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I was ambushed to do the hardest thing a person can ever do

This is not the end of the story. My feelings about foster parenting have been transformed since this incident over 16 years ago. But here is how it all began, in a rough draft of scene 3 and 4 for the screenplay I am writing:

Scene 3

Int: Condominium office, lots of windows and light, nice shelves full of books.

In a Los Angeles suburb near the mountains. It’s a majority Hispanic city (Maybe pan in to show it’s a lower middle and middle class city).

Steve gets up from his computer and stretches. Jill is in kitchen.

Steve, speaking loudly: “Tada! I am finally finished my dissertation and its revisions. Finally.”

Jill walks to the study:

Jill: “That’s great! Can I drive over with you to get it printed and mail it off?”

Steve, feels good. Jill wants to go with him to celebrate. Awesome! Cocky grin on his face as he gets up.

Steve: “Wow, that’s really great. Thanks for coming. Yeah, let’s get it done.”

End scene

Scene 4 [inciting incident]

Int: Interior of an old, 1989 red Mustang.

Steve is getting into the Mustang. Jill is already seated in the passenger’s seat.

They put it in reverse to drive to the printing store.

Steve pulls car into curb in front of the Kinkos.

Jill sits inside the car.

Steve gets out of the Mustang.

Steve gets back in Mustang with box.

Steve: “Let’s get to the post office and send it off right away before I think of something else to correct.”

Jill: “You’re right, let’s get there quick. No more revisions.”

Car is at the post office.

Steve gets out of the Mustang with the box.

Steve gets back in waving a registered mail receipt.

Jill is listening to music, humming a tune, a strange, mischievous look on her face.

Steve: “That’s it. Done. Finished. Complete. Tout fini. Now, what should we do to celebrate.”

Jill pauses, acts like she’s thinking. Then she looks at him with a fake, enthusiast look on her face, like she’s going to suggest they go to Disneyland.

Jill: “I’ve got an idea! We can become a foster parents!”

Steve laughs. Then he looks at Jill. She doesn’t seem to be kidding. Steve stops laughing. He looks confused.

Steve: “Ahhh, what? Whaddaya mean?”

Jill: “You don’t remember, do you. We went and visited my friend Sarah in Escondido. She’s had lots of foster kids. We met some of them. When we got home I said I wanted to do that. You said you couldn’t even think about it until you finished your dissertation. Well, it’s done.”

Steve’s facial expression changes, reflecting confusion, the dawning realization that Jill didn’t want to drive with him to celebrate finishing his dissertation. As usual, she had an ulterior motive. Steve shows feelings of annoyance, betrayal.

Steve: “But you didn’t say anything else about it. That must have been two years ago.”

Jill: “You said you didn’t want talk about it until you were finished.”

Steve: “Yeah, but I didn’t mean that literally.”

Jill: “But I kept my end of the deal.”

Steve: Look, I probably said we could talk about it when I was done. I’m sure I didn’t mean we’d do it when I was done.”

Jill: “Okay, but I’ve waited two years and I want to do it. Who worked to pay the bills while you got you your PhD?”

Steve: “Hey, wait, I worked a lot too.”

Jill: “Right, adjunct and part time. But I brought home the dinero. Now it’s your turn to do something for me. You’re done your dissertation and you’ve got a job. I’ve got a job. We’ll sell our condo and get a house and help some kids.”

Steve: “But I want kids of my own who’ll play sports and do the stuff I did when I was a kid. . . wait, did you say sell our condo?”

Jill: “Yes, sell our condo. It’s not a kid’s place. Get over it. Now regarding the ‘my own kids thing’ you said, we haven’t been able to have kids. So let’s foster some kids who wanna play sports and do the stuff you did when you were a kid. Nobody else wants them. There aren’t enough foster parents and there’s 30,000 kids just in the LA County system. These kids don’t have parents and unless people like us help, they’ll be raised by group home staff. They’re good people, but not the same as a home and parents.”

Steve feels like a cornered hypocrite. His work focused on social justice for the poor, etc.

Steve: “Okay. When you’re right, you’re right . . . I think. I’ll make you a deal. If you take care of all the details, appointments, paperwork, all that stuff, I’ll go where you tell me, when you tell me. I’ll do what I have to. Once we’ve gone through the process we can decide if we still want to do it.”

Jill: “I’ll still want to do it. We will still want to do it. Deal. Let’s get started.”

Steve and Jill start to drive home. Steve is silent. He feels sick to his stomach. He looks confused, in shock, behind the wheel. . . and bitter.

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