HOMESTEAD, Fla. — Sol snuggled on the couch across from the Christmas tree and proudly showed off the dog her foster parents had given her because he got all A's even though she had crossed the southern border into the US and knew very little English.
“They helped me a lot,” the 14-year-old eighth-grader said. Then she blushed, buried her face in Cosmo's fur and added in Spanish, “Oooh, I said that in English!”
Sol — originally from Argentina — is one of tens of thousands of children arriving in the United States without a parent, during a massive wave of immigrants that is sparking debates in Congress to change asylum laws.
Faith and community groups across the country are trying to recruit many more foster families to help move children out of overwhelmed government facilities. U.S. authorities encountered nearly 140,000 unaccompanied minors at the border with Mexico in fiscal year 2023, according to U.S. Customs and Border Protection. According to the latest data, there are still nearly 10,000 people in custody of the Department of Health and Human Services' Office of Refugee Resettlement.
“It's amazing how many children are coming,” said Mónica Farías, who directs the Archdiocese of Miami's Unaccompanied Refugee Minors Program for Catholic Charities. “We are actively recruiting parents.”
Program leaders go to churches and other community organizations every weekend to find more families like Andy and Caroline Hazelton, Sol's foster parents.
Over the past four years, the Hazeltons — a couple in their early 30s living in a Miami suburb with three biological daughters, ages 8, 6 and almost 2 — have hosted five migrant minors for several months and for shorter periods longer. Two teenagers were from Afghanistan, but most were from Central America.
“Our faith inspired us,” said Andy Hazelton, adding that they felt the need to respond to the Gospel's admonition to help others as you would help Jesus when they heard of families being separated at the border.
Like other foster families, the Hazeltons say their focus is not on the often starkly divisive immigration politics, but simply on helping children in need. A globe decoration on their living room Christmas tree is marked with dots for the birthplaces of each family member.
“Every Christmas we have new children in the house,” said Caroline Hazelton, adding that even the Muslim Afghan teenagers, who had never seen a stocking overflowing with presents, quickly joined the festivities.
Like most youth in these programs, these boys were eventually reunited with their biological families; the mother hugged Caroline for ten minutes, sobbing with gratitude. With Sol, whose father went missing during the desert journey, and other children without family in the United States, foster care obligations can last years.
As Sol packed her school lunch in a 'Stranger Things' bag under Cosmo's watchful eye, the Hazeltons said they would be happy for her to stay forever and were already referring to their four daughters.
Regardless of the length of stay, foster parents say they need to give the children enough stability to become familiar with unfamiliar American customs — from air conditioning to strict school routines — and to learn more English.
“We will never be like their parents. Thank God we live in a country where things can be easier,” said Carlos Zubizarreta. He himself was a foster child 50 years ago and has been a foster parent in the Miami area for nearly 20 years to about 30 children, in addition to biological, now adult children.
Still, he always finds it difficult when each foster child leaves after sharing dinners, vacations and household chores such as car maintenance. Zubizarreta plans to continue fostering as long as he feels God is calling him to do so.
In Baltimore, Jason Herring spent a year as a foster father to five children from Central America through a Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Service program that focuses on short-term care for those whose return to birth parents is under government review. .
He says he is not religious. Initially, he was concerned that he would not be accepted into the program because he was gay. That led him to sympathize with the plight of children who suffer from decisions made by adults over which they have no power.
“I understand what it feels like to be the other person,” he said. “You don't have to be a perfect parent, just be there.”
Like all foster families, those who care for unaccompanied migrant children must be licensed by their state and often receive additional training specific to immigration law and trauma, said Amanda Nosel, foster care program manager for Lutheran Agency in Baltimore.
“There is certainly a national shortage of foster parents at the moment. We have so many children who need homes,” Nosel said.
Adapting to a new country in a caring family environment is especially important given the deep and increasing trauma these children carry from what they had to flee in their country during the journey to the United States.
“It's trauma on top of trauma on top of trauma. Kids are just living in survival mode,” said Sarah Howell, a clinical social worker in Houston with long experience counseling migrant children, including a teenage girl she is raising.
They often internalize fear and grief to such an extent that they appear mature beyond their years, while still terrified that a new family relationship will abandon them. It takes a while before foster parents are relieved when they see normal child or teen behavior emerge – even if that means refusing everything except junk food or sibling bickering, it's still a sign of normalcy.
“They're all kids, but they're adults,” said Bernie Vilar, who works as a mentor at a home for vulnerable youth, including those aging out of Catholic Charities foster care in Miami. Vilar, 24, was homeless when he was younger, and he tries to pass on the passion for education that helped him survive that.
But he says many are too burdened by the debt they owe to the smugglers who brought them to the US to be interested in anything other than work, while others struggle with depression after witnessing death and violence.
Brandon Garcia, 20, appears to have beaten the odds. After crossing alone at the age of 15 because his parents told him he would have no opportunities in Guatemala's indigenous highlands, he lived with the Hazeltons for six months and now resides in the Vilar group home, where he attended technical school completes.
He still misses his family, but loves the Hazeltons' daughters as his own sisters. At a holiday party at a suburban Miami bowling alley hosted by the Catholic Charities program, he played with them intermittently between bites of pizza and courted strikes with other young men.
Garcia said the speed at which he adapted to the United States was difficult, but he never thought about going back. His happiest moment came when the Hazeltons took him to the Orlando theme parks — a holiday tradition they plan to continue with Sol this year — and they watched the fireworks.
“I felt the same happiness as with my family,” Garcia said. “I said to myself: this is a country with great opportunities, and I must take advantage of them.”
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