A Lost Boy - Acceptance and Friendship

Excerpted from
The Privilege of Youth: A Teenager's Story of Longing for Acceptance and Friendship
By Dave Pelzer

Years before I met Dan Brazell or those who lived on Duinsmoore Way, I endured a miserable childhood. As long as I could remember, since I was a small boy. I always felt unworthy. An unwanted outsider. For the life of me, I could not do anything that was remotely acceptable for my mother. I always seemed to be in some sort of trouble. And as much as I tried to amaze or fought hard to impress that I was not simpleminded or tried to prove my worthiness, my existence only became more dark and sinister. With every day, all I wanted, all I craved, was to simply belong.

One morning at school, out of the blue, my teachers reported my condition to the authorities. It look twelve years, but I was finally liberated. I was placed into foster care. Finally, I belonged. I was somebody. I was no longer an animal existing in a darkened basement/garage, but a real person. For no apparent reason I had surmised that the words "foster child" were a unique distinction of honor. Not some everyday kid from "Normal Town" USA, but a Foster Kid. A kid that had endured some misfortune and now caught a lucky break.

It took a while, hut I caught on that being a foster kid was not as I dreamt it to be. Nearly a year later, barely in my teens. I had lived in four separate foster homes. Besides coming to terms with my past, it seemed I never truly had a chance to adjust to my everyday environment, then once I got a foothold, I was suddenly ousted to another surrounding.

Alter spending part of my summer with one family, I felt convinced I now had a chance of settling down. I couldn't wait for my first day of junior high. When the big day arrived, I proudly showed up at my new school in fresh corduroy pants, brown I lush Puppies shoes, and my new black-framed glasses. I was proud that I was carrying a lunch box to school. Standing in the hallway, I marveled at the shiny blue school lockers, and how enormous the upper grade students were-until I discovered that they were in the same grade as I, and I was probably the smallest kid in the entire school.

During my first period, homeroom class, the entire class sat on tall wooden stools I was proud that I sat among the tallest boys, who seemed to know everyone. With a quick series of wide smiles from the group, I felt I was accepted as one of their own. When the group mocked the teacher whenever he spoke, I, too, snickered at their jokes. As the boys teased our teacher, ever so slowly, without anyone catching on, rather than sitting hunched over in my usual reclusive pose, I began to sit up perfectly straight. With my shoulders arched back, I stared at the boys from my table, who suddenly bowed their heads, whispering something that I thought was about our teacher's receding hairline.

One of them commented on how much one girl from across the table had grown during the summer. Glancing over, she didn't seem that tall to me. At the lime, I had always thought that girls were exactly the same as boys; with the exception that they had squeakier voices, longer hair, and some wore makeup and had blimps on their chest.

The more the boys leaned over and leered at the girl, the more I envied to be part of their inner circle. When they broke out in laughter, I, too, howled even though I had no idea what anyone had said. Then, in an instant, the group stopped, raised their heads in unison, and scowled at me. One of the boys turned to me and said. "Hey, Tiny Tim, where'd you get your threads, the Salvation Army?"

Growing up and throughout my time in foster care, I'd stutter whenever I became nervous or embarrassed, so I now fought to keep my responses short.

"Nope," I proudly announced, "Kmart."

"Man," one of the boys blurted, "what a spaz!"

Feeling a quick retort was required, I extended my right arm and countered, "Nope, not me. Look, I ain't got no twitches."

The table became quiet until another kid, who seemed sincere, asked, "You're new here, aren't you, kid?"

I shook my head yes.

"So, you don't know anybody, do ya?"

Thinking for a moment I answered, "Nope . . ,'cept just you guys."

"Lucky for you," the trustworthy one stated. "Anyway . . . you see that girl over there?"

Wanting to prove I wasn't slow, I swiveled my head, adjusted my glasses, then squinted my eyes to sharpen my look. "Which one?"

From behind my back a small chorus of laughter erupted. I thought for sure the group of boys were impressed with my lightninglike response. After a few seconds of no guidance, I thrust my finger at the likely candidate "That one?" I whispered.

"Nope," the kid with the attitude snickered.

"That one?" I pointed at another girl.

"No, not her" one of the boys howled.

Growing frustrated I jabbed my finger at another girl only to receive the same response. In the back of my mind I began to sense that I was probably being set up for some catastrophe, but. I told myself, this was junior high and big kids wouldn't do anything like that.