Twenty-One Wilted Roses

I'm playing catch with Daddy Quintin.

No, wait. I'm playing soccer with Daddy Alex.

Yes, soccer.

With one of my two Dads.

I was seven that day.

We were just about to go inside our house.

One of my dads on each side, laughing and smiling, telling me how good I was.

I never thought much about the fact I didnt have a mother.

The kids at school always said things to me like, "My daddy says your Dad is a queer man." or "You don't have a mom? My mom says that your dads are gay."

Once a teacher even called my dads "Fags".

Back then I was only seven. I didn't know how much it hurt my Dads.

But then one day Daddy Alex dressed me in a suit.

Daddy Quintin was crying.

Both of them were hugging me, sobbing, saying how much they loved me and how I should just say calm.

We went into a building. Slowly we walked in.

A man had papers.

There was small writing on it, they were hard for me to read.

They were talking too quiet.

I couldn't hear them.

Then there was a silence.

The man took a stamp and pushed it onto the paper.

"Denied"

The word made my Dads cry.

They were walked out of the room.

I was taken to a place with lots of kids, my age and up.

A "Foster Home".

For homeless children.

I did not belong here.

I had a home.

Slowly, I began to sob.

But I was only seven...

----------------------------------

I wake up to the usual sound of children crying.

I wince.

I was crying myself late last night.

I'm twelve now.

I understand what happened that day.

My dads could not take care of me.

According the the "Goverment" they were unfit parents.

They were "Fags".

Thinking about this made me sob.

Maybe one day they could adopt me.

Maybe one day I can be with the only people who truely care.

Maybe....

Maybe....

Maybe the world will accept them.

I know they can care for me, I know it.

I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had.