I Do Not Have a Mom

I don’t have a Mom the eleven-year-old says. Do you have a Dad? I ask him. He shakes his head ‘no’. Who takes care of you? I live in a group home. You don’t have a foster mom or a foster dad? He shakes his head ‘no’. I am flummoxed. I have never met a group home child. He comes to my room later, because I want to know him. He tells me that his parents gave up their rights to him. Last year when he was ten; he had “issues”. I am horrified. I see tears for a second, but they are gone fast. He has brothers who used to beat on him and a sister. The sister is ten, and he misses her. We talk for quite a while. I am sad for him until he tells me “Things are better in the group home than they were before.” I ask what is good about the group home, and he cannot pinpoint anything. I ask who he talks to, and he tells me that he talks to the staff. I see him later in the day laughing with friends. His new family now. ‘