Member Officer Heather Laughter
I was born into the "perfect" family in Connecticut. My mother was a teacher; my father was a minister. We lived in a perfect house in a perfect town in a perfect world, I've been told. I was very much Daddy's girl - a fact shown clearly in early pictures of our family. Then, my brother was born, and, according to relatives, my father didn't know how to "handle a boy", so he left our family and the church at the same time. I'm sure that wasn't the only reason, but that was the one given.
I'm told I was a difficult child, but very bright. Being an educator, my mother had access to many types of educational and psychological tests. I became a human guinea pig, being IQ tested, inkblot tested, square-peg-into-square-hole tested; you name it; I got tested for it!
I recently learned that my father, the recipient of a master's degree in Psychology from Yale, had been diagnosed with Schizophrenia in the 1960's. My mother says that she believes he was also bi-polar, though the term had not been coined yet. She lived with the horrific fear that I had been afflicted with the same maladies as my father, thus all the testing. If I had been born in another decade, we would have ultimately recognized my symptoms of ADD (not Schizophrenia).
My father, meanwhile, had remarried (without inviting us, even though it was 10 minutes away) a woman with three kids. She made them call him "Dad", and they had a new family, which didn't include my brother or me. We rarely saw him after that. When I was 9, my mother remarried a man who was much older than she, and quite intelligent. So intelligent, in fact, that it was nearly impossible to relate to him. We did not get along well at all. Right after their wedding, he moved us to Florida, thereby being responsible for messing the possibility of a relationship up with my dad, in my eyes. I hated him. I think the feeling was mutual. I stressed out my mother regularly, and he hated that.
I began to act out, looking for boundaries or love, and I found none there. My stepfather was a hypochondriac, and I stole prescription medications from him, and sold them. I took some, too, and experimented with other drugs, as well. I ran away from home many times (I believe it was 32), sometimes living under a palm tree at the beach. I was 12 at the time, looking, acting and feeling I was much older. There was physical and sexual abuse, but I was told I deserved it, because I was a thief and a runaway. My mother tried to put me in counseling, but I was labeled "too far gone". Finally, the decision was made to send me to live with my father, who had become a juvenile probation officer. My stepmother was a family therapist, so my mother figured that, between the two of them, they might be able to straighten me out.
What a fiasco that ended up being. I moved into my father's house in Iowa, where I endured more physical abuse, and now severe mental abuse, as well. It seems that Schizophrenics are known for doing all that they can to make others around them appear crazy, so they don't appear as crazy. Besides, if I was shown to be mentally incapable and placed in a mental institution, my father could relinquish all financial responsibility for me and save face, too (remember he was a juvenile probation officer - active in the juvenile court system, which I would be going through). That year I experienced unbelievable circumstances, including being locked in my room for weeks at a time, being dragged out of bed at 3:00 am being screamed at (or hit) by members of the family, telling me how they hated my guts, and I was ripping apart their family, or being blamed for doing something that was physically impossible for me to do. I became repressed, withdrawn, and sad. I knew that there was a petition in court to have me removed from their home and I didn't know where I would go, but I didn't care; I just wanted out. (I didn't find out where they wanted to send me until later). I asked to be removed from their home three weeks before my hearing date.
While in an emergency foster home, I met my "guardian ad litem". He and his wife liked me immediately, and expressed an interest in adopting me. It wasn't allowed, because my father wouldn't release me for adoption, but I was empowered by the fact that someone thought me worthy. He fought to have me meet the judge in his chambers, out of the watchful eye of my parents, something unheard of at that time, but it was agreed to. After the meeting, which is when I found out what my father's intentions were (where he had petitioned for me to be placed), we went to the courtroom for the hearing. I couldn't believe my ears when I heard the judge telling my father that he had done a lousy job of being a parent, and he needed the Psych hospital more than me! (Of course, "I" ruined his career at that moment). The judge sent me to a group home, as there were no foster homes available, and my father and his family moved across the state.
The group home was challenging, and sad. The sign out front said "orphanage", and it was depressing to think that neither of my natural parents wanted me anymore. It was quickly determined that, since there were no foster homes that wanted a 14 year old girl, and the age of emancipation was 15 in SD at the time, they would start to teach me how to live on my own. So, at the age of 14, I was working full time, going to high school, learning to cook, clean, balance a checkbook, write a resume', and I was scared to death. I didn't want to live on my own! On a positive note, I learned that there is a Father in Heaven that loves me and I gave my life to Him in that group home. I began praying for a family.
Finally, a family in Iowa agreed to meet me, and ultimately became my foster family. I was fortunate to have been taken in by some of the most loving and accepting people ever. I had a little sister, and a mom and dad and I thrived. I became 'little miss high school" - cheerleader, yearbook editor, Prom Queen, Homecoming runner-up, President of the Art Club and Spanish Club, the lead in school plays, Student Council - what a blast! And what blossoming can happen when a loving family supports a child!
My foster family and I are still close. We talk regularly, and miss each other when we can't visit. I have created a relationship with my natural mother, and it is closer than I ever imagined. My father and I haven't spoken in nineteen years. I've been married for twenty-two years and I have two bright and beautiful children who are 18 and 21. I am a Regional Sales Manager for a large homebuilder and live in a wonderful home and neighborhood.
People often say, upon hearing my story, that I've had a hard life. I believe everybody has his own story and I know there are some stories out there that make mine look like a cakewalk. We all have choices to make with our outlook on life. I've chosen happiness. My life was what it was, and, while it wasn't "Leave It To Beaver", it's part of who I am today - and I'm a pretty great person, if I do say so myself!
