Kids Lost in the Translation

For a moment, her large almond eyes leave the television screen where Teletubbies frolic and wave. She scrunches up her eyebrows and lets you in on what she is thinking.

“Quiero mi mama” (I want my mama), the 5-year-old says in the only language she knows.

Sue Chrastka is the girl’s foster mother, caring temporarily for her and her 3-year-old brother because their birth mother was suspected of being on drugs.

Chrastka’s spacious house is filled with toys; her backyard is like a park. She has taken in neglected children for 12 years, offering a stable, cheerful home. But there is one skill she lacks despite her best intentions.

“I don’t speak Spanish,” said Chrastka, 48. “I know it can be overwhelming for them culturally.”

A shortage of Spanish-speaking foster families in increasingly diverse Orange County is forcing social workers to place children in homes where language and cultural barriers compound an already difficult situation, officials say.

“Our pool of licensed families is lagging behind the demographic changes,” said Pat Wiggins, a supervisor with the county’s Children and Family Services agency. “It is hard on the children because they can’t communicate with their foster parents and they are already suffering from the separation from their biological families.”

There are no statewide figures but officials say the problem is common in other diverse communities.

“The outreach typically has not gone into the communities where English is not the first language,” said Sylvia Pizzini, deputy director with the California Department of Social Services. “It is something we need to work on more.”

Of the 630 licensed foster homes in the county, less than 50 are Spanish-speaking. In contrast, about 44% of the children who pass through Orangewood Children’s Home--a shelter for those awaiting a new home--are Latino and many can’t speak English. There are between 1,200 and 1,400 abused or neglected children in the county’s foster-care system at any time.

Social workers say they also need foster families who speak Vietnamese, Korean and other languages, but Spanish-speakers are a priority. Although the shortage of such families does not mean the children are being neglected, workers are left to find culturally compatible homes outside the county, or place children locally in English-speaking homes.

Such arrangements are less than ideal, the workers acknowledge. Children placed outside the county have a harder time keeping in touch with birth families and that hinders reunification efforts. Those placed in English-speaking homes face challenges for themselves and the caretakers.

Career Change From Banker to Foster Mom

Challenge is nothing new to Chrastka and her husband, Joe, 44, a financial consultant. The couple became licensed foster parents 12 years ago, caring for children with special medical needs. Their son Jeremy, 14, was born with cerebral palsy and is blind. They decided to adopt two disabled children. Katie, 14, is deaf, and Hayden, 9, needs to be fed through a tube because of a birth defect. The couple are legal guardians to two boys with learning disabilities, Marcos, 12, and Steven, 9.

“This is where I’ve been called,” said Chrastka, who quit her job in banking when she decided to become a foster mom.

Her house is run with military precision. Her five children are up at 6 a.m. They are fed and dressed and sent on their way to school. She also cares for three foster children, including the two Spanish-speaking siblings and a 6-year-old boy. They are up at 6:30 or 7:00. After the tables are cleaned from the first batch, breakfast is served a second time.

Chrastka takes the language barrier in stride.

One recent morning, she was watching the three foster children play in the backyard. As the 3-year-old boy struggled to get on a swing, Chrastka prompted him.

“Do you need help?” she called out. The boy nodded. “Say, ‘Help, please.’ ”

“Help please,” the boy repeated while his sister peeked from the jungle gym with her first smile of the day.

Later, the nanny called out that lunch was ready. The trio rushed to the house with Chrastka reminding them, “Take off your shoes before you go in.”

The girl looked toward Chrastka. “Take off your shoes,” the foster mom repeated.

“OK,” the girl responded just before entering the house, her shoes still on.

“Well, it doesn’t always work,” Chrastka said, smiling.

The children gulped down bowls of noodle soup and chomped on toast and orange slices.

“Is it good?” they were asked. Little heads bobbed up and down.

But beyond the basic communication that keeps the children fed, dressed and in good care, there are certain things the language barrier prevents the children from sharing with Chrastka. The household’s nanny, Norma Canas, said she knows what they are.

“They seem to open up to me a little more,” Canas, a native of El Salvador, said in Spanish. “The little girl cried so much when she first came. She hugged me and called me ‘Mama.’ She told me about her family and the fights her parents had. I think it helps that they can talk to me. They have so much held up inside, it helps to let it out.”

Since December, Children and Family Services has been aggressively recruiting in the Latino community. The efforts are slowly paying off, said Juan Herrera, a senior social worker in charge of recruiting. But it is an uphill battle.

“There are a lot of myths out there,” Herrera said. “People think they have to be rich or be U.S. citizens [which is not true]. So there is a lot of education we still need to do.”

The county on Tuesday licensed 10 more Spanish-speaking foster homes after the families completed the required six-day course. It was the largest such class ever, but still far below the 34 families who recently completed the English course.

“In our culture, with extended families, we help each other out,” said Maria Renteria, a veteran Latina foster mother. “If someone is in trouble, there is always a brother, a sister or grandparents who can pitch in. It is a little harder to have them care for a stranger’s child. But in a way, the community, we are all one big family.”

Renteria, an Anaheim resident, cares for three foster children along with three of her own. She spoke to those gathered for the Spanish licensing class just before their graduation.

“When a [foster] child leaves you it gives you so much sadness,” the 41-year-old Mexican native said. “But I’m also happy because he will be reunited with his family.” She paused. “My [foster] girl--when she first came I asked her ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ She said, ‘Astronaut.’ Four times I asked, and she said, ‘Astronaut.’ Now she says she wants to be a mother.”