Adam Starks's Blog

Chapter 5, Swift Awakening, is part two of five for the Black Foster chapter series. As I entered high school, life continued spiraling downward as I became completely lost in a world I couldn’t even begin to understand. I saw my friends maturing and forging ahead while I was stuck in a constant state of hopelessness. There was nothing desirable about the events leading up to my pivotal moment when I had to ultimately chose which direction I wanted to take my life.

I acted the part of a thuggish kid, but that was only on the surface. That cold-hearted persona never reached the depths of my soul, which may have been one of my saving graces. Deep down, I never really wanted to be that bad kid. I hated the person I had become and needed the combination of a wake-up call and a prayer help me find a way. My turnaround has been referred to as unlikely or unbelievable, but just as some can quit a bad habit at the drop of a hat, some individuals have the wherewithal to instantly change their ways without a profound explanation. In Swift Awakening, you’ll discover just how the stars aligned to help a completely dejected and broken child find his light. However, as quickly as my light shone, it dimmed with a blatant reality that I wasn’t quite cut out for the burden of society’s demands. 

Broken Child Mended Man is filled with eyebrow-raising antics, but nothing will likely irk both sides of the contentious religious debate more than my experience with religion. In short, I’ve had a less-than-grateful relationship with God. I grew up with the Southern Baptist interpretation of Christianity. I was saved and baptized twice, but it rarely curtailed my inner demons that consumed most of my life during those years.

My first memorable introduction to religion was the song Jesus Loves Me. The tune carries like a lullaby and my mother (in her sober state of mind) used to sing it trying to console me when she would carry my sickly body throughout our home. I had multiple bouts with pneumonia during my first three years in Woodville, Virginia, so I knew the song better than I knew my ABCs. Mom would also read bible stories to me from a blue book with a broken spine. However, we never attended church during our time in California or Virginia.

I didn’t begin attending church until living with my first foster family, and the Sunday tradition continued with my second foster family. Again, largely segregated by race, sermons were performed differently, but the pastors provided similar messaging.  I had a vivid imagination as a child, but I was also quite the literalist.  They couldn’t tell me I was drinking and eating the blood and flesh of Jesus without sparking my curiosity. At eight years old I convinced myself that, this is definitely grape juice and crackers, but reluctantly went along with it. They couldn’t convince me that theirs was only one faith worthy of the Kingdom of God without me observing the Presbyterian Church sign during our drive home and wondering what they’re like. However, it wasn’t my place to question the church, and I eventually just learned to go with the flow. I didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

Prayer was the one aspect of Christianity that I practiced continually, even when I didn’t believe anything would come of it. In my chapter, Swift Awakening, I attribute prayer to helping my finally begin turning my life around. I also turned to prayer during my college years to help me forgive all the people I felt betrayed by throughout my life. The heavy resentment was hindering everything I wanted to become, and I had to find a medium to help me release it.

My relationship with organized religion is complicated. With God, it’s even more complicated than that. I presented my experience in the most respectful way possible, but I understand believers and non-believers alike may question my logic. That’s perfectly reasonable.  I welcome discussion on the matter but can’t promise that I’ll have a definitive answer for every aspect of my faith.

Every journey is different. As humans, we naturally form into groups to identify with one community or another. That bond can be powerful and positive in nature. However, it’s important to refrain from judgment of someone else’s chosen path and instead reach out in times of need. If God indeed exists within this chaotic world of ours, then I safely believe we have been empowered to respect one another by affording everyone the dignity to walk their own journey home.

This is my first publication, so errors are likely in a few spots throughout the book. If you find anything misspelled, grammatically incorrect, or any other kind of awkwardness, please let me know by filling out the form or in the comments section below.  I appreciate your willingness to hold me to a higher standard. I'm always looking to improve as a writer, so feel free to help me become the best that I can be!

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Thank you!

After three years living in a white foster home, my brother and I were placed in a black foster home. Placing me in a positive black neighborhood back in my Rappahannock safe haven was supposed to alleviate my problems. However, no one anticipated the quiet storm within forming into a three-year whirlwind of destructive emotions.

Adapting to black culture was a positive outcome in several ways, but the one thing aligning me with people of my same skin color couldn't contain was the anger waiting for one negative moment to ignite it. In chapter four, you’ll get into the chaotic mind of a deeply troubled child. If there was any time that society should have given up on me, it was during this interval of my life. However, my foster mother, friends (the few I had left) and the larger community would instead, lift me up.

Black Foster was by far the most difficult chapter to write. Several negative instances occurred that I can chalk up to hard life lessons, but the real challenge was articulating what was going on in my head during that time. Revisiting that period of my life required reopening old wounds most adults at this point in my life would tell me to “just get over it.” However, the events that happen to us during our formative years ultimately end up molding who we become as adults. We make most of our judgments based on our life experiences and continue our lifecycle based on those events.

Thankfully, I was able to transcend most of those incidents and overcome the negative events that could have easily come to define me. Whether it was by a stroke of luck or the grace of God, I’ve always struggled to make sense of it all. What was the purpose of that struggle? Why did I make it and so many others didn’t overcome the circumstances? Black Foster begins to mend the broken child led astray by believing he could fight his way through the confines of his surroundings only to realize the very people he was trying to push away were trying to embrace him the entire time. 

Our nation’s reluctance to discuss race matters has led to continual misunderstanding and consequently the lack of healing our unsettled past. I labeled chapter three White Foster in an effort to highlight the shallowness of skin color and the one thing that mattered in the grand scheme of things.

My first foster family was white, and I had no idea they were any different from any other human being. At eight years of age, some would point out that it was child-like naiveté, but I had much bigger problems than race matters at the time. I recall having to deal with the uncertainty as I sat awake in their home that first night wondering where my other two brothers were. Physically, adapting to the new setting was relatively easy since I didn’t have to scrounge for food and slept in my very own bed. Mentally, I was a wreck. The level of distrust I had for everyone who had ripped my world apart initially turned into acting out at school and later settled into a deep depression.

Looking back, it didn’t necessarily stem from my first foster family. It largely stemmed from an inability to connect with my race. Through the boundless ways to define one’s blackness, my way didn’t fit into the only box available. Being an outcast from my own race left me in a constantly confused state of mind. As I shared in my excerpt (see Facebook page) last week, I didn’t dress like the black children at my new school, so I was a target from day one. Floyd T. Binns Elementary School, and by extension society at large, depicted that whites and blacks were just too different to get along. There was an unspoken price to pay for associating with whites, and living with them was almost sacrilegious.

Without a doubt, society gave me a rude introduction to race relations, but not in a way many would expect. I was catching heat from two black boys who determined that I acted “like a white boy” and a white girl who never relented when referring to me a “slave” or a “nigger.”  Other than how to endure the torment, I learned absolutely nothing schoolwise during that dreadful fifth grade year. Conversely, the negative experience managed to positively form my wide-ranging views on race to this very day.

In chapter three, you will discover the inner workings of a newly-placed foster child trying to process an uncertain world. I felt the need to depict this account from my inner child perspective. I was not the model child portrayed in many books. That is likely the case in many foster care situations. Many of the children have internal issues that may or may not be solved with mental wellness and enrichment programs. However, the potential to do great things is within every broken child. Believe in them. Love them. Support them. The rest should fall into place. 

It goes without saying that publishing a book is an expensive and time consuming process. When I initially researched the traditional publishing route, I immediately determined that the possibility of successfully going through those channels would be very slim. Most of them hedge their bets on guaranteed best sellers and pay handsome advances to their well-known pool of authors. I don’t have time to chase lottery-like dreams, and I’m not obsessed with big-named author type sales either (ex. J.K. Rowling, I’m not gonna lie; it would be nice though!). Plus, it could take well over a year before the book would be available on the shelves or electronically. In short, I needed more sense of urgency and flexibility than what the traditional publishers could offer.

Next, I looked into hiring a literary agent. The downside (and a deal breaker for me) was that there was no guarantee your book would be a priority when they’re shopping a small hoard of books to would-be publishers. The royalty schemes were too much to bear in my opinion. Plus, there wasn’t a guaranteed time table, so I’d be at the mercy of whether or not my agent would genuinely care enough about my book to advocate on my behalf.

With a small budget and family to consider, I reluctantly decided that I had to push this book through more affordable and reliable channels. Of course, the other side of that coin requires me to put my marketing savvy to the test (minored in Marketing at EMU). That means more time dedicated to that effort to avoid having stagnant book sales (not doing this for my health…well kind of) and outreach.

I also considered fundraisers such as Kickstarter or Indiegogo, but couldn’t bring myself ask friends for money for this endeavor. It may not make sense to some, but it felt too selfish to do it this way. I also want to be able to take pride in saying, “I did this.” There are some things, such as starting the Urban Light Initiative, which I will not be able to accomplish alone, so using “we” doesn’t have the same negative undertone.  Throughout the BCMM chapters, I acknowledge several people who helped me make something of myself, but this effort required that I stand on my own two feet.  With all of that in mind, my current plan and timeframe looks something like this:

BookTango: e-book release to all major e-book distributors - September 1st-8th. Unfortunately, I can’t nail down a date since I’m at the mercy of the e-book retailers and how fast they can review BCMM and push it to market.

Audiobook Creation Exchange (ACX): Audiobook release expected mid-October. I’m self-narrating since no one can tell the story quite like I can. Plus, it results in a 25% royalty increase since I do not have to share with a professional narrator.  

Dog Ear Publishing: Pending results from e-book sales, the hardcover and paperback versions should be available for order Late March-Early April. Pre order will be available online through all major book distributors. I will have to work hard to get the large retailers to order books to place on shelves. That process could mean that it wouldn’t be on shelves until the summer.

I also have to find out how to get this book in libraries across the country, press release, submits for review, etc. There’s obviously a huge learning curve that I will have to continue overcoming. It took 10 long months and countless late nights to complete this project, so I have no intention of giving in now. No doubt, this will require persistence, and I’ll probably deal with my fair share of frustration along the way. However, until I see BCMM on retail shelves, I’m going to enjoy this ride for what it is – another learning opportunity. 

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Like any other state, where you’re raised is only as relevant as what you choose to make of it. It’s also largely about the circumstances we fall into, which are uncontrollable during childhood When I arrived on a large farm in Rappahannock County, Virginia, I can recall the culture shock from being pulled against my will from the city life in Burbank, California. That uncertainly would continue to spiral long into my teenage years.

Our futures may belong to the paths we choose or the opportunities presented to us along the way, but nature-nurture sequence of events have a lot of pull in that destined outcome.  My sister was left behind in a California city with her father who had custody of her. My brothers and I went with my mother cross-country to rural Virginia.  My sister went on to live a solidly normal life and graduated from the prestigious Stanford University. She also went onto graduate from Duke with a master’s degree and UNC-Charlotte with a Ph.D.

On the other hand, Virginia Raised highlights my desperate attempts to ensure my brothers and I would survive before being swooped up and taken into foster care. For readers thus far, the chapter has brought many people who know me personally to tears, but I only ask that you think of the hundreds of thousands of children facing the same fate in the U.S. right now. I made it out okay, but too many of them never overcome the trauma of being taken from their family never to be reconnected or facing hunger on a daily basis. It’s difficult to overcome that type of instability, but it can be done with the help of community members willing to step up in place of absent/negligent parent(s). I didn’t realize it as an eight-year old, but my community stepped in at the right moment to remove us from a terrible situation. I hope this chapter offers a glimpse into the lives of foster and at-risk children throughout our country.

Now back to my sister’s results compared to my outcome. We both took very different pathways, with her journey being more secure while my formative years were faced with turmoil. However, we both ended up with PhDs. She is a successful professor at Providence, and I am a successful federal employee with a wife of 12 years and three amazing children. While the nature versus nurture debate rages on, I want everyone to understand that every child has potential. It is absolutely vital to our society’s future to help these broken children recognize their worth and unlock that potential. Regardless of our circumstances, we have a responsibility to act in the best interest of our children. I don’t know why there are so many people who neglect their own offspring in this country, but we must come together to find viable solutions to a snowballing problem. Then, and only, then will we unveil the absolute potential of our nation. 

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Several people have asked, “Hey man, what’s that cover picture all about?” In short, it’s an allegory (a method of communicating a message through symbols and images) of my life up to this point. The child in the picture has clearly been through a lot in his early life. The straight face and saddened eyes give a sense of a boy filled with worry. When I find my two boys (ages 9 and 6) saddened, I embrace them with a hug. That’s the reason for embracing my picture.  That Broken Child needed a hug, and if I could travel back in time, that’s exactly what I’d do.

You can’t really tell in that cover photo, but I even went through the painstaking process (12 reruns of a You Tube video and 25 minutes later) of tying a trinity knot to represent past, present, and future (see if you can find my tie in other pictures throughout the webpage!). The vibrant red is symbolic of courage, passion, action, love and intensity. The suit was…well, I just look good in a suit!

Now, what kind of crazy person lies in a cold creek in fresh threads? This guy…anything for the perfect shot! That’s my artistic flare coming out of the wood works, which hasn’t happened since my grade school days. The image came to me while dreaming one night, and the photographer was able to snap a mirror image of what I conveyed to her. The water symbolizes a cleansing or letting go of a past that I never had the will to confront until I unveiled it on paper. Water currents, rough and smooth alike, are largely representative of life.  While the waterways (future) can’t be seen over their entire distance, it indeed goes on. Life ebbs and flows much in the same way; inconsistently and beautifully at the same time.

A special thanks to the photographer who captured the shot (all talent, no Photoshop required), Amy Jenkins of In His Light Photography. Check out her Facebook page at www.facebook.com/InHisLightphotography

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Being lucky enough to have been born in southern California in the early 80’s, I can recall the breeze blowing through palm trees and all of the vibrant red color in our apartment during my first 5 ½ years. My earliest memory resurfaced as an 18-month old falling out of my stroller and busting my head on the Hollywood Walk of Fame (both, my mother and sister confirmed the story when I told them about it). Without giving too much away, I was surprised by how much I remembered during those first 5 ½ years once I quieted my mind.    

I have mixed feelings about those early years. Obviously, I was too young to recognize my mother’s mental illness and addiction. I did my best to write from the perspective of that innocent child, but this chapter proved to be the most challenging. My father was nonexistent, but my sister’s father gracefully filled the gap. Throughout California Born, I managed to mostly focus on the good times with my sister until we had to abruptly fly across the country returning my mother’s roots in Rappahannock County, Virginia. 

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Throughout the U.S., there are roughly 500,000 foster children who will go to bed in another family’s home tonight. Suicides are too commonplace among teens and adults struggling through the same psychological and emotional situations I endured. Half of those students will not graduate from high school on time, if at all.  Upward mobility in our country is harder than ever meaning that children born into poverty and insecurity are unlikely to escape its clutches.  There are a multitude of reasons for writing a book of this genre. Much on my life hasn’t been easy, but I’ve learned to cope with whatever comes my way. Achieving success by having a wonderful family and well-paying job should have been a stopping point in terms of my search for happiness.

However, I've always felt a calling to do more. For the longest time, I thought that calling might be getting involved in politics. Last year, I decided that I didn’t quite have the temperament to join the political fray and doubted I could make a difference even if I managed to make it all the way to Washington, D.C. I haven’t shut the door on an opportunity much further down the road, but I determined my knowledge and skill sets would be better utilized directly helping others achieve their own self-actualization – the realization or fulfillment of one’s talent and potential.

As a former foster youth from a small rural community, my story and name alike are pretty much unknown beyond Rappahannock County, Virginia. However, that hasn’t stopped me from setting out to begin making a name for myself in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Shortly after arriving in Pittsburgh, I began searching for something more meaningful to do with my everyday life. In short, I was in search of a career with a more fulfilling purpose. I came across the idea of a charter school, and it was that idea that finally ignited my soul. The concept was on my mind when I fell asleep and when I’d get out of bed in the morning. After meeting with the director of Pennsylvania’s charter school coalition and several friends, I was repeatedly encouraged to write my story. “It’s compelling.” “It’s inspiring.” Truth be told, I’d didn’t put that much thought into my life events having the ability to influence anyone. I’d had a turbulent existence up to that point, and the thought of reliving any of my past episodes didn’t immediately appeal to me. Over the course of six months, it finally dawned on me that I would have to venture back into my past and make amends with it if I were ever going to realize my newly sought-after future.  

In preparation for this book and to discover my writing style, I read seven books related to foster care or growing up under hard circumstances. I found myself reading through the inspiring progression, yet unable to relate to the authors in the end. While their stories tugged at my heartstrings, I didn’t get a feel for what they endured on an emotional level. They never seemed to make mistakes. They appeared to be naturally resilient to everything without explaining how they became that way. Unlike them, I was fortunate to avoid sexual or physical abuse along the way. I can’t even imagine dealing with horrendous occurrences and becoming a functioning adult afterwards. Foster children are a resilient breed, and my hats off to any of them who make it out of the system to become successful adults.

With Broken Child Mended Man (BCMM), I decided to take a risk and pour out my overwhelming sense of inner chaos that ultimately led to many poor decisions. Back then, I handled each crisis through an enraged lens. Thankfully, I was surrounded by two communities who saw through my social status and embraced a child searching for a way. I can say with absolute certitude that it’s been a long and arduous process to learn the coping mechanisms it takes to effectively deal with everyday life – at least the way many of us live. In my case, it was a process to become mended. As for the title of the book, I happened to be talking to an old friend about picking up the broken pieces of our lives and mending fences. Broken Child Mended Man popped into my head and replaced a title that must never be mentioned again (Hint: It was awful!). I hope you enjoy the read and find it useful in your endeavors.

Peace,

 

Adam Starks

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