The “too gay” foster child we accepted

For those interested in our 15-year-old foster son…

I don’t really have a nickname for him yet, so I’ll just call him V for the purposes of this blog, at least until I find a suitable nickname. When they called and asked to place with us, they told us they couldn’t find him a home because he’s, “too gay.” Probably only 60 days due to a pending adoption, they said, and he didn’t have other issues.

Well let’s see… I think every single bit of that was untrue.

He is 15, but he’ll be 16 within a month. He’s really into cars, and he can’t wait to get his license (though he has to, and he may be waiting a while). He’s also into electronics, particularly cell phones, and we don’t allow anyone under 18 to have cell phones so we had to confiscate those for now. His other interest is what got him labeled “too gay” and disrupted his past adoptions (four of them). And it has absolutely nothing to do with being gay at all. Don’t get me wrong, he IS gay. He’s going to be a really flamboyant gay man one day. One that you just have to laugh at because they’re so darn cute. He’s already there, he’s just a baby one.

The big secret is this… he’s a crossdresser. He’s not trans, he’s a male, and he intends to stay a male. But he likes heals and dresses. He likes makeup, painted nails, wigs. He likes panty hose and girl’s panties. He likes to stuff his dresses to look like boobs.

We said here’s the deal. Our rules are basically that you are respectful, do what you’re told, and clean up after yourself. Other than that, you must obey all other rules and laws. If school says you must wear black pants (not a skirt because you’re male), then you wear black pants at school. If school says no fingernail polish allowed on guys at school, then no nail polish at school. If school says no purple hair, then no purple hair at school. On the other hand, if you want to come home and change into a dress and stilettos after school, more power to you. If you want to paint your nails over the weekend, just remove it by bedtime Sunday night.

He thought he’d died and gone to heaven. He’s ALLOWED to dress like a girl? We will LET him? Yep. He detailed both of our cars, earned some money, and walked to a nearby store where he purchased a dress and high heeled shoes because his last family threw all his “fun stuff” away. He also found a salon where he purchased nail polish. He came up with pantyhose from somewhere, too. I’ve given him a couple things, and he’s very happy.

Apparently it all started when he was around 8. His uncle whom he lived with after being removed from his mother at age 4, put him in the corner in a dress and told him if he wanted to be a sissy, he could dress like one. Weellll, that was probably NOT the most thought-out punishment, nor was it the most appropriate. Over time, he decided it was fun to be in a dress and be a “sissy boy”… and V the crossdresser was born. In CPS care, they’ve tried to tell him that it’s wrong and he can’t do it, but it’s way too ingrained in him now. Even his gay adoptive parents didn’t want him because he likes to crossdress. Actually, they called him, “too gay.” We can tell him he can’t, but it won’t change his interest or his desire.

The universe can tell me I can’t have a baby. It can even mock me and make me absolutely despise that I even WANT to get pregnant and have a baby. It can make me hate my body and make me have terrible, terrible thoughts… but it can’t take that deep-seeded desire out of me. I still want to be pregnant. I still need to have a successful pregnancy. I still want it to be my turn someday. So they aren’t doing anything helpful by denying him his deep-seeded desire for wearing dresses and such.

He’s got Asperger’s. It’s mild perhaps, but they really should tell you that before you accept placement. He doesn’t do his schoolwork, and we’ve had a handful of other issues like not cleaning up after himself, etc.

He’d like to be a hair dresser when he “grows up.”

Oh, and that adoptive placement that they were working on? We don’t know if it ever existed. They were never introduced to him. He was never asked, and he has to approve it also. Supposedly, they were still “getting ready” and doing paperwork, homestudy, training, etc. But now they’ve asked him to attend an adoption event where he will have the opportunity to meet other parents who are looking to adopt. I don’t think that adoption worked out, if it ever existed. I don’t think he’ll be going to a permanent home in a month.

He wants to stay with us, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea for him. He thrives on people, going out, shopping, etc. He will not be happy stuck on a mountain secluded from society. But we’re still trying to help him understand that he needs to keep looking for his forever family without breaking his heart and saying “no.” At the same time, we’re still discussing whether it might be possible to work something out. I just don’t know, but I don’t think it’s in his best interest to come with us when we move. I sincerely hope everything works out the best way possible for him.

Beltane and my leap of faith

So, what happens at CMA, stays at CMA. I will not be giving a full account of our holiday celebration here, but I will say that it was another great experience.

When we were packing last week, I pulled out a sarong and informed my wife that I was only taking one sarong. I wouldn’t need other clothes, I rationalized to her, because I would wear the clothes I changed into Thursday night back home on Sunday (they wouldn’t be dirty after only a few hours in a car). Furthermore, although we would be there a few days, one sarong would work just fine because there was going to be a sarong for me in a $5 box, and I would just pick it up when I got there (no need in over-packing). I could not tell her what my sarong looked like or how I knew it would be in a $5 box, but I knew it would be so. I did not even realize the faith I had in something so silly until we were on our way home. My wife did not question me; she knows that sometimes I just know things.

On Friday, I got up, had breakfast, did my morning stuff, then bolted down to the vending area with my $5 as soon as I knew it would be open. I walked up to the first vendor, saw a “sale” box sitting in front, shook my head without even looking in the box, and went to the next vendor. There, I saw several “sale” boxes out front. I walked up to one I felt drawn to, looked in, pulled out my tie-dye sarong, knew it was mine, and looked at the box just to make sure. The box was labeled “$5”. I grinned and told the vendor as I handed her my $5 bill that I had come for that particular sarong, and I knew it would be in her $5 box. She laughed and said she loved the fabric, but it was too small to make into anything, even a t-shirt. It had a couple flaws, and it was really not quite large enough to be a “sarong” (which are generally one-size fits all)… but it fits me beautifully. I love my new song, and it was only $5, too!

Now, looking back at the possible stupidity of that… if that sarong had NOT been in that $5 box (or better yet, if there wasn’t a $5 box!), I would have totally been without clothes or had to wear the same sarong for days…. or possibly pay a pretty penny for something. Of course none of this occurred to me until AFTER I didn’t pack clothes, bought my $5 sarong, and wore it for 2 days.

On the other hand, my wife says she is impressed, and she encourages me to keep the faith.