Their Story

RAISING ARIZONAS MEN

What It’s Like to Be Him: A Glimpse Into the Life of a Boy in Foster Care

He looks like any other teenage boy hoodie pulled halfway over his head, headphones in, hands shoved deep into his pockets. If you passed him at the mall, you’d probably never guess he’s in foster care. But if you looked a little closer, you might notice something in his eyes—something tired, like he’s lived a few lifetimes in just a few short years.

There’s no baby book for him. No baby pictures tucked into an old photo album, no wrinkled birthday cards from Grandma, no shoebox of keepsakes filled with his first pair of shoes or a lock of hair from his first haircut. His childhood wasn’t captured in scrapbooks—it was survived. The dysfunction and instability that brought him into care didn’t leave room for memories like that. Just survival. Just getting by.

Still, ask him about his family and he’ll sit a little straighter. There’s a quiet pride there, even though the memories are tangled with trauma. He might smile when he remembers laughing at a cousin’s joke, the smell of his mom’s cooking on a good day, or the way his little sister used to fall asleep holding his hand. Those moments—the normal ones—are precious. They’re rare, but real. And they’re the reason he still clings to the idea of “family.”

Because no matter how rough things were, he still wants to belong. He wants someone who can tell him who he is, someone who will say, you matter, you are loved, you are important.
That’s the conflict he carries every day. On the outside, he may look like he’s moved on. He has a clean bed now, three meals a day, maybe even someone to drive him to school. But inside? He’s still worried about his mom. Still wondering if his brother has enough to eat. Still wondering when—or if—he’ll get to go home.

Some part of him thinks maybe he can make things better if he just gets another chance. And yet, deep down, he knows that going back might not be safe. One young man put it perfectly:

“I can’t stay in this group home because I don’t want to be that kind of kid. You know… a foster kid. A kid with no family. I got a family—it’s just not safe for me to live with them right now.”

That’s the heartbreak of it. These boys carry not just the pain of neglect or abuse, but the ache of loyalty—of loving people who couldn’t love them well. It’s not always the trauma itself that cuts the deepest. Sometimes, it’s the emotional whiplash of feeling tied to the very people who caused it.

And still, they press on.

They crack jokes. They play ball. They dream of becoming mechanics, firefighters, or maybe just someone’s hero. They try to blend in and just be “normal”— whatever that means. Because underneath the toughness and tired eyes, they’re just boys. Boys who want to be seen. Boys who want to belong. Boys who are aching for someone to believe they’re more than a label or a case file.

They are not broken beyond repair.
They are not throwaways.
They are fighters, survivors, and sons.
And they are worthy of love, family, faith, and a future.