WMU program aims
to help ex-foster kids
From her years in foster care, Anna Dexter-Cheeks settled on a simple
life philosophy: "I just make sure I am taking care of myself." She took
that attitude with her to Western Michigan University, but a snow squall
and an icy patch led to a crash that totaled her car. Without it, she
was cut off from class, child care and work.
And as one of the approximately 500 youths who age out of Michigan's
foster care system each year without being adopted, she couldn't call
Mom or Dad for help or advice. If she returns to WMU in the fall, she
could be among the first students to benefit from a new program intended
to give former foster youths the kind of help she needed. It is unique
in Michigan, and some national experts say there may be only one
comparable program in the nation.
It starts with free tuition for students leaving the foster care system
without being adopted -- but adds support and counseling while requiring
them to live on campus and be a kind of family for one another.
"There are no parents with the pep talk, or the parent with the
emergency money," said Kate Hanley, head of permanency services for the
Michigan Department of Human Services. "It's not even necessarily the
big things that they call about, but sometimes it's, 'Where do I go to
find a doctor?' 'How do I deal with insurance?' "
The scholarship alone is a relief, allowing such students to use other
grants, scholarships or loans to pay for expenses such as room and board
and books, said Mark Delorey, head of WMU's financial aid. Scholarship
recipients this fall would also be housed near one another and would be
encouraged to tap into a mentoring program with other college students
who were foster kids. And they'll be required to do work-study with a
mentor.
It's about building relationships, said John Seita, a Michigan State
University professor and WMU alum helping set up the program. Now 52,
he's also a former foster kid who was shuttled between foster homes. For
years, he said, "I felt like an institutional freak."
He remembers his time at Olivet College. As other kids left for home
during the first spring break, Seita went to the dean of students. "I
have nowhere to go," he said. "Sorry, we're closing the dorms," he was
told. Seita spent the next few weeks sneaking through windows of his
empty dormitory and stealing food.
Foster youth may feel desperately alone, and years of turmoil and
helplessness hardwire them as mistrusting, Seita said. "A kid comes to
campus and doesn't know the financial aid form or even how to get one.
They don't know how to buy books or what to do if they're $50 short,"
Seita said. "But they don't want to admit they don't know something.
They see that as a sign of weakness."
Getting through obstacles
About 500 young people leave Michigan's foster care system each
year. Studies show that 70% say they want to go college, but only about
20% enroll. And just a quarter of those students will ever complete a
degree, according to the Michigan DHS.
Dexter-Cheeks, 21, was lucky. Delorey and associate professor Yvonne
Unrau were looking for advice on setting up the scholarship program and
found her name on financial aid forms. She had indicated she'd been a
ward of the state. They contacted her right after her car had skidded
into a rock wall Dec. 28. Her grades had lurched. Without a paycheck,
she was evicted.
Delorey mined for financial aid for Dexter-Cheeks. Unrau took her to a
bus station, where Dexter-Cheeks learned bus rides were free with her
WMU student ID. "I was paying $1.35 every time I got on the bus," she
said. They found medical insurance for Dexter-Cheeks' 4-year-old
daughter, a new apartment and money for groceries. "They became my
family," she said.
These days, Dexter-Cheeks takes a bus to classes at nearby Kalamazoo
Valley Community College so she can transfer back to WMU and finish her
degree. Her goal is to become a social worker for foster children. "I
want them to know there's a light at the end of the tunnel," she said.
Jamie Crandell, a student who, along with Dexter-Cheeks and other former
foster youths, is helping design the program at WMU, said she's
fortunate. Her foster family was "wonderful." But there have been bumps.
When she was a student at Michigan State University, she had assumed
complicated financial aid forms she completed meant her bills were
covered.
Three weeks into her courses, however, she got a call from the financial
aid office. Someone pushed a paper in front of her and a pen. Something
about bills. Something about a loan. She's still not sure it was the
best option for her. "I just knew if I didn't sign it I'd have to drop
out of classes," said Crandell, 26, who is now a WMU student.
Representatives of the Jim Casey Youth Opportunities Initiative said the
only comparable program in the country appears to be Guardian Scholars,
which started in California.
Reaching out for a connection
Sometimes, though, the challenges of staying in school are
about things much less tangible than funds, food and student IDs. The
needs can be more about human connections, Hanley said.
It's something Peter Ruei didn't have after a relief organization
brought him to Michigan after war in Sudan tore his family apart. He was
brought to the Grand Rapids area, despite having no relatives there, and
ended up as a teen in the foster care system, behind in basic classes
and facing a language barrier.
Now the 21-year-old WMU aviation major is also working 26 hours a week
at a local Wal-Mart to cover the costs of flying time. And like
Dexter-Cheeks, there is no one else to pick up the bills for parking,
class fees or phone bills. With everything going on, he said, laughing,
"It took me three times to become a sophomore."
Such stories don't surprise Amy Smitter, executive director of the
Michigan Campus Compact, an association of Michigan colleges and
universities. Last year, it partnered with Michigan DHS to host
conferences to explore the needs of former foster children in higher
education.
"Some of their stories are heartbreaking," Smitter said. "And it's
always that one person who made a difference, the person who said, 'Why
aren't you going to class?' or ... found out they didn't have food."
Robin Erb
21 February 2008
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