The state attorney is mercilessly describing me as a naive, unskilled young man who has NO idea what he’s getting into.
He’s not quite wrong: I’m terrified.
But when the judge bows over his stand, looking at me with absolute skepticism, he demands to know my TRUE MOTIVE.
He asks me why a young man in the best stage of his life would voluntarily sacrifice all his youth, his finances and his freedom for five children who are not even his own.
The room is silent.
I look at the older child, who is quietly drying up his little sister’s tears.
I take a deep breath, approach the microphone and tell the judge about the real reason why I’m doing this: a TRUTH I’ve never told anyone, not even my closest friends.
READ THE REST OF THE STORY IN THE FIRST COMMENT 
I was twenty-nine years old, single and I was terrified.
And yet, there I was, in a family court, preparing to ask a judge to put five children under the age of seven under my care.
Across the hall, the brothers remained huddled in a plastic bench. Six-year-old Eli was holding the boy, Noah, eighteen months old, on his lap. The four-year-old twins, Mason and Mia, squeezed their hands, while three-year-old Lila hid her face against Eli’s shoulder.
They had lost their parents three weeks earlier.
Now, in less than an hour, they were going to lose each other as well.
Three foster families had agreed to receive them, but none could take care of the five. By Friday, the children would be moved to three different counties.
I only knew them for twenty-one days, but thinking about them screaming at their brothers’ names while putting them in separate cars made me feel physically ill.
Eli looked at me.
Mr. Carter?
Only Carter, man.
