I spent most of my life feeling like I was just a number in a folder. By the time I was ten, I had been in six different foster homes. I learned early on not to unpack my bags all the way.
Then I met Mr. Henderson.
He was my 5th-grade math teacher. I was the “troubled kid” who sat in the back and refused to do the work. I expected him to give up on me like everyone else did. Instead, he stayed after school every day—not just to teach me fractions, but to ask me how I was actually doing.
When my last foster placement fell through, it was Mr. Henderson and his wife who stood up in court. They didn’t just offer a bed; they offered a permanent home. They went from being my teacher to being my family.
Yesterday, I walked across the stage to receive my college diploma. In the front row, Mr. Henderson was holding a single yellow rose—the same flower he gave me on the day my adoption was finalized eight years ago.
I wasn’t supposed to make it this far. The statistics said I wouldn’t. But one person decided that I was worth the extra time, the extra patience, and the extra love.
To anyone out there feeling like you’re “too much” to handle: wait for the person who sees your potential instead of your past. They are out there. 🎓❤️
