She did not do any of those things, and so she did not get us back.
My grandma ended up taking the parenting class and doing what she had to do to get us. They wouldn’t let her have us at first. I guess they felt like ’cause my grandma was there during that time that we were in danger, and she allowed us to be in danger, they didn’t let us go to her right away. But, eventually, she got us.
But not before I had to spend almost two years in foster care.
I was in group homes for a while. Man, I hate thinking about that. It was more like a prison. I was only there for a while, but man, it was scary. That’s when I started using my comedy skills, though.
My comedy came in real handy, because them bitches was out to beat my ass. We was in a dorm, like a big room and there’s bunk beds everywhere. That’s why I don’t like bunk beds to this day. We was in there and these older girls was like:
Bully Girl: “Yeah you going to cry tonight, bitch, you’re going to get your ass beat.”
You ever seen Saved by the Bell? There’s this episode where Screech puts his hand over his face, then he sticks his other arm through the crook of his elbow and punches with one arm while the other arm protects his face, but he looks all funky. So I started doing that, and they didn’t know how to handle that.
Bully Girl: “Oh, this bitch is stupid. Is you stupid?”
So I started cracking jokes, and I’d bark like a dog. They started laughing, and then they started making fun of my hair.
Bully Girl: “You funny-looking, do anybody ever do your hair?”
Tiffany: “No, I got Raggedy Ann hair. This hair, you can’t comb it. It breaks combs.”
I thought that if I made these girls laugh, they wouldn’t beat me up. They’d let me be the goofy one in the crew or something. But that didn’t really work.
Bully Girl: “Yeah, they’re about to lock these doors. When they lock these doors, that’s it. You trapped in here with us.”
Tiffany: “Oh yeah, we’re going to be trapped? It’s going to be like we in an Indiana Jones movie.”
Bully Girl: “Ahhh bitch, we is still going to beat your ass . . . but you funny.”
My social worker came and got me after two days and took me to a home. It was off of Normandy and 128th, which is the hood. This lady was so ghetto, but her house was so dope.
The first day I got there, she and my social worker were smoking weed and talking about me. They were sitting there, having a powwow in the living room, talking about me, getting high.
Foster Mom: “Well, is she fucking? Is she having sex? That’s what I need to know.”
Social Worker: “Well, she’s thirteen.”
Foster Mom: “That don’t mean shit. Is she fucking? That’s what I want to know.”
Social Worker: “I don’t think she’s fucking. I’m pretty sure she’s not fucking.”
Foster Mom: “Hm, hm, you’d be surprised, these little kids be out here fucking. ’Cause you know the last one you had up in here, she was eleven years old, and I had to get her a whole box of condoms.”
I was standing there, right in front of them, and they just talking all this shit. Then she decided to take me, and that was that.
She had her dad living with her, and she told us to call him Foster Grandpa. And he didn’t have no teeth or nothing. He was kind of creepy, but he was nice. At least it seemed like it.
Foster Mom give me a tour of the house. “This is the bathroom you’re going to be cleaning. This is the kitchen you going to be cooking in, ’cause everybody here contributes. This ain’t no vacation spot. And here is the room you’re going to sleep in. You see this drawer right here? This top drawer? It’s full of condoms. Now, the Social Worker said you’re not out here having sex, but who knows? Who knows? You probably are having sex, you just ain’t telling nobody, right?”
And I’m just looking at her like completely confused. Of course I wasn’t having sex!
This was when that movie Crooklyn came out, by Spike Lee. Foster Mom took me to see it, along with two other foster kids she was taking care of at the time. We went to that drive-in theater that was off of Centinela. We went to the drive-in movie theater, and the two little foster boys were in the backseat. They were giggling and trying to touch me. They was nasty little boys and I was pushing them off me. They were like eight and seven, right? The movie started and she went:
Foster Mom: “I know you’re going to cry at some point, don’t cry in my car.”
Tiffany: “I ain’t gonna cry.”
She started blazing weed. Remember, this is in a car, and she had the windows up, so she was straight hot boxing us in there. There was a man in the front seat with her, I can’t remember who it was, some boyfriend of hers.
Foster Mom: “This is going to help you all to relax.”
Boyfriend: “You know you crazy, right girl? You know?”
Foster Mom: “Man, these kids gonna be exposed to way more bullshit than this. You don’t know what these kids been through. This ain’t nothing. All y’all shut up and enjoy this movie.”
I remember watching that movie and feeling like, I know how this little girl feels. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t cry.
Then, when we was driving back, my eyes was burning and stuff, I guess ’cause I had a contact high, and I didn’t even know it. Foster Mom saw me and said:
Foster Mom: “You know what, Tiffany? You seem like a really nice young lady, but I know you’re out here doing things. I know you doing things. You probably gonna cry tonight, ’cause all that innocence is gone. It’s all gone.”
I didn’t understand what she was talking about at all, not at that point. Still, I did cry a lot that night.
• • •
About a week later, I was doing my chores, and one of the little boys who was also staying with her came into the bathroom. He was butt naked with a condom on, talking about:
Foster Boy: “You wanna play with my dick? You want to play with my dick?”
Tiffany: “What the hell? What the hell is this?”
I freaked out and start running through the house, calling out to Foster Mom to get him.
Tiffany: “He out here naked! He out here naked!”
Foster Boy: “Stop being a snitch. Don’t be a snitch. I’m gonna fuck your shit up.”
Then she tried to blame it on me!
Foster Mom: “Oh, you tell this little boy to be naked like this?”
Tiffany: “I ain’t tell that little boy to be naked. He’s running around here with condoms on his dick. I don’t know what that’s about.”
She slapped me in the mouth.
Foster Mom: “Don’t be saying dick.”
Really? This eight-year-old running around naked with a condom on, and she’s worried about my language?
She told him to put on some clothes and stop playing.
The next day, that boy and the other boy started to make water balloons, right? Except all they had was condoms to make them with. Foster Mom was gone when they did this, and they started throwing these water balloons at me. Water-filled condom balloons.
I wanted to beat them up so bad, but I didn’t. I just cleaned up the mess and threw all them condoms away. Threw out the condoms and told them to stop playing games.