He adopted nine Black girls in 1979 — 46 years later, here’s where they are now.
He Adopted Nine Black Girls in 1979 — 46 Years Later, Here’s Where They Are Now
It was 1979 — a year marked by disco lights, political unrest, and the lingering echoes of civil rights marches. In a quiet neighborhood outside Columbus, Ohio, one man made a decision that defied every social expectation of his time.
His name was Robert Carter, a 34-year-old bachelor who lived alone in a modest two-story home. He wasn’t rich, famous, or politically connected. He was simply a man who couldn’t stand watching life deal unfair cards to children who had already lost too much.
That year, he did something almost unthinkable — he adopted nine young Black girls, all from the foster care system.
The newspapers called it “an act of madness” at the time. Some called him a hero; others whispered behind his back. “A single man raising nine girls? He won’t last a year,” one neighbor said. But Robert never listened. He only saw what most people refused to see — that love, in its purest form, was not limited by color, gender, or biology.
The Beginning of a Family
The nine girls came from fractured stories — neglect, loss, and years bouncing between temporary homes. The youngest, Marsha, was only four. The oldest, Denise, was nearly sixteen and already tired of being disappointed by adults.
When they first arrived, Robert remembered, “They didn’t smile much. They didn’t trust anyone. They were waiting for the day I’d give up on them too.”
At first, the house was chaos. Nine toothbrushes by the sink, nine shoes missing their pair, nine little hearts unsure if they were finally home. But slowly, laughter began to echo through the halls. Robert learned to braid hair, to cook for an army, to comfort a child after nightmares. He made Saturday pancakes a ritual and Sunday walks to the park a tradition.
He wasn’t perfect — but he was present. And for children who had known nothing but instability, that presence became everything.
A Community Divided
The late 1970s weren’t kind to people who broke social norms. Interracial adoption was still controversial, and the sight of a single Black man raising nine Black girls without a wife challenged every stereotype the world clung to.
Local papers ran headlines like “Single Man Takes in Nine Foster Daughters — Can He Handle It?”
Church leaders and neighbors debated behind closed doors. Some offered help — casseroles, old furniture, babysitting. Others avoided him altogether, convinced that something “wasn’t right.”
Robert never wavered. “If I worried about what people thought,” he once said, “I’d have never brought them home.”
He focused instead on building a home filled with safety and structure. The girls had chores, curfews, and rules — but also bedtime stories, music, and warmth. Every holiday, they gathered around a tiny tree and made homemade ornaments with their names on them. Each year, one more piece of that tree filled with love.
Struggles Behind the Smiles
It wasn’t easy. Raising nine children on a teacher’s salary meant sacrifice. Robert took extra jobs — tutoring at night, coaching basketball on weekends — to keep food on the table.
There were moments when the electricity bill came due before the paycheck arrived. Once, the family lived off beans and rice for two weeks straight. But the girls never forgot how he handled those hard days: with calm and humor.
“When we didn’t have much,” said Carolyn, now 54, “he’d say, ‘We’re rich in all the ways that count.’”
Still, beneath the love, there were battles. Some of the girls carried deep trauma — fear of abandonment, anger, confusion. A few ran away as teenagers, searching for something they didn’t yet understand. Each time, Robert brought them back, not with anger but with tears and open arms.
“He didn’t give up,” said Angela, one of the middle sisters. “He taught us that family doesn’t quit on you — even when you mess up.”
Becoming Women
As the years rolled by, the little girls became women. They graduated high school — one by one — with Robert cheering in the stands, camera in hand.
Denise became a nurse. Angela opened a small bakery. Sharon joined the military. Marsha, the youngest, became a social worker helping foster kids — “to give back what was given to me,” she said.
By the 1990s, Robert’s home had turned quiet. The laughter had moved out into the world, replaced by phone calls, visits, and the proud noise of grandchildren. He never remarried, never sought the spotlight. His joy was in the family he built — one he didn’t inherit, but created.
46 Years Later
Today, in 2025, all nine women are in their 50s and 60s. They live across the United States — from Atlanta to Chicago to Los Angeles — but every year, they return to Ohio to visit the man who changed their lives.
Last spring, they gathered for the 46th anniversary of their adoption. They rented a small community hall, filled it with old photographs, and surprised Robert — now 80 years old — with a simple but powerful message:
“You didn’t just save us. You raised us.”
The reunion was emotional. Tears flowed, laughter echoed, and stories of those early days poured out like a movie script — the burnt pancakes, the school plays, the nights when all nine girls squeezed onto the same bed to watch TV because they just didn’t want to be alone.
“He taught us love was action,” said Sharon, holding Robert’s hand. “That love isn’t what you say, it’s what you do — every day, without giving up.”
Legacy Beyond Blood
Robert’s act of courage had ripple effects far beyond his home. Two of his daughters went on to become foster parents themselves. Another started a nonprofit supporting single fathers who adopt.
“When people ask why I do it,” said Marsha, “I tell them it’s because my dad showed me what one person can do when they refuse to walk away.”
The story of Robert Carter and his nine daughters has since inspired documentaries, school programs, and countless foster parents across America. But for him, none of that matters as much as Sunday dinners — where his girls, now women, sit around the same table, their laughter still filling the room.
The Measure of Love
When asked, in a recent interview, what kept him going all those years, Robert paused for a long moment before answering.
“People think love is a feeling,” he said quietly. “But love is work. It’s showing up when it’s hard, when you’re tired, when the world tells you you can’t. Love is getting up every day and choosing them — even when they don’t choose you back.”
The room fell silent. The girls nodded, tears in their eyes.
A Story That Still Matters
In a world still wrestling with race, family, and belonging, Robert’s story remains a quiet revolution.
He didn’t change laws or lead protests. But by opening his home, he challenged stereotypes more powerfully than any speech could.
He showed that fatherhood isn’t defined by biology — it’s defined by commitment.
He proved that love can be both ordinary and extraordinary at the same time.
Forty-six years later, nine women — once lost in the foster system — now stand as mothers, grandmothers, and leaders, each carrying a piece of the man who gave them a chance.
And Robert Carter, sitting in his old armchair surrounded by photos and memories, smiles as he says the same words he told his daughters decades ago:
“You were never my charity. You were always my choice.”
