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Open Homes and Open Hearts by Tammie Smith
When I was growing up, our house was a busy place. My parents believed taking in foster kids would be a rewarding experience, both for them, and for me. Our home soon became a chaotic haven for abused kids.
At first, this seemed like a great idea. I would get new playmates. Every child wants new friends, so what could be wrong with this setup?
My mom said the kids would only be with us for a short time, and then they would leave. This sounded ideal to me since by the time I got tired of them, I figured they would be gone.
As time went on, I began to think this was not such a great idea. I didn't realize until later, how much they took from me. I had to share the TV, telephone, bathroom, and most importantly my parents.
In hindsight though, I gained so much more than I lost.
Over the years, we had so many kids come through our house, it was hard to keep track of them. Some stayed for a day and others stayed for a year. I loved some of the kids and would have loved keeping them. Other kids, let's just say I was not too sad to see them go.
The kids came in every shape, size, and color. Mom didn't care if they were purple with green stripes; if they needed love, she accepted them into our home.
Seventy-two kids, give or take a few, came into our home at one time or another. I don't remember them all, but I remember some.
We had sweet little boys who were as mischievous as the not-so-sweet boys were. We had teenagers who came with all the normal teenage problems. We had some who would not hurt anyone else, but would damage their own little bodies. Moreover, some were quite scary.
These kids had some rough times. All of them came in with emotional, physical, and spiritual problems. My mom and dad took them in, loved them, and helped them any way they could.
Sometimes I was jealous of those kids, but I always knew my parents loved me most of all.
My parents were special people. My childish eyes then didn't see what my adult eyes see now—my parents didn't treat those kids any differently than me.
One Christmas, we had five foster kids and me. That year, everyone had the same number of gifts under the tree. I didn't get any more, or less, than the other kids did.
It's hard on children to open their hearts and homes to so many kids. I can't say I was always the best sister to those kids, but I can say I look back on most of them with fond memories.
Having these kids in my home taught me many lessons about the true meaning of love, sharing, and kindness. It takes a lot of love to take in abused kids and to deal with all the problems that come with them. I'm glad my parents had enough love to share. I know they had to have made a difference in at least one of those troubled lives.
I know they made a difference in mine.
Tammie Smith is a thirty-year-old freelance writer, mother, and wife. With her husband in the Army, she has called many places home, but she is a Georgia girl at heart. Currently she is living in Texas. She has an active four-year-old son and a seven-year-old daughter. She hopes to use her writing as a tool for learning more about herself and others. She aspires to grow in her love and knowledge of God as well as help others to do the same. If you would like to contact her, she can be reached at tammiekiren@yahoo.com.
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