow up to be out of control and rapists.  It's a breed you cannot deny.

I work with black teens 2-3 times a week.  They talk about having sex.

Don't let your daughter get raped when he is a teenager.

I'm older, but have seen what happens when blacks get to be of age.

Maybe you are trying to make a point with adoption.  You don't need to do that.  You are already well liked.

A Concerned Citizen.

I'm not racist.

I think I forgot to breathe.

Rapist.

Breed.

My daughter being attacked by my son - all because she's white and he's black?

Making a point with adoption?

And all of this was written inside a patriotic-themed card with the American flag on the front.  The flag that represents liberty and justice for all.

The wheels in my head were spinning.  I kept telling myself, "This is one person.  One person's opinion.  One person's perception.  One person's ignorance."

But the harsh reality is that where there is one, there are more - who claim "I'm not racist," yet identify certain people as a "breed," or intrinsically criminalistic.

I do not have concerns about our son - the person being referred to as "the little black boy" -  morphing into a rapist as he "gets to be of age."

I would be lying to say I don't have concerns, though, about raising a black child in today's society.

All I have to do is read the news of the day to have some of those concerns in my face: two more deadly officer-involved shootings of black men in one week.  Regardless of where you fall on the "were they armed," "were they reaching for weapons," or "what's their rap sheet" spectrum - the fact is my heart aches watching another video of a black man shot to death.

Adding even more pain is the audio recording of an officer who states one victim "looks like a bad dude" based solely on his appearance as he walked to his stalled SUV with his hands in the air.

Our son will be taught by us that there is never, ever, in any circumstance, a reason to resist an officer.  Don't move unless you are told to move.  Do not reach for your license, your insurance card, or step out of the car if you have a question.  Don't adjust your pants if they seem off center.  Submit.  Period.

Will our two white daughters have to worry about taking such a cautious approach?  Probably not.

We recognize our son will encounter obstacles and prejudices that we never experienced.

It's pretty easy to accept and love on an adorable one-year-old, but what about when he's a little older?

Will he be invited to a classmate's birthday party?

Will he be watched more closely on the toy aisle as he tests out the wheels of a race car?

Will he be followed at the store as he tries on a pair of shoes?

Will he be able to ask a girl to the homecoming dance, regardless of the color of her skin?

Will he be accused of "trying to be white" or "not being black enough" because his family dynamics look different than the norm?

Will he know how much it matters to us, his parents, to respect and honor his racial heritage?

We do not need to be color blind.  Color is beautiful.  Differences can be celebrated.

It's okay if the first thing you notice about my son when you see him is the color of his skin.  But it's not okay if the next thing you do is make judgments based on that color.

I promise you that if you take a second to see him for more than his color, you will see his beautiful amber-brown eyes that smile when he smiles.  Then you will notice his dimply cheeks.  And that gap-toothed smile...oh my gosh.

He just started giving fall-into-you-with-all-of-my-weight hugs.  He will blow you a kiss when you say "goodbye."

And his newest word he can sign is "pretty," a word that he does not use discriminately - because we are all made in the image of God.

To the "concerned citizen" who wrote me that card: thank you for reminding me of just how lucky we are to be the parents of "the little black boy." He's a special guy and we know God has big plans for him.

-Britney

Fear, Faith, and a Family of Five

There has been a long drought in this blogosphere...

It's because if I had shared what had been going on since the last post almost four months ago, it would have just looked something like this for several weeks:

WHITE NOISE

Followed by...WHITE NOISE.

That is the best way to describe my thoughts, emotions, sleeplessness, etc. while deep into pursuing an adoptive placement Matt and I had been efforting since November - and then this news in February:

Hello, life!

So, here we were a few months ago, set to meet our potential son at his foster home for the first time and digesting the reality that by November, we could have three children under two. 

The logistics of it all felt overwhelming and we still had time to stop the adoptive move from happening.

I didn't know how I was going to get three little ones in and out of the house - into the car (that I will grow out of when three car seats are installed) - into daycare - and back to work in a one hour window of time.

I didn't know how Matt would handle the early morning hours alone with two, then three, when I had to leave the house at 3:15 A.M. for work.

I didn't know how I would possibly be able to nurse an infant while having two one-year-olds running around.  Heck, I just exited pumping/nursing land and am not ready to re-enter!

I didn't know if we would sleep again for the next few years.

I didn't know if Matt and I would have an uninterrupted conversation at home or go on a date again before the posse enters school.

I didn't know if we had the time, patience, and unconditional love that the little boy we wanted to adopt so desperately needs.

I didn't know if we had enough love to spread around for Lila, little brother, and the next addition.

We didn't know A LOT.

And guess what?!  We still don't.

Yet, all of that not knowing brought us to a place of knowing that this big, crazy life is exactly what God wants for us. 

"As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." Isaiah 55:9 

I assure you that the "plan" Matt and I had for our family didn't involve growing quite so quickly.

We figured we would continue in the adoptive process this year - and maybe, just maybe, add another biological or adopted child to the family in a few years after we were nicely settled in as a family of four.

When we learned that life was moving in a very different direction, fear creeped into both of us.

Should we continue in this adoptive placement?  Should we hit pause and revisit it after the birth of the baking baby?  Is now the right time?

It did not take long before we found ourselves begging God for discernment and clarity.

I found myself asking God, "Please, will you just show me exactly what we're supposed to do? Can you just tell me?"

And then, it's as if he calmly whispered to me, "The answer is right in front of you."

So, I opened up the Bible and turned almost instinctively to the book of James.

It's only five chapters, so I was able to quickly read through it and every chapter had verses stand out which seemed to perfectly describe our situation.  Here are the highlights:

*Consider it joy when you face trials, because the testing of your faith produces perseverance.  When you ask for wisdom, believe God is giving it to you and stop doubting.  (James 1: 2-6)

*Do not just listen to the Word.  DO what it says.  (James 1:22)

*Care for the fatherless. (James 1:27)

*Faith without action is dead.  (James 2:26)

*Our lives are so temporary. (James 4:14)

All of that was in one short book.  Over the next several weeks, I found myself more eager to dive into the Word, listen to more sermons on faith, trust, caring for "the least of these," and refocusing on God's will for my (our) life.

The more I looked, the more clarity and peace I found.

"You will seek me and you will find me when you seek me with all your heart." Jeremiah 29:13

When we boiled down the source of any of our "no" answers in delaying the adoption process, it was all rooted in the same concern: fear.

I'm not talking about ignoring a protective warning or refusing to seek godly counsel.  

I'm talking about allowing crippling fear to stop us from taking a big step of faith into what God is commanding us to do - and getting out of our cozy, comfy lives that oftentimes keep us from recognizing just how much we need to lean on the Lord.

Saying "yes" to this placement meant saying yes to a tough calling, yes to a bigger faith in God, yes to a new normal, yes to more sleepless nights and even busier days, yes to LOTS of unknowns, and yes to giving a little boy who has spent his entire young life in foster care a permanent, loving home.

I can't wait for the day I can share the incredible story of how we learned about this child and how much he has already overcome.  While he is freed for adoption (parental rights have been terminated in his case), the state requires that he is our foster child for six months until we can adopt him.

Until then, we cannot share pictures of his adorable face or tell you his story.  It's one that we want to be transparent about, because we want to be part of an open dialogue about adoption, foster care, and fostering to adopt.  There are 400,000 children in U.S. foster care today and nearly 100,000 of them are eligible for adoption.  We have got to be willing to open our homes to them, even when it disrupts our comfortable lives.

We are still in the early weeks of transitioning into a family of four.  There have been some rough moments, and less than warm, fuzzy feelings at times.  We are all learning to love each other in a new way and that takes work.  Yet in the morning wake-ups or afternoon story times, there are unexpectedly joyful moments that allow us to catch a glimpse of what a day might look like when we are settled into this big, beautiful life.

And then, we will add another GIRL into our family!

Matt and I couldn't have imagined how much our lives could change since this snapshot six months ago:

There will be five stockings hanging on our mantel this Christmas.

Life can surprise us sometimes.

Don't let fear keep you from stepping into that great unknown.  It's there that God can stretch us, bend us, and reshape us into the masterpieces he designed.

"We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand." Isaiah 64:8

And that, my friends, is something we want to exemplify.

-Britney

It's my (child's) party and I'll cry if I want to

I've been in a funk this week.  Like dark cloud arrived over me and I can almost touch it.

It feels silly because I know why it's here.

Lila Rose turns one today.

I haven't shifted into celebratory mode yet.  I know it will come, but the tears definitely beat it.

I went into Lila's room twice this morning before heading to work at 3:30 to tell her I love her and Happy Birthday.

It did not phase her.  I know today, for her, is just another day.

But for me, it marks the end of babyhood.

This week has been full of more firsts, as Lila literally toddled into toddlerhood:

1) Taking several independent steps.

2) Adding the word "bye bye" to her vocabulary.

3) Intentionally putting off her bedtime bottle to give countless hugs.

4) Taking creative measures to make people laugh.

All of these additions make me smile and cherish this stage of life, but I also recognize with each new "thing" my baby is not a baby anymore.

From the day Lila was born, everyone told me, "They grow up so fast!"

And yall...it's true.  They really do.

I knew I would love becoming a mom.  But I didn't know the love I was capable of sharing with a child.  It's so deep.

You know what I'm talking about.

If you see my eyes glazed over today, you know why.

I'm thinking about what was happening at this exact time one year ago.

I'm thinking about how I couldn't wait to see Lila's face for the first time.

I'm thinking about how I pre-planned everything about delivery day, except for actually asking anything about how to deliver a child.

I'm thinking about the flood of emotions I felt when we had our first time alone that night and everything hit me.

I'm thinking about how quickly Lila transformed from a stranger to my daughter.  Just. Like. That.

Lila will be waking up any minute now and I can't wait to hear my phone buzz with the daily morning pictures from Matt.

I will push through this glass cage of emotion and put on the happiest face.

But my eyes will be seeing my little girl a little bit differently today.

I know Lila will still let me rock her to sleep for her morning nap and I will savor that precious time.  Tears might fall, but they truly aren't tears of sadness.

They're "transitional tears" full of pride, love, and raw hope for her future.

Happy Birthday, sweet girl.  We love you so.

-Britney

The Milky Way

Simple. Complex. Beautiful. Awkward. Natural. Easy. Hard. Fast. Time-consuming...

Those are my feelings on breastfeeding - a touchy topic for many moms, deeply personal decision, and for some, a source of heartache when their bodies just couldn't follow through with what their hearts desired for their newborns.

If you breastfed, formula fed, used a mix of the two, or even used donor milk: that's great!  You chose what was best for your baby and for you.  

I never knew how mixed my feelings would be about feeding Lila.  There were times when I loved the quiet moments of just the two of us in a rocking chair as I fed her - and other times when I wanted to pass that baton to someone else.

Now that Lila Rose is almost one year old, my body has decided it's slowly shutting down production.

I thought I would look forward to that day.  But oddly, it's bittersweet for me.

I certainly won't miss lugging around my pump and cooler each day.

I won't miss seeing the clock in three to four hour increments each day, figuring out when I'll hear the motor running again.

I won't miss finding places to pump when I'm out and about...

Or slumping down in the backseat of my car.

I won't miss zipping off set at work as soon as our morning show ends to "relieve myself" or the concerns I had of leaking through on live TV...which unfortunately happened.  Talk about a close head shot that day:)

But I will miss giving Lila something only I can give.

I will miss seeing her look up at me with a big, milky smile.

I will miss the way she rubbed my back while she nursed.

Feeding Lila has been an interesting journey since day one.

When the nurse put Lila on my chest on delivery day and told me to feed her, I was lost.

I didn't want Matt to look in our direction.

Everything in that moment felt foreign for me.  But not for Lila.

For her, it was natural.

In the early days and weeks, I literally logged every feeding: which breast, how long, did I pump, how many ounces, etc.  It was exhausting, and felt like a full-time job at times, but was something that I felt like I was doing successfully in the midst of my own doubts about my adjustment to motherhood.

When I returned to work and had to rely on multiple pumping sessions each day, I began feeling like I was drowning in a milky world.

My body must have thought the same thing, because I started making lots...I mean lots...of milk.

Morning pumping sessions before leaving for the office started reaching the 17-20 ounce mark.  I had much more than Lila needed.

Enter what became a beautiful new world, that I have to admit I found odd pre-baby: milk donation.

I loved being able to share with other moms in need and feeling the connection that this universal club of motherhood brings.

But now, my body has stopped making extra...

I can no longer share.  I am depending on a dwindling stash of frozen milk for Lila.

It's the end of this chapter and the clock is ticking down to retire the ole pump.

I stopped nursing a couple of months ago, when Lila decided making faces at me and giggling was far more fun than eating.  Oh...and then she got several teeth:)

I never marked a day that defined my final session.  That would have been too emotional for me.  Instead, it just sort of happened.

This milky season of life has opened my eyes to the struggles of moms who work outside of the home, moms who wrangle other children while juggling breastfeeding, moms who feel judged when choosing formula as plan A, and heartbroken moms who tried so hard to make this whole nursing/pumping thing work.

If I'm honest with myself about why this transition has been harder than I expected, the answer is pretty simple:

I don't want to be less needed.

I think we have to remind ourselves that whatever choice we make or our bodies make for us does not affect the unconditional love of our little ones.

Lila doesn't care about the source of milk in her bottle.  She cares that she's fed.  She cares that the person feeding her holds her tightly and lets her touch his/her face as she eats.

She's like every other baby, who just needs love and security - that's something I know I can give through every season of her life.

-Britney

The Forgotten Celebrations

I've always been one to make a big deal of birthdays, and have always enjoyed when someone makes a big deal about my birthday.

Today I turn 32.  It's not a fun round number into a new decade.  It's not a birthday that comes with any new privileges.

But it's already my favorite birthday.

It's the first birthday I get to celebrate with my favorite pumpkin: Lila Rose.

I know it's cliche to say, "Having a kid changes everything," but really...it does!

On my first birthday post-baby, here's what it's changed: my appreciation for my mom on this day.

It was on this day 32 years ago, that she checked in at Beauregard Memorial Hospital, ready to deliver an impatient baby.

She had given birth two years earlier to an almost 11 pound baby girl, so I can only imagine her anxiety going into this delivery!

It was before a time of crisp ultrasounds that can show the hair on a baby's head, let alone a definitive answer on gender.  It was a 50/50 guess.

It was also before a time of birthing suites where you can pile in friends and family to see the miracle unfold.

It was just her and the medical staff.

That afternoon, I arrived.

And just like that, October 30 became about Britney Leigh Glaser.

That's how I thought it should be, until this birthday.

After going through the life-changing experience of growing another human, followed by the labor and delivery of bringing her into this world, birthdays have taken on a whole new meaning!

Today is not just my birthday, it's my mom's delivery day!

I'm sorry I have not celebrated you on this day for the previous 31 years.

You were always the one in the background on my birthday, baking the cake, creating a Halloween-themed costume party, stuffing treat bags, and blowing up balloons.

I know that while you were celebrating me through the years, flashes of your delivery day were running through your mind.

I wonder what you felt like: nervous, excited, scared?

I wonder if your reaction to seeing me for the first time was the same way I reacted to seeing my own child as she was born.

I wonder if you got on the hospital room phone to call friends and family and share the news.

I wonder what it was like watching Dad walk into the room to see me for the first time, and make sure you were okay.

I don't have any pictures of you on delivery day.  I know it has nothing to do with you not being put together.  I'm certain your hair was hot-rolled and your make-up was on, just like your two daughters on their delivery days.

I don't have a picture of you holding me at the hospital, but I can just imagine that you had the same pride and love beaming from your face that you show me today.

October 30 changed both of our lives forever.

Today - for the first time on my birthday - I celebrate YOU, Mom.

Happy Delivery Day!

-Britney

What if "it" doesn't get easier?

It's Labor Day, a day that I have always labored since choosing a career field that knows no holidays.

My husband is off today.  He is home with our now seven-month-old gem.  As I sit here at work, I hope they are still in their pajamas, snuggled up and enjoying a slower pace.

I have no sick days to use.  No vacation time remaining.  I've learned the harsh reality that millions of moms who work outside the home have faced before me: maternity leave in America sucks.

Sorry, Mom.  I know you do not approve of the "s" word.  But really...it sucks.

I had Lila the first week of February, so I burned through all of my paid time off before March even rolled around.  I felt pressure to come back to work early, not because of my employer, but because of a few reasons:

1) My paycheck was going to stop.  Then, factor in hundreds of dollars in childcare costs each month upon return and I knew the clock was ticking.

2) There is only one female morning news anchor in a 70 mile radius.  Broadcast journalism is a very competitive field and if I don't consistently establish myself as Sunrise anchor, someone else will.

3) I have a very visible job and when I am not at work, thousands of people know it.

When I would think about going back to work, my heart would sink to my stomach.

The day before I returned, I literally held my seven-week-old baby all day.

Don't get me wrong, I love my job.  But I love this little girl more..

"It will get easier," said so many people as I waded through this tough transition.

"The first day will be the hardest."

"Just stay busy."

"She will be fine."

"You will miss her more than she misses you."

"She will be in good hands."

"You'll appreciate your time away from her."

"Just wait until she's a toddler.  You'll be begging for breaks from home."

I found myself reciting those same words of advice/attempted encouragement to hold back the tears on those first few days.

Then the next week rolled around and "it" hadn't gotten any easier.

"Okay, maybe the 'getting easier' happens after a couple of weeks," I thought.

Two weeks passed.  Then three, four, five.  Weeks turned into months and when Lila turned five months, "it" had only gotten harder.

My breaking point was one morning when she had woken up at 1:00 A.M.  I got up and held her in the rocking chair in her room until she fell back asleep.  I didn't fall back asleep, too scared that it would be harder to wake up when my alarm went off at 2:30.

When that time rolled around, I laid Lila in her crib, tip-toed to the kitchen to get my pumping gear and quietly escaped to my bathroom with the fan on to drown out the sound of the daily bottle-making endeavor.

Just as I got dressed, I heard Lila scream out.  I have no wiggle room with time in the morning, since Sunrise goes on the air at 4:30 A.M.  I rushed into her room, picked her up, and she immediately calmed down.  She laid her head on my shoulder and melted in my arms.

It was as if she was saying, "Thank you, Mom.  That's exactly what I needed."

I laid her back down - and she was inconsolable.  I couldn't pick her up again.  There wasn't time.

I woke up Matt and told him Lila was awake, crying, and I had to go.

As soon as I started my car in the dark, the tears started flowing.

I'm failing.  

Failing at being a mom.  Failing at being a wife.  Failing at my job.

It's not getting easier.

For me, "it" has held many different definitions.

It: not being able to hold my daughter if she cries early in the morning.

It: not being home to see her smiling face when she wakes up.

It: seeing Lila's face for the first time each day on my cell phone screen during commercial breaks - and texting Matt for morning play-by-plays.

It: settling for a mad dash to Matt's car to say a quick "hello" on the way to daycare drop-off.

It: watching other women on the daycare's webcam rock Lila to sleep.

It: working as quickly as I can to get out the door so that I can hold her for the first time.

It: pumping bottles versus nursing through much of the day.

It has been really, really hard.

After months of praying for peace, a settled spirit, patience, wisdom, and clarity - I've learned that maybe it doesn't get easier for every mom.

Does that mean I need to leave my career?  Work part-time?  Find a different job?

For me, I can firmly answer "no" to all of those questions.  Here's why:

I worked as a news anchor/reporter for almost 10 years before having Lila and it's something that lights a fire in my soul.  I love sharing stories that affect the community I care about.  I love being at adoption days for foster children I've featured in The New Family Tree.  I love that I'm part of the #1 local news morning show in America.  I love the interaction with co-workers.  I love that hard work really does pay off.

But more than all of that, I love that Lila will see first-hand from me that a job doesn't have to be a "job."  I want to see her succeed in school, college, and in a career that lights a fire in her soul.

I want her to be a difference-maker and I want her to see that in me.

So, how do I come to terms with "it" oftentimes being overwhelming?

I have had to ask for support in re-working "it."

I now have the opportunity every morning after Sunrise ends to go home for a couple of hours.  I grab Lila right as Matt heads out the door for work.

I get to kiss all over her chubby cheeks.

I get to squeeze her and smell her sweet baby smell.

I get to rock her to sleep for her first nap.

I get to see the smile on her face when she wakes up.

I get to make sure she has a bow on her head when I get her dressed.

I get to drop her off at Mother's Day Out.

Then I head back to work for a few hours, but the weight of "it" is gone.

I can exhale, knowing I had some precious time with my favorite girl.

I can go back to work with more gas in my gas tank, because a 20 pounder just filled me up.

I work a few longer days each week now, and two shorter days.  I am so appreciative of the managerial support I have received in making this arrangement work.

A baby had not been born to an on-air personality at KPLC for 14 years before Lila.  A lot has changed in the workplace since then and there is still a long way to go.

I hope that if "it" hasn't gotten easier for you, that you don't feel discouraged as you wait for it to change.

We are all wired differently.

Your solution might be different than mine.

Don't think you're alone if your heart feels ripped in two.

We are moms.  We are on the same team.  We want the best for our babies and families.

It might not get easier until you find a way to change it.

And change can be a really good thing:)

-Britney

Hot and bothered

Y'all...it's hot.

Louisiana hot.

On days when I know I'm shooting a story outdoors, I pick out my outfit based on "most likely to conceal mass quantities of sweat."

I had one of those days this week.

I was set to shoot the August feature for KPLC's The New Family Tree, where I interview a foster child who is hoping to be adopted.  We were meeting at Lock Park in Lake Charles and I showed up 15 minutes early to get set-up, while also allowing my camera lens to adjust to the crazy high humidity.

When I made my way to the park's pavilion, I noticed one of the tables was already taken.  A man was sitting there, already sweaty from the day, with his overstuffed duffle bag right next to him.

He didn't turn around at first, but the commotion I was making with my larger than life tripod eventually caught his attention.

"Are you doing a news show here or something?" he asked me.

"Hi there.  I'm taping a segment for a future newscast in just a few minutes.  I'll be sure to stay out of your way, so no need to move if you're comfy where you are,"  I responded.

"What's the story?" he asked.

"There's a boy who has spent a couple of years in foster care and is hoping to be adopted," I said.  "I do these stories once a month in the hopes that someone will see the child, connect with him or her and pursue the adoption."

The man's raised eyebrows lowered and he turned away from me for a few seconds.

I could feel the humid air enveloping both of us as the silence lingered.

"That was me," the man said.  "I was a foster child from when I was 10...until...well, until I decided I would just have to be on my own when I was 16."

It was obvious that the years to follow have been tough on this man.  I could see the rolled up blanket shoved into the top of his bag that wouldn't zip.

He was a drifter without a home.

I sat down at the picnic table next to him.  He told me his name was Vladimir. I would have never guessed that.

I told him my name was Britney.  "Britney Glaser," which he heard as "Iglesias."

"Iglesias?  I wouldn't have guessed that," he said.

So there we were.  Vladimir and Iglesias, talking foster care, adoption, and the fears of a 10-year-old boy when life is suddenly disrupted in the scariest of ways.

"It was hard," Vladimir told me.  "And I have several siblings all over the place."

"How do you think adoption would've affected where you are today?" I asked him.

Sticky, hot, stalled silence followed that question.

Then he answered.  "I don't know..."

I could hear car doors close in the distance.  A boy walked toward me, looking at the ground with his case worker next to him.

My heart always breaks in that first moment I see the foster child and my mind races with questions: "This child?  Why wouldn't a mom, dad, grandparent, aunt or uncle choose to raise this child?  How long has he been in transition?  Why him?"

"Hi there!  I'm Britney and I'm so happy to meet you!"

"I'm J'Von," he said.

"You're such a good looking guy!  How old are you?" I ask.

"Ten," he responds.

My heart sinks and I wonder if Vladimir can hear our conversation.

Ten years old.  That was when Vladimir's foster care journey started, one that would end with no one ever pursuing his adoption.

When I feature a foster child for a television news story, I know that he or she has been in state care for a long time, typically at least a couple of years.  It takes several months for case plans to go from parental reunification to termination of parental rights to free for adoption.  J'Von has already been through all of that in order to be cleared for this interview.

The featured children are also selected by case workers when they feel all other means of trying to get the child into an adoptive placement have been exhausted.  J'Von represents one of the hardest to place groups of children in foster care: African-American, male, and over the age of five.

When we sat down at the picnic table to talk, I could tell how nervous this soon-to-be fifth grader was.  We talked about his favorite things: green slushes from Sonic, catching crawfish, and mud-riding.

J'Von started to relax and I pressed "record" on my camera.

I've never had an audience for one of these interviews, but today I did.  Vladimir sat about 20 feet away from our picnic table, listening in, nodding his head and smiling as J'Von answered my questions.

I stuck to surface level questions for a few minutes: favorite food, subject in school, sport, etc.

Then it came time for the "meat" of the interview.

"Do you understand why we are talking today?" I asked J'Von.

"To get me adopted," he said.

"Is that something you want to happen?" I asked.

"Yes.  'Cause ever since I was little I've moved from place to place," he said.

"Let's talk about the type of family you'd like to be a part of.  Do you want a mom and a dad or would one parent be okay?"  I asked.

"It doesn't really matter," said J'Von, "as long as I have a family to live with."

I asked J'Von if it's scary living in different homes and not knowing how long he will be in each place.  He said he's gotten used to it and he's not scared anymore.

I don't know if that answer was the truth or if J'Von was just trying to be tough.  Either way, both answers bother me and I hope they bother you.

A child should not have to be so accustomed to moving around to strangers' homes that he gets "used to it."

And if J'Von is covering up his fears about this uncertain, transitional life, that is indeed another tragedy.

I gave J'Von a hug after our interview and told him I was incredibly proud of his bravery in doing the story.

I always want to tell the child, "I know someone is going to want to adopt you," but what I've learned is that lots of people do respond after seeing the story air, but baggage scares prospective parents.  J'Von told me himself that he's had some behavioral issues, but that he is working to be better.  He also said having a mom or dad would help him behave more.

I believe him.

I told J'Von he definitely earned a green slush from Sonic for doing this story and he gave me a big smile.

We posed together and his case worker snapped a picture for his life book, something children in foster care have to document memories and experiences.

All the while, Vladimir sat with his duffle bag in the heat, 20 feet away.

J'Von and I said goodbye and I started packing up my camera gear.

"So do these stories actually help?" asked Vladimir, the first words he'd uttered since J'Von arrived 30 minutes earlier.

"They do," I said.  "Not 100 percent of the time, but children are being adopted, more adults are pursuing adoption certification and we are constantly raising awareness about the need for adoptive families."

"I didn't know there were so many children without homes," Vladimir said.

"It's sad," I responded.

I wanted to tell Vladimir I was sorry that he aged out of foster care without a family. That I was sorry his shelter on this 96 degree day was a public park pavilion.  That I was sorry when the holidays roll around in a few months he won't have a place to carve a turkey or share Christmas memories with loved ones.

"It was nice to meet you," is all that I found myself saying as we parted ways.

"You too.  Good luck," he said.

As I drove away, I couldn't help but imagine what will become of 10-year-old J'Von if he is never adopted.

Here's some statistics from Partners for Our Children, a policy center at the University of Washington, where 600 former foster kids were studied after aging out of care at age 18.  By 24 years old:

*Less than half are employed
*Only six percent have a two or four year degree
*Two-thirds of the women are pregnant/have had a baby
*60 percent of the men have been convicted of a crime
*Almost 25 percent have been homeless at some point

Can't we do better for kids like J'Von?

I know we can.  Don't let the "baggage" of a child in foster care turn you away.

Vladimir's overstuffed bag was a physical representation to me of what years of foster care can turn into - a continuation of survival mode, but this time with no real promise of a change.

J'Von has promise.  I hope you can see it.

-Britney

J'Von's story will air in The New Family Tree on Tuesday, August 4th at 10:00 P.M.  Click here to read more about J'Von.