NEARLY EVERYWHERE I GO NOWADAYS, I ATTEMPT TO RAISE awareness for at-risk kids, especially foster kids who are soon to age out of the system with nowhere to go but the streets. Inevitably, when I tell tenderhearted people about the circumstances of these kids, somebody will say something like, “That’s awful! Somebody needs to do something.”
“That’s right,” I say. “Be somebody.”
The response often comes, “How? What can one person do?”
There are several ways you can help if you want to be somebody in a foster child’s life. Certainly you can begin by becoming aware of the issues involved for these kids. You can become a youth advocate; you can mentor or even adopt a child. You can open your home to a kid like Bea and Russell did for me. You can donate to an organization that helps children.
One of the most important keys to helping foster kids is to elect public officials who have a heart for children and the courage to take the necessary stands that will truly make a difference, especially for the forgotten foster kids aging out of the system. Certainly, this is true on a national level, but you may not be aware that each state within the US sets its own standards regarding foster care. Presently, a handful of states have raised the age that children transition out of the foster care system to twenty-one. That’s great, but we need every state to do something similar. That can happen if we elect people who genuinely care about foster children.
Almost every day now, I meet someone who understands what it means to be somebody. I met Elizabeth on a plane, during my walk halfway across America. I had performed a concert the night before and was on my way back to the Meet Me Halfway walk. I spoke to Elizabeth before the plane taxied down the runway. She seemed reserved and quite skeptical of me, but for some reason, I felt compelled to share with her my mission. In her own words, here is how Elizabeth responded:
As I waited in line to board the plane, I saw him . . . the man and his guitar were in the boarding group ahead of me, and he was finishing up a conversation with another passenger in the waiting area. As he headed for the plane, I heard him say, “Nice to meet you. I’m Jimmy Wayne.”
I walked onto the plane and quickly scanned the seats, searching for that prized window seat. There he was again, having taken an aisle seat. Before I could even get my luggage into the overhead bin and stick my nose in my magazine (my usual method of fending off conversations from strangers on airplanes), the questions began: “What do you do?” “Where are you from?” “Where are you going?” I quickly realized this was not going to be a typical flight. After not-so-politely answering his questions, it was my turn to ask questions. Without giving his name, my fellow passenger began to tell me about his mission to walk halfway across the United States to raise awareness of foster kids aging out of the system. My skepticism kicked in, and my thought process was something like, “Oh, sure, buddy . . . you’re ‘walking’ across America. That’s why you’re sitting next to me on an airplane!”
Over the next hour and a half, he proceeded to tell me about his mission, showed me pictures of people and kids he’d met along the way, and explained that the reason he was on the plane was he had played a concert the past weekend and was headed back to pick up his walk where he left off, somewhere near Oklahoma City. As we talked, his passion for his project became evident, and I began to soften a little. Although lingering somewhere in the back of my mind was the thought, This can’t be legit. Any minute now this guy is going to ask me for money!
He continued talking, telling stories of foster kids and homeless kids and kids with no adults in their lives to help guide them into their own adulthood. I was struck by his intensity and his passion and his obvious conviction to this cause. Somewhere in the conversation, we finally introduced ourselves, and he handed me his card: Meet Me Halfway. Follow Jimmy Wayne on Twitter.
He never did ask me for money, but he did ask me if I would join him on his walk the following day. Admittedly, being asked to go somewhere with a stranger, especially one with a guitar, long hair, and a knit stocking cap, was something I’m sure my mother warned me not to do, so I politely declined.
I got off the plane, went home to my comfortable house and my three kids, and my two dogs and cat, content in the thought that my mother would have been proud I had the good sense to turn down a stranger’s offer.
But that night I couldn’t sleep. I finally went to the computer and typed in the website listed on the card Jimmy Wayne had given me, and I began to read . . . and read . . . and read. Before long, tears were running down my face as I learned more about this man’s mission and the deeply moving story of his own troubled childhood and the young people he was now determined to help. I also learned he was a country music star . . . who knew?
The next morning I signed up for a Twitter account and “tweeted” Jimmy that I wanted to walk with him that day. Soon, he sent me directions on where to meet him, and off we went. Six miles and many stories later, I knew the direction of my future volunteer efforts—working with older foster kids. I walked with Jimmy a few more times as he made his way through Oklahoma, each time learning more about the world of foster kids and the system and his own experiences.
Through several twists of fate and shared connections that I can only attribute to divine intervention, I was connected with a local Oklahoma City organization, Citizens Caring for Children, whose mission is to serve foster kids in our county and surrounding counties. I signed up to begin the vetting process to become a mentor. After a couple months of background checks and interviews, I was given my match. I was hoping to be able to be matched with a teenage boy, since I had spent the last several years with that age group traveling and serving as team mom for my son’s competitive basketball team. But because of strict rules put in place to keep there from being even the slightest appearance of impropriety, and for the good of all involved, women are only matched with girls, and men with boys.
While I certainly understand this policy, it still breaks my heart to know that there are so many young boys who are eagerly awaiting a male mentor but can’t be matched because not enough men choose to step up.
I was matched with thirteen-year-old Keke. Bright, beautiful, funny, moral, athletic, sensitive—we hit it off immediately. She and her siblings were in a kinship home, living with their aunt. Her mother had been in and out of jail for drugs, and from what little she knew of her father, he had been in prison since she was three. Keke had been in the foster care system since she was eight, taken from her home during a drug raid. Her life was not easy, as she was the oldest of six kids and was many times left to care for the other five while her aunt worked a job forty-five minutes away, most nights late into the evening. When I met Keke, her aunt had begun the process of adopting all six of the kids.
One night I went to pick up Keke for our weekly visit. No one was home. The next day I was informed that Keke had been removed from the home. Her aunt told me she did not know where Keke was, only that she was moved to a house in the country and would not be returning. It took me more than two months to track her down, in the meantime, missing Thanksgiving, her birthday, and Christmas celebrations with her. I later learned Keke’s aunt had changed her mind about adopting her and had asked DSS to find a new place for her.
Before we could arrange to resume our visits, Keke was moved again. Her foster mom was engaged to be married, and soon she and her husband-to-be began the process of adopting Keke. Then, unexpectedly, one day I learned Keke had been removed from this home as well.
It didn’t take as long to track Keke down this time, but it was still too long for me. When we finally visited again, Keke confided in me that this foster mom had also changed her mind, didn’t want to complete the process, and had asked DSS to remove her from her home.
Another new home. Four homes in fourteen months . . . four new schools . . . four new families . . . four new sets of rules . . . four new sets of foster siblings. Not to mention Keke’s child welfare worker had changed during this time as well. I became the one constant, the one familiar face in those months of turmoil. In each home, when I would connect with Keke’s new foster families, one of the first things they would tell me is that Keke had been asking for me and wanting to know if they would let her continue our relationship. She and I had forged a bond.
This past spring, Keke met her forever family at an adoption party hosted by DSS. She moved to another town in Oklahoma and is thriving. Keke’s adoptive parents invited me to her adoption celebration three weeks ago. To say Keke is happy is an enormous understatement. The sparkle in her eyes and the smile on her face say it all. She is surrounded by people who truly love and accept her, from her new parents and extended family, to her giant church community, to her new school friends. I got a lump in my throat when I heard Keke call her new parents “Mom and Dad.”
My first experience as a mentor has been incredible, and I thank God for putting me next to Jimmy Wayne on that plane more than three years ago. Without him, I never would have stepped so far out of my comfort zone or learned to see past the lifelong stereotypes I held about foster kids, to open my eyes to a world I never wanted to acknowledge even existed.
Today I am awaiting a new mentee match. While somewhat anxious about what lies ahead, I know I am not the same person I was three years ago, and neither is Keke. As I left Keke’s adoption party, she actually hugged me back for the first time, and even held on for a long time, something that had never happened before. When I asked what she has learned from her new adoptive family, she responded, “That I am loved.”
What better ending could there be?
Elizabeth discovered what it means to be somebody. The fact that you have read this book speaks loudly that you, too, want to be somebody in the life of a child. Maybe you are like me: I want to be the kind of guy who is not afraid to take a stand; I want to be the kind of friend who will be there when needed.
One person really can make a difference. I know that is true because one person—Bea Costner—changed every fiber of my being. Bea made a difference in my life; now I want to “Bea” somebody for other kids who need someone to meet them halfway.
From the depths of my heart, I hope you will Walk to Beautiful with me.
For more information, contact me at jimmywayne.com.