The “Passed-Along” Kid: Growing Up In Foster Care

By Terrance Afer-Anderson

The “Passed-along Kid.” Sounds a bit like a comic book superhero, doesn’t it?

I am about to introduce you to a woman whose childhood was punctuated by both the heartaches and the blessings of being a foster child, having been passed-along from one family to another.

I have known Vivian Blaize since the 80s. Yet, it wasn’t until recently that I became unaware of the disruptive, complex familial challenges she endured as a youth, how, ultimately, she emerge as victorious. She chronicles such in her short book “From the Eyes, Ears and  of a Foster Child: What It’s Like to Be Passed-Along in Foster and Kinship Care.” It is a certain page-turner that will touch your heart, have you occasionally giggle, and often shake your head in disbelief, your eyes moist with tears.

Vivian was born premature in Elmira, New York at what was then known as the Arnot Ogden Memorial Hospital. Having once been told that she was so tiny she could have been kept in a shoebox, there were giant troubles associated with her birth.

While a fragile preemie languishing in a hospital incubator, echoes of impassioned conversations ensued on how to pass her along.

Thus began the heartaches and the blessings of being a foster child, having been passed-along from one family to another.

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Among the blessings was the most stellar, memorable and loving Mrs. Ada Carter.

Mrs. Carter was Vivian’s first foster mother. Over the years, she provided a home for more than fifty other foster children. Vivian was the last and she believes the most cherished. She would come to affectionately call her Mrs. Carter “Mama.”

“We lived at 515 Partridge Street in Elmira, New York,” Vivian writes. “Mama had a huge, four-story house with a big basement on a corner property, at the crossroads of Partridge Street and South Walnut Street.”

She describes the Carter house with great wonderment in her book. “The house was white with green shutters and a low brick wall around it that was like a fence. It sat on a hill with lots of pine trees and bushes in the front yard.” The hill was so steep that, during winter snows, she and a few neighborhood friends would often sled down the driveway.

But perhaps her favorite location at the house was a gazebo poised alongside South Walnut Street. “I played by myself with Lady, my Black Labrador, inside that gazebo a lot, loving its peacefulness.”

Vivian and Mama shared the house with two older foster girls, as well as Mama Carter’s two sons. It was one of Mama’s sons that committed a wretched crime upon Vivian, inflicting horrific sex abuse upon a five-year-old child.

He would frequently treat her to ice cream at nearby Eldridge Park, all along grooming her for his evil deed. For reasons unbeknownst to her, he had Vivian engage in a secret game, having her suckle on one of her fingers. Such activity proved only to be practice, that he might achieve his ultimate goal. Sodomy. Confused and frustrated, Vivian one day told Mama about this atrocious oral tryst.

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They were doing some housecleaning. Vivian was sweeping with a broom. She had received another invite to visit Eldridge Park but refused. She explained to Mama Carter why she didn’t want to go, the disgusting suckling that would always follow.

In the next moment, Mama had snatched the broom from her and was racing up the stairs. Vivian writes on what next ensued.

“I heard a tremendously loud running of feet and screaming.” Mama was chasing her son down the stairs, “hitting him on his back, head, shoulders, and arms with the broom.” She added, “The broom was splintering and shattering at each whack.”

The next and last time Vivian ever saw Mama’s son he was being escorted from their home in handcuffs. “The two police officers,” she writes, “each took hold of each of his bent elbows, leading him out the door. Mama and I watched as they led him away, never to be seen again.”

Tragically, not too long after that experience, Mama Carter passed away. She had been ill for a while and had forecasted her departure by telling Vivian that, if anything were to ever happen to her, she would go live with her daughter Mary Ellen and her husband Alfred Spellman. The unfortunate timing of Mama’s passing had Vivian feeling somehow responsible, thinking it was a consequence of the news she shared about Mama Carter’s son’s wicked devices, the resulting clamorous scene, his disappearance.

“I vaguely remember what I now know was her funeral,” Vivian writes. “At some point, we all got out of the cars and stood beside a big hole in the ground that was covered by what looked like a big green grass blanket.” She continues, “Some men came from another big car with a long box that I learned had Mama Carter in it. The men put the box in the hole with the green blanket over it.” She also writes, “I was sad because I could not see Mama Carter nor would she talk to me. I just wanted Mama to get out of that box and talk to me.”

Vivian moved to Long Island with Mary Ellen and Alfred. She would eventually refer to them as Mama Mary and Daddy Alfred. They initially lived in a very modest home with outhouse bathroom facilities. One day, a snake surprised Vivian in that outhouse.

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Later, the family moved to much better accommodations, a house that Alfred, an accomplished custom home-builder and brick mason, had himself built. It was while living there she had a surprise attack by a neighbor’s dog.

Still, it was a good life and Vivian says she learned “moral philosophy and spirituality” from Daddy Alfred and “responsibility” from Mama Mary.

By this time, Vivian had affectionately begun calling her new guardians “Mommie” and “Daddy.” But fate would test Vivian again. Mommie had a heart attack on a fishing trip and died in Alfred’s arms onboard the boat. Vivian had thrown a major temper tantrum earlier and felt that she had contributed to Mama Mary’s demise, much in the same fashion she inappropriately felt she caused Mama Carter’s death.

Following Mama Mary’s death, Vivian writes that, “Daddy became incoherent and needed medical attention.” Shortly afterwards, she moved in with a woman named Shirley, who identified herself as Mama Mary’s sister, but Vivian knew better. Shirley had been one of Mama Carter’s foster children from years past.

As you can imagine, there is so much more to Vivian’s story as a foster child. Though she was passed-along, she was blessed with some exceptionally strong women, including her biological mother, whom she came to love dearly.

A short, 78-page read, Vivian’s book is available at Amazon. It paints a compelling portrait of the foster child experience and illustrates how a passed-along kid could someday blossom into a superhero.

Terrance Afer-Anderson is a writer, actor, director and producer. He is also President/CEO, TerraVizion Entertainment Network.

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