What it’s really like to have foster brothers

Though Saturday mornings in high school were not typically spent trying to fend off hangovers or watching hours of Netflix like they often are in college, I think it is fair to say that they were intended to be a time of peace.

My serene Saturday mornings back in the day came to an abrupt halt when my family gained some temporary members towards the end of my sophomore year. Tyler and Brendan were dropped off at my house a couple of weeks after my mom and dad sat my sisters and I down to ask us what we thought about having foster brothers. Soon after that, my quiet weekends were replaced with the loud sounds of early morning cartoons and complaints about the lack of chocolaty cereals we had in our house.

We were hesitant at first. We had no idea what to expect. But my mom, being the overly helpful and caring person that she is, could not resist the sad little faces that past by her office every morning at their elementary school.

As cliché as it may sound, the boys most likely had a greater impact on me than my family had on them. They only stayed with my family for a few months, but in that time I was able to become a lot more selfless and realized just how lucky I am to have my family.

Brendan and Tyler thought it was really cool going on rides at the fair all by themselves.

I really got used to them running off the bus to raid the box of snacks in the kitchen, or hogging the tv for hours just to watch repeats of Spongebob. As annoying as they could be sometimes, ya had to love them. Also the expression of awe you got when you explained to Tyler how to do a math problem was priceless. (The things I would do to go back to doing fifth grade math.)

There’s no denying, we had our ups and downs. There were times when the boys would break down and cry because they wanted to go home to their parents, and it was really hard to watch this knowing all we could give them was a place to stay and our support. In the short time that they lived with me, they taught me a lot about being brave and not giving up hope, whether they know it or not. I could never imagine what it must feel like to miss your parents so much that you don’t even want to play outside with the kids in the neighborhood.

I remember Brendan, who was six at the time, getting all ready to sing at his first grade concert. He had to have a fancy new collared shirt and his hair just right so he could impress the girls in his class. He was totally embarrassed by my sisters and I yelling his name from the audience, but I’m sure, deep down he loved the attention.

Whether they liked it or not, my mom and dad dragged all of the siblings to my National Honor Society induction ceremony.

I’m happy to say that the boys moved back in with their father after the foster home process, and all has gone well since. Brendan recently developed a deeper obsession with his hair—taking 30 minutes to put gel in it everyday— and Tyler loves talking about middle school and how “popular” he apparently is.

There was definitely an adjustment period within the first week or so of living with Tyler and Brendan, but I am very thankful for the experience. I suppose the early morning wakeup calls were a small price to pay for the life-changing memories that I will always have with me.