Determined Destination: Life’s Imperfect Journey of Learning and Love

By Rita Wray Miller

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• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098368296

Book preview

The Foundation

Our beginning does not and should not define our present or final situation but it is how we flow and flourish in the meantime that makes the difference.

Rita Wray Miller

Fostering Who?

After being in two foster home placements that I can remember, I am now on my third home. I was placed by the Social Services Department to be fostered by the Johnson Family. Mrs. Johnson was an older woman who seemed to have tremendous health problems. I really have no remembrance of spending any real time with her. She was always in bedclothes, upstairs in her room and not really participating in life. I could figure that out as a 5-year-old. Then there was her husband, who was a hustler of sorts. He drove a Manhattan cab and moonlighted as a photographer. I recall him having a dark room in the basement of the home. He was the one I remember having the most conversations with in that home; only because I was curious about his work and wanted to know how a ‘dark room’ would produce a picture. In addition, heaven forbid I would open the door during the time he was developing the pictures. I did and trust me; it was not a good move!

The Johnsons’ had a teenage son by the name of Lamont who attended Maggie L. Walker High School. I can still see the green and white jacket he wore daily. I guess that indicated that he was some sort of athlete. Who knew? He never really spoke or interacted with me. He just seemed to be gone a lot and I’m sure he did all the things that were expected of 17 or 18-year-old teenage boys.

There was another family in the house with the last name of Byrd. They seemed to have been a young couple, mother, father, pre-teen son and a toddler, who was also a boy. Not sure if the mom worked because she seemed to be home, every time I was there. She also appeared to have a sad existence (countenance). The husband is a faint memory to me. But there was something about him that made me think that he mistreated his wife. Don’t know for sure, she just seemed sad a lot, especially when he was around.

The older son was feeling his oats and I was terrified of him. With his hormones raging, he thought this innocent 5-year-old would be his prey. I thought of him as nasty and I wanted more than anything to get away from him and that house. Sadly, there was no one there that I thought would have my back if I mentioned that he was trying to touch me, feel me up or molest me. I felt no support what so ever. Therefore, my defense was to keep my distance, almost go into hiding when he was around. He knew no one was watching out for me, so I was his prey and he was always on the prowl.

At the time I’m in junior primary one (which is now Pre-K), and the school day began for me at 12 noon and ended around 3:30 or 4:00 pm. Each and every day as a 5-year-old, I was responsible for getting myself up, getting myself dressed and making my way 10 blocks to school. Yes, seriously! Maybe every now and then Mrs. Johnson would make her way to the room to make sure I was up but there were no nightly baths, pleasant voices singing ‘Good Morning’ through the house, hair combing, hugs, kisses, talks, walks or signs of care and endearment. Honestly, I don’t even remember anyone calling my name for much of anything.

I am not fond of mayonnaise to this day because I ate my share of it regularly. Of course, I was hungry in the morning but there was no hot breakfast prepared, cereal in a bowl, pop tart, nothing! Therefore, I had discovered an easy menu for myself. It was either syrup and bread or mayonnaise and bread, whichever I was feeling on that particular day. I would drag the kitchen chair over to the counter, crawl up to the upper cabinet and get whichever condiment I wanted that morning. I have no idea what I did for lunch or snack once I arrived at school. I do know that I did not leave home with a bag lunch. There was probably a free lunch program; I just have no memory of it. In any case, I was definitely eligible to receive it!

I would then make my way down the street to the school, always arriving safely by the grace of God. My school day is non-existent in my mind. I cannot recall anything I learned, classmates or anything about my first year of school. I do remember my teacher’s name, Ms. LeGard. I am sure she knew my situation prayed for me and had me constantly in her thoughts and I am very glad for her concern! My situation no doubt was obvious to her and who knows what influence she had on later occurrences that year.

As you know, in the winter, days are shorter and by the time I would arrive home, it would be just about dusk dark. Walking down North Ave, alone and late in the evening was not good. I do not recall walking home with other kids, I assume their parent, a guardian or older sibling accompanied them home. This was always a relatively busy street, a main thoroughfare for this area of town-somewhat noisy with traffic, buses and many people. There was always something to see, to attract or distract your attention on the route home. Strangely, I never really had any fear on this walk, I may have been unhappy that I was doing it alone, but thankfully, I was too young to know or realize what I needed to fear.

However, it does beg the question, who would allow a 5-year-old to walk anywhere alone late in the evening? No one ever picked me up or came to walk with me. On the other hand, if they did, it was so seldom and far between, I have no recollection of it.

A Birth in the Trailways Bus Station

It is now Friday, June 8, 1962 and the last day of school for Albert B. Norrell Elementary School students and I am sure that everyone was extremely excited about summer break! Except me, I was not particularly excited about being out of school; what was there for me to do all summer? I really had no friends, very few fun toys and limited companionship with anyone my age.

It would be three months of sitting in the hot house looking out of the window, watching the sites of North Richmond pass me by. Maybe I would get to play with Charles, the grandson of the foster parents. He was about 3 to 4 years older than I was. I think he only played with me because he felt sorry for me. I am sure anyone with a heart could see and feel the situation that surrounded me. There I was, a lonely little girl, living in a house with no love, very little support and a minimal amount of care.

Because it was the last day of school, we went to school earlier that day. I would assume around 9 a.m. and returned home at noon. Again, I made those journeys alone to and from school. Surprisingly, when I arrived at the foster home that day, I saw a vehicle that was familiar to me; it bore the insignia of the City of Richmond. I knew it was the vehicle of my social worker, Mrs. Belches. She was the only person that I felt I could rely on in the midst of this mess. I saw her only on occasions, but I felt her genuine concern whenever I was in her presence. I can only imagine the heartache she felt knowing what I was enduring at such a young age.

On this particular day, Mrs. Belches was in the living room having a conversation with Mrs. Johnson when I entered the house. She spoke with a familiar pleasant smile and continued her conversation with Mrs. Johnson. Very soon after, she came to me and asked if I would like to go to lunch with her. I was so excited for so many reasons. I had never done much riding in a car; had never eaten out and no one had ever extended such a gracious invitation to me, so of course I said YES! She asked me to go upstairs and freshen up as best I could and that I did. I was so glad to be getting out of that house, I was so not happy there! Mrs. Belches and I left the house and rode into downtown Richmond; I had never been there before! All the cars, people, action and activity, I was excited to see the types of things that went on in my own city.

We parked the car and walked into a very busy place, people were everywhere, but most of the people were eating and seemed to be having a pleasant lunch on this very warm June afternoon. Mrs. Belches informs me that we are having lunch at the Trailways Bus Station, which was probably one of the few places where black people could sit down and dine in downtown Richmond in 1962.

We make our way to a table where a nice looking ‘established’ couple is sitting and appear to be waiting for something other than food. She is a vision of loveliness. She is a pretty, pleasingly plump light-skinned woman, impeccably dressed in a green and white jacket dress, (minus the jacket on this day because of the heat) and he is a handsome dark skinned, well-groomed man dressed in white work uniform. They are smiling as if they have just won the lottery! The grown-ups exchange pleasantries and I am introduced; I think. I’m so engrossed in where I am, what’s going on around me, the thought of a great meal to eat, all the while still wondering who these people are and why are they smiling so much?!

Mrs. Belches ordered for us and in a while, the meal arrives. I believe it is a hot dog and fries. I remember it being very tasty and my being fascinated with the condiments. Remember the only ones I really knew about were mayonnaise and syrup. We eat our meals; the grown-ups continue to talk and the nice couple is still smiling! I have no idea what they are discussing and really did not care. I was just so glad to be amongst society and people, even at that age it was a big deal to me!

I assume the nice people had to get back to their day, as it was time to go. As we parted ways, goodbyes were exchanged and they are still smiling! Mrs. Belches and I make our way back to the car; we get in and drive off into the traffic. As we are driving back to the house (man, I did not want to go back to that place!) we begin to talk. She asked me a very interesting and direct question: Did you like those people? I answered, Yes, they seemed real nice! She responded, "Well, that’s your new mommy and daddy!

Happy…. Feels like This!

I could tell that Mrs. Belches was just as ecstatic as I was about this news! Social Workers are very sensitive, caring and