Dear Ric,

Here is Corina's story. She wants her name on it. The only editing was for words so misspelled that their meaning was too vague and/or misleading. She was about 8 yrs old at the time, and about 10 when she wrote it.

As you probably know, though there are many such atrocities perpetrated by DCYF, there are few first hand accounts like this one.

This is solely Corina's. She wrote it (at my request) with no advice or other assistance whatsoever.

Sincerely, /s/ Robert Nichols (Honorary) Grandfather

The night I had been taken away from my home was I guess around the time when I was in fourth grade. I'm not too clear about the date or the timing now, because I've been trying to erase those memories pretty much. I don't really care to remember them, because they weren't anything worth remembering. It was an experience that I couldn't fully understand or question. Though I don't remember the date or the time I can remember every event that happened during the time I was taken away from my home and from my parents and family. The DCYF's people first aloud my mother to let me stay with my grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Nichols, for one night, since the DCYF wouldn't allow me to stay with my mother. I felt glad that I was with my grandparents, because I knew them and because I thought I would be just staying for the night. I never thought I'd be away from home for so long. My grandparents tried to get the DCYF to let me stay with them until I could go back to my mother, but they wouldn't let me stay. I didn't understand why they would put me in a home where I didn't know anyone and where I felt so out of place and insecured. The day I went to stay at the foster home was the day that I felt like a prisoner and that I had done something wrong. They took me to Pembroke, to stay with a lady who had two other foster kids living with her. The lady was nice, in away. She didn't talk much about my reasons for having to stay with her or when I could go home. The first day I met her was in the DCYF's office building. I assumed she worked there, since she was clearly well known. I was assured that I would be taken care of and that there wasn't anything to be worried about. But there was sure hell a lot to worry about. I didn't know how my mother was doing and I didn't get to ask my questions and the DCYF's people didn't even tell me why they were keeping me away from my parents. I wanted to make sure my mother was safe and that I would soon be home. I was clearly way to far from school, so I didn't know how I was going to get there. But that problem was solved and it was the only answer I got for many of my questions. Nothing more was said to me when the woman drove us to her house. The lady lived in a large house that was divided in to two apartments. The people next door also had some foster kids. I was introduce to two girls. One of them was the lady's own daughter and the other one was a foster kid who had stayed with the lady for a long period of time. The lady had me sleep on a fold-up bed in her daughter's room. I felt weird sleeping in a room with a perfect stranger, even if she was nice to me. The first night I spent in the foster home was the most scariest experience I had ever had. I heard noises that I thought were foot steps and I thought I heard voices. I didn't get much sleep that night or the other nights I was in that house. The lady didn't asked how I slept and she didn't even show me how I was to get out if in case of a fire. I was left hanging. But it wasn't that bad, the lady left me alone to myself and sometimes the foster girl would talk to me and that I found little comfort, but some. There was no one I trusted there. I didn't trust the lady or the two girls, even though I felt a little close to the foster girl since she went through what I was going through. I tried my best to stay brave and to think positive. The only time I felt safe and happy was when I could phone my mother and talk to her. I tried to sound brave over the phone and that I was doing okay. I didn't want my mother to worry, since the DCYF's people were breathing down her neck. I wanted to say so many things to them, to tell them they were being cruel and stupid and that I despised them and that they were not doing their jobs right. I wanted to yell at them so many times that it chocked in my throat. Every day, before I was taken to school, a woman and a man would question me in an empty room. They questioned me from around five o'clock in the morning till about seven, which was the time I would be taken to school. Sometimes I was late for school and I would get so many questions from my friends. I had so many questions being asked that I felt like a cocoon being pried open with no defense to protect me. I was as vulnerable as any child, but no one seemed to care if I was or wasn't. The man and woman who asked me endless question every morning wouldn't let me be unless I gave them an answer that they wanted. It seemed like they would never let me go, like they were keeping me prisoner. I knew my rights were being violated, even if I was only a kid. I was taught that I had a right to speak my thoughts and that no one could take that from me. But I couldn't speak my thoughts, I could only speak words that they wanted. I didn't understand my own words and I couldn't understand their questions. I hated them for that, I hated them for taking me away from my home, from my parents, from my friends, and from my feeling of security. The DCYF took everything away from me, I can never forget. They took my childhood right there and than. I tried to forget, I've even tried to understand why they did what they did, but no answer comes to my mind. The only definition I can give about my time in that foster home is that it was pure hell. I was being ripped open and I held my breath every day to be able to go home. I felt nothing, but pure hate for the DCYF's people, for the man and for the woman who endlessly tried to pick my brain. They took my rights and they took my mother's feeling of security. My mother is so scared of the DCYF, that she sometimes won't let me go somewhere because she afraid that I'll be snatched up by them again. My mother didn't do anything wrong and she had always comforsted me when I felt scared or sad. But she was punished by the DCYF for doing just that. I don't know anything else to say, except that the DCYF should look back on what they are to stand for, because what their doing is wrong and cruel. They broke my family's feeling of safety, how can anyone forgive them of that. I sure hell cant. They not only snatched me from home, but they also snatched me from everything I believed of the law and the way the justice system works. There's no justice for my family and for me.

The day after the DCYF's people came to my house, forcing me to stay the night at my grandparent's house. We, M. and Mrs. Nichols, went to the Concord Police Department to see about me staying with them until the DCYF case was over. Grandpa went to park the car and Grandma and I went inside to sit down. While Grandpa was till outside some people took me away from Grandma. They took me to a room on the second floor of the building. In the room was a long table with many chairs. In two of the chairs a man and a woman was sitting, apparently they were waiting for me. I'm not too sure what they had around them, but I'm almost sure they had a little recording caset in hand. The woman introduced herself and so did the man, who set next to her. I don't quite remember what their names are anymore, since I didn't like them very much. They were too nosy, they kept asking me stupid questions that I didn't want to answer. Questions like, "Do you know why you're being kept away from your mother?" How the hell was I spouse to know why. They also asked me other questions that I felt were to dumb and to stupid to answer. When they were done it seemed like hours had passed. I don't remember if I saw my grandparents after that, all that I remember next happening was that I was in a car heading for the DCYF's office building which I didn't know where it was located. The only thing that occured me that I was in Pembroke was the sights I saw. The car passed buildings my mother and I went to and stores that we shopped. My memories assured me that I was not being taken out if states, which brought me little comfort, since I was still shrouded by strangers. When we reached the DCYF's office building the man and the woman took me to another fairly large empty room and started to ask me more dumb questions. I started to weaken, didn't even understand what I was saying, and I didn't really care, because I wanted them to leave me alone and to take me back to my mother and grandparents. So, when I answered a stupid question with a stupid answers they finely lightened up a bit. They gave me easier questions to ask like, "Do you love your mother", "Do you love your dad." Questions like that. I thought they would let me go home after that, but boy was I wrong. The fat lady who had been asking me endless questions took me out of the room and introduced me to a curly haired woman who turned out to be the lady who owned the foster house I was to stay at. When I was told I was to stay with her and that I was to come back with her every morning before I went to school, I knew they were not done with the questions. I knew I was going to be agonized again. So, the following week the lady took me back to the DCYF's building again at around five o'clock every morning before I was ushered to school. The man and the woman asked me more dumb questions in the same large room every morning. It occurred to me that they would not let me be until I answered them with a many stupid answers. Some were so stupid and ironic that I myself didn't know what I was was saying. At some point they asked me things that I didn't feel comfortable being asked. But no matter how many times I gave them my answer they still asked the question with more force. Giving me a choice to answer to. I finely just gave in, because they were keeping me later than usual. I changed my answer for they would finely let me go. I never felt so stupid when I gave her my up turned answer. When she heard it she seemed satisfied and finely let me go to school. I felt like a bully had just taken my lunch money. I swear I could of just screamed at them, they were putting words in to my mouth and I didn't like it, not one bit. I was smaller than them and still they chose to bully me, they sure were merciless and aggressive, they just wouldn't let go. I don't know if they were taught to be the way they were or if they were just born like that, hungry as wolves and aggressive as lions.

Contact Ric Werme or return to his home page.

Last updated 2000 June 26.