They didn’t expect him to make it 😍❤️👨🏼‍🎓

This is my little brother Willie and he graduated 5th grade today at 12 years old. He’ll be 13 in December.

You all might be thinking, “it took him that long? What horrible parents he must’ve had.” And you’re right. But his biological parents are not the parents who have and will raise him. My biological parents are. And they’ve changed his and his (biological) older sister’s lives. We all did.

My family received them in foster care when she was 5 and he was 3. We adopted them 2 years later when she was 7 and he was still 4. She was a bit more spoiled than he had ever imagined being, so she was fine (aside from feeling entitled lol). I love them both. My family loves them both. They had such a bad reputation in foster care that if we didn’t adopt them, they’d spend the rest of their childhood growing up in an orphanage. My family raised 2 respectable adults who were taught discipline, respect, love, tough love, nurturing, wisdom...and the list goes on. They wanted to add 2 more little ones to our family and so far, they’ve been successful.

My sister has grown SO much since we first got them. She’s respectful, and responds to discipline much better than she used to. Her bio-mom did hurt her sometimes, though. She had my little sister, DeArah, put her hands in a windowsill. She slammed the window shut and broke all of her fingers. She was at least under 5. She had more silver teeth than she did natural ones...her teeth, her baby teeth, had corroded down to nearly nothing. She calls for me when something doesn’t make sense to her or she needs advice. She asks for me if she’s in an uncomfortable situation and even something small like, “Dasia will you teach me how to comb my hair like yours?” Or “Dasia will you teach my how to flat iron my hair?” “Dasia, can you paint my nails?” My favorite: “Dasia will you do my makeup?” To which I always responded with a, “HELL NO, YOU 8!!” Lol all the while putting some blush on her. She looks up to me. Wow...just wow. Someone looks up to me and that’s even more motivation (not a mommy yet) for me to keep myself together. To prove to them they can achieve great things. They have both been through more than most adults. Their eyes have seen horror, Hell, vile, mind-killing, jaw clenching, cringe worthy disturbing scenes than not anyone should have to...all before they turned a year old (they were finally in foster care when his sister was 3 and he was just 1). They kept letting that woman keep having them back, even after both of them being born with opiates in their system.

But Willie...where can I even start?

He was so severely neglected that his brain was underdeveloped (function-wise). His MRI pretty much told us that he has a VERY slim chance of making it without out someone. By slim, I mean less than 5% if my memory serves me correctly. My parents were told to make arrangements to take care of him for the rest of his life.

He was afraid of loud music because that’s what their biological mom would do when she beat him. She turned the music up so loud that no one can hear him crying and begging for her to stop, screaming howls of agonizing pain at younger than 3 years old. She beat him often, but made it a mission to beat him every time his sister had a birthday. Every. Single. Time.

If he tried to stand up for longer than about 15 minutes...he would fall down (by just standing) because he was so severely beaten that his knee cap was twisted when we got them. Completely twisted about 90° outward.

Their biological mom made DeArah climb on top of the stove, turn on the burner, and place a metal spoon on it to get it hot...then she made her burn Willie with it.

He didn’t learn his ABCs, his colors, or how to count past 10 until he was 7. He couldn’t pronounce his S’s, his Th’s or any semi-difficult pronunciation until he was about 6, couldn’t smile correctly (he had never had a picture taken and been told to smile). With all of that pain, agony, and suffering he endured, he was the most humble child any of us had ever encountered. We played dirty Santa once, and he chose the smallest gift. We purposely made the biggest gifts theirs. We asked him if he wanted to trade for the big one (he was still 3) and he said, “nah, I just keep ‘dis one.” My eyes watered over. I just couldn’t believe my ears. He was happy just to have something, anything, and know he was thought of, loved, and important. None of which he’d ever felt.

My parents aren’t in the business of “oh well, we’re not even gonna try with [insert kid’s name], it’s useless.”

They don’t play that shit. They knuckled down and I’ll be damned if he didn’t respond MUCH better than what any doctor, counselor, or teacher had faith in him to do.

Those are the kind of parents we have, and I couldn’t be more proud. My bio-bro and I are grown and gone, and they were pretty much done. My bio-bro was 16 at the time we got them in foster care. 2 years and they were kid free. God told them to be parents again, to kids who NEED discipline, love, structure, wisdom, and to know they will never be abandoned again. My parents are perfect for that task, and take it with more pride and most. Praise be to God, I couldn’t be more proud to be their big sister.

Our entire family loves and protects them, like we all have the same blood running through our veins. They fit right in; loud, goofy, and greedy in the food department lol.

Please, take a moment to tell my little brother congratulations! WE LOVE YOU WILLIE!!!!!