Debra A. Hocking - Speaking My Truth

About this time, my real family moved into the neighborhood where I wasliving, and my mother enrolled my brothers and sisters at the school I wasattending. This alarmed the welfare officers and my foster parents, whoinformed me that I was not to look or speak to them if I came across them.I did not even know their names or what they looked like. One day, I waswalking to school and two kids yelled out to me to wait for them. Oh no, itcould not be, could it? I started running away, fearful that I might be seenwith them. How I wanted to look at them and talk to them, find out just whaton earth had happened to our family. That evening at home I told my fostermother. A big mistake. She rang the authorities and told them my familywas “moving in on me.” Next thing I know I am riding to school in a policecar, not a good look. Trying to explain that to an already hurtful mob in theplayground was impossible. I was laughed at and teased, but I held my headhigh. Eventually I was moved from this school in the hope that my familywould not try to contact me again, but my Mum kept following.I realized that my brothers and sisters must have been returned to her, so whywas I still in that hellhole foster home? It seemed so unfair, and I began torebel. I got into fights with other students, I wanted to hurt them. How darethey have normal families, how dare they! This did not last long and was notall that bad, but I found myself increasingly bitter about my foster family andwhat they had done. Why could I not go home? Only when I saw my welfarefile as an adult did I read the letters sent from my parents begging for myreturn. How could they keep one child from a family as a ward of the stateuntil aged fifteen when the other children had been returned? What gaveauthorities this right?Being told nothing about my family, I knew nothing of my Aboriginal heritage.My identity was stripped away as if it was something to be ashamed of. Thisfamily knew all along of my heritage, but saw it as a disadvantage rather thansomething to be proud of. Since then, through reading my welfare file, I haverealized that the reason I was not returned to my family was that my skinwas the palest of all the children in my family, and the authorities thoughtthat I would stand a better chance than my siblings of being assimilated intothe wider community. They wanted to do all they could to ensure that I knewnothing of my Aboriginal heritage.I was now fourteen years of age and dealing with many teenage problems. Idecided to run away. I had no plans, but a girlfriend decided to join me. Shewanted to get away from the violence in her home—her father was a chronicalcoholic. We set off one day, vowing never to return. We were unpreparedand did not even take any food. We did not last long, but promised ourselvesthat one day we would go far away and escape.282 | Debra A. Hocking