I wish you could’ve seen the curious stares I received as a single Black man in foster care licensing classes. I was an anomaly. Each session was full of white couples, an occasional minority few, but never a single Black man impassioned to deposit Godly love into the hearts of the black children in the system.
That’s why I did it to do my best to change our Black boys.
My name is Laterras R. Whitfield, and I am a foster parent and adoptive dad of two. My unsuspected journey into becoming a foster and adoption advocate began with the removal of my nephew, LaDarrion, in 2015. My sister’s drug addiction was the catalyst that brought Child Protective Services (CPS) into our family’s affair. My nephew was seven years old and spent seven months in foster care.
It was a Catch-22. I initially felt if I allowed CPS to place him in my home, it would enable my sister to take away any motivation for her to change. To create a “best of both worlds scenario,” I allowed temporary placement under the condition my sister and LaDarrion’s estranged father would accept me as their accountability partner. Only then, could we ensure LaDarrion’s reunification into either of their lives. They consented.