You probably don't remember me.

I was the kid who wasn't born in the family.

The kid that looked up to you when the times got tough.

The kid that knew that one day you would save me.

The one kid that knew that at the end of the day knew that you were the saviors of the world.

I always respected you and will always have the utmost respect for you. I wanted to share with you, sir (or madam), how important you are to me and help you understand from the perspective of an outsider. I always trusted you.

I called you four times. But didn't have the courage to talk to you. I was being beaten and thought you could save me. I heard the screams of pain my sisters were going through and didn't have the courage to talk to you on the phone. I thought that if you came you would see what we were going on but you didn't know what to look for. You didn't even talk to me. You talked to those dark people. The ones that put me through so much pain. They told you it was a mistake. They didn't mean to call you.

And when you left, we got it worse. But you know what? I knew one day, just one day, you would pull through. You see, had I known what was going on was bad, I would have spoken up. But they told me it was normal, that what they were doing wasn't abuse. So you wouldn't save me. But I knew one day you would. I knew at 6 years old what I wanted to be. Not only to save others but I longed for the love you show your brothers and sisters in blue.

Hold that thought, we'll get back to that.

Let's go back to the day I created a plan, a plan to try to get your attention.

I pushed out the screen in my window to make it look like somebody had tried to break into my bedroom. But you didn't see it, so I thought to myself, what else can I do to get your attention? And I had it. I decided to use my finger to let all the air out of my dad's car tire. I didn't slash them — maybe I should have — but I used my small hands to let as much air out as I could. I took everything from the console of the car like pennies and miscellaneous things and put them all over the yard next to the car. I left the passenger door open. I did this two times before my adoptive parents called the police thinking that somebody was vandalizing the car. But you didn't see it again, so we continued living 10 miles in the country away from the city and five miles from the nearest town and away from the people.

And, most importantly, away from you.

I went through the abuse day by day. I even went to some program you had to try to straighten kids up. It wasn't overnight, it was just something to scare kids to behave. It was really gutsy of my adoptive mother, if you ask me. I had taken food from the cupboard because I was hungry and got in trouble and didn't get food. So she called you. Because she wanted to scare me into submission. So she drove me to your juvenile facility in hopes that it would scare me to not take food. Remember, she told me what she was doing was right. She told me molestation was normal with kids.

So I sat in that cell. I wasn't allowed to talk to you.

Because I was a "bad kid," you never asked me why I did it. Or asked me about myself. That was OK.

You tried to have other juveniles yell at me when I walked out. It was scary. But that was OK.

I knew what I did wasn't that bad, I was just hungry. I thought that if you knew you would understand. So, back to the abuse I went. I wrote you a letter but you didn't get it, my abusive adoptive mother found it. She found out I wanted to be a cop. She told me I wasn't normal that I would never be a cop, I had too many problems. Maybe she was right. But at the time, I was stubborn. I knew I was normal, I knew what I wanted, I wanted to be a hero, just like you. And I knew one day everything was going to be OK.

And one day, it was.

I remember it like it was yesterday. My sister ran away and told you about the abuse. It turns out those abusive parents were wrong, It was bad. And you saved us. You took us in your car to the interview place. You took us to First Light Advocacy. And that's where my journey began. You saw me a few times during my time in foster care. I knew I could always call you to save me now.

Despite the times you didn't believe, I knew you were still the savior. And would always be there to talk to me.

I could pick you out of a crowd. I saw how you interacted with your fellow officers. That was trust. The conversations you had. That was family. That was the family I wanted and wish I had. That was friendship. The circle is tight. It's hard to get into because at the end of the day, you don't know me. But I knew that was the kind of family I wanted. I know I will never get into your circle. But I will keep trying. I almost got in two years ago. I applied to the state police and I passed the written test, the physical test, and the oral interview with a board of officers. Then I got to the polygraph. It was crazy. Lots of questions that brought up a lot about my past and abuse. I don't know if that's why I wasn't selected to continue on but I will continue trying. And one day, I hope to be in that family, hope that one day I will find the family I long for.

But until then, know that I support you. You probably hear that a lot. I would have your back in a heartbeat. Because even though I am not in that family, your life still matters to me. You guys get so much bad publicity these days. But I know what you are. What the majority of you are. The saviors of all types of people, from all types of situations. You are the first line of defense in America against the abusive parent or spouse, to deliver that baby on the side of the road, to catch the person that just broke into that house.

Risking your life.

To save mine.

And millions of others.

Thank you for being you.

My hero.

Respectfully,

Matthew Peiffer

Foster child and child abuse advocate.