Wrong Answer

On the last night of foster class, we had a graduation of sorts.  Completing the class didn't mean we were open for fosters; it just meant that we were one step closer.  Each person brought in a pot luck item (as usual, I was limited to eating what I brought because everything had meat in it... such is my life) and there was a panel of speakers.  Most were from The Agency, but some were "seasoned" foster parents who were supposed to give us "honest answers" about foster care.  There were also two teen boys who were currently in foster care (The Agency had a hard time placing teens and wanted to show how wonderful teen boys could be!  Granted, they were nice kids...)

One of the panel members was the grand pooh-bah of The Agency (the president or whatever you call the head of a nonprofit).  He wanted us to go around the room and introduce ourselves and say why we wanted to be foster parents.  Remember that this was the last night, and we as a group had talked for weeks and weeks about our motivation for wanting to become foster parents.  It was received, by me at least, as "oh, again."  

As we went around the circle, it was much of the same perfectly acceptable and honorable answers:

"I want to help children."  

"I want to give back to the community."

"I was a foster parent in another county and now that I moved, I want to be certified here."

"I want to make a difference."

"We are hoping to adopt."

All true.  All lovely.

By the time they came to me, I could have repeated any of those things (ok, except the fostering in another county), but I was tired and I wanted to be a little bit funny:  

"I have empty nest syndrome and this seems like a good way to cure it."  

The grand pooh-bah looked at me like I said, "I need new child sacrifices for the devil and I've depleted all the kids in my own neighborhood.  Won't you supply me with some more?"  

Apparently, humor about my own empty nest syndrome (though factual!) was THE WRONG ANSWER.

Apparently, unless my motives were 100% altruistic, then I had no right even considering myself a good foster parent candidate.  

But altruism is bullshit.  

Sure, I've always loved kids.  Sure I lived in a four-bedroom house and was currently using ONE.  Sure, I was mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and financially ready to give a child a good temporary home.  And yes, I wanted to give back to my community by helping children.  Why is it such a terrible thing to say, yes, and I would benefit from it emotionally too?  Why is this symbiotic relationship such a terrible, terrible thing?

But in grand pooh-bah's eyes, it was.  "Ahem, this really is about the children and blah blah blah..."  I tuned him out.  Clearly, he didn't get that I was kidding.

Kind of.