Finding F After Car Ca SECTION PRIDE MONTH FEATURE
Kasmira Kincaid
Like most Care Experienced people I left home early. Although in my case it was my choice. You see, I thought I knew everything. I thought I was the smartest, wisest, most grown-person who’d ever existed, and in my mind it was quite frankly embarrassing that, at the grand old age of seventeen, I was still living “at home”. More than that, I wanted to go to Oxbridge. And I didn’t think any of the nearby Sixth Forms were up to the job of getting me there. So I applied to a Grammar School in the next city over and got an offer. Then in August I left my foster carer in Bristol for a flat of my own in Gloucester.
I’d never been more alone. Not only was I leaving care, I was also leaving all my friends, and even a large chunk of my biological family, who all still lived in Bristol. But the move also represented an opportunity of sorts. A fresh start away from all the people who’d always assumed I was straight, no matter how proficient I proved myself to be in assembling flat-packed furniture. Not long after arriving in Gloucester I cut off my hair, bought some Cherry-red Doc Martens, and joined the local LGBT Youth Group, which we called GayGlos. The idea of a found family is an old one in queer culture. Harkening back to the days when LGBT teens were routinely kicked out by their parents after coming out. Today we may live
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in somewhat more tolerant times, but with 24% of young homeless people identifying as LGBT, found families are still as necessary as ever. Whether they’re offering a network of spare rooms and sofas to sleep on in an emergency, or simply a space to feel comfortable in your own skin. In many ways GayGlos was like any other youth group. We met on alternate Saturdays, in old village halls and disused churches, made elaborate (and often disgusting) toasties, and fell in and out of friendship from one month to another. Whenever a new member was due to join, we’d all wait with baited breath hoping they were
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