20th Anniversary Spotlight on our 1st All-Star College Scholarship Graduate – Josh Perrin

In honor of our 20th anniversary, we wanted to spotlight our first college scholarship graduate, Josh Perrin. Through our program, Josh graduated from the University of Colorado. Today, he works as an architect in Boulder, Colorado. He graduated in 2016 but continues to pay it forward as he is active in our UMPS CARE Charities scholarship committee. He played an instrumental role in helping us incorporate a mentorship component to our program.

Today, our program is much more than a check. In addition to receiving $10,000 annually for college expenses, our scholarship recipients are also paired with a mentor from the MLB Umpire community.

Here is the story, in Josh’s own words, of how UMPS CARE Charities played a key role in his life from the keynote speech he delivered at our Golf Classic in January.

First, I want to thank UMPS CARE Charities for having me here today—and thank you to every person in this room for showing up to support this work. I feel fortunate and genuinely proud to be here.

For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Josh Perrin, and I was the first graduate of the UMPS CARE Charities All-Star Scholarship program. Which is a fancy way of saying… I’m the one they let in before they knew exactly what they were doing.
Kidding. Mostly.

I’m here tonight because UMPS CARE changed the trajectory of my life. And I want to share what that really means—what it felt like then, what it means now, and why your support matters so much to young people who come from foster care.

The Beginning

I still vividly remember the beginning of my journey into the foster care system… the first time.

I remember being 12 years old, waking up in the middle of the night to commotion that didn’t make sense. I remember flashing lights from police cars cutting across the darkness outside. I remember the shapes of uniforms in the hallway. I remember the feeling that it couldn’t be real—like I had to be dreaming.

And I remember that only hours earlier, I had tucked my two little sisters into bed because it was a school night. I remember trying to do what I thought was my job—be the responsible one. Protect them. Keep things normal.

The next day was a Thursday. I was supposed to be at school with my friends. Instead, I was sitting with my sisters—who were 6 and 11 at the time—in an interview room at a police department for most of the day. I remember staring at a clock on the wall and noticing a tiny camera hidden in it, and thinking, Why would a camera be there? I remember hearing someone laugh down the hall and feeling confused—because none of this was funny.

After hours of questions, it was just me and my sisters in that room, alone again. But we were together. And at that moment, being together felt like the only thing that mattered.

Then a detective came back and told us we were going to be placed into foster care.

I remember struggling to process those words. I remember thinking that foster care only happened in movies. And then I remember being told that there wasn’t space for all three of us to stay together—that I would have to be separated because I was the oldest.

That was the moment I realized it wasn’t a dream.

The Reality of Foster Care

The realities of foster care are hard to explain to people who haven’t lived it. And it’s important to say this clearly: foster kids are so much more than statistics.

But the statistics do tell a story.

On any given day, there are around 400,000 children in the foster care system in the United States. That’s enough kids to fill about ten major league ballparks at once.

And foster care doesn’t just mean living somewhere else. It can mean disruption to every part of your life: your school, your friends, your sense of safety, your identity, your confidence, your ability to plan for the future.

When I was placed into foster care again at 15, this time with my aunt who lived two towns away from my high school, everything got complicated—fast. We were facing leaving our schools, our friends, our routines, our support systems.

I wanted normal so badly that I chose to stay at my high school. That meant taking three buses across two towns—every morning—before my first class at 7:30 a.m. I was lucky I even had that choice.

For many kids, foster care becomes a rotating door of placements. It can mean bouncing between foster homes, group homes, relatives. And with every move, kids don’t just leave behind belongings—they leave behind teachers who know them, friendships, mentors, the familiar hallway at school, the one adult who was starting to feel safe.

By the time a foster youth turns 17, many have changed schools multiple times. That kind of inconsistency makes it incredibly hard to build academic momentum.

And when we talk about outcomes—high school graduation rates, college enrollment, college completion—the numbers can be sobering. Please note the numbers are fairly fluid and change every year, but…

• Around 50% of foster youth graduate from high school.
• Around 35% enroll in college, but only 3-4% earn a four-year degree.

Whether those exact figures land slightly higher or lower depending on the study or the year, the bigger truth is consistent: the odds are steep—and foster youth often have to climb without the support many others take for granted. Not because they aren’t capable. Not because they don’t work hard. But because stability, mentorship, financial support, and encouragement are often missing.

Foster care can teach you how to survive. But rarely does it provide the opportunity to thrive.

The Turning Point

That’s why the mission of UMPS CARE matters so much.

Their motto is: “Helping People is an Easy Call.”

UMPS CARE Charities—founded 20 years ago in 2006—represents the philanthropic arm of Major League Baseball umpires. And the All-Star College Scholarship program is one of their signature programs, carefully built to provide not only financial aid, but also mentorship and support to youth who were adopted later in life or who aged out of the foster care system.

The scholarship provides $10,000 per year for four years, up to $40,000 total.

When I was 17, I was adopted by my amazing aunt. Shortly after that, I received my acceptance letter to CU Boulder.

I was excited—until the reality hit.

I looked at the anticipated cost and felt overwhelmed. My aunt had stepped up in the biggest way possible, but like many families, she didn’t have the time or financial capacity to also fully pay for college. And I didn’t have parents who could guide me through financial aid, or family savings, or a safety net to catch me if things went wrong.

Applying for scholarships felt like my one shot.

With the help of my social worker, I found the All-Star Scholarship. And I gave that application everything I had.

What I remember most is this: the qualifications made me feel truly seen. It wasn’t asking me to pretend I came from a perfect background. It wasn’t asking me to hide my story. It recognized that my experience—and my resilience—had value.

And then I got a call from Jenn Jopling telling me I had been selected as the 2011 All-Star scholarship recipient. 

I felt supported by strangers. I felt empowered. I felt like someone was saying, “We believe you can do this.”

That moment changed the trajectory of my life.

And yes—$40,000 is a substantial amount of money, especially to a kid like me.

But it wasn’t just financial aid.

It was validation.

It was someone outside the system saying:

We see you.
We’re here for you.
We believe in you.

The Climb

Growing up in foster care, I learned how to read systems like it was a survival skill. When stability is rare, you learn to read people, environments, expectations. You learn to adapt fast.

I became a chameleon. Not to deceive—but to blend in. To avoid drawing attention. To stay safe. To feel normal.

I didn’t want people to know my past because I didn’t want to be labeled. I didn’t want it to define me.

And then something unexpected happened: that instinct to adapt became a strength.

I learned how to navigate high school—then college. And once I realized college was also a system with rules and structures, it became something I could master.

Today, about ten years out of college, I’m a licensed architect.

In my career, I design and manage complex systems—buildings with many interdependent parts that all have to work together for people to live, work, and thrive.

And I’ve come to realize something: what started as a survival mechanism eventually became a superpower—the ability to move through unfamiliar environments, decode them quickly, and find opportunities to succeed.

But I also know this: my superpower wasn’t enough.

I still needed help. A lot of it.

I needed UMPS CARE.

Because the scholarship wasn’t just money—it was mentorship, encouragement, accountability, and a community that made me determined to not let them down.

I felt a fierce drive to prove that their belief in me wasn’t wasted—that their time and investment mattered—and that I was worth it.

That kind of belief in someone can be fuel for such a malleable young person.

A Quick Update on My Sisters

I want to share a quick update on my sisters, because it matters to this story.

My 11-year-old sister is now 32. She went to college but didn’t graduate. She still struggles with mental health and addiction. She is an amazing human—a shining light—and she is still working to find her path.

My 6-year-old sister is now 28. She didn’t have the same opportunities to go to college the way I did, but through her resilience she has built a life she’s proud of. Her energy and positivity are contagious. And this past summer, she got married—and I was honored to walk her down the aisle.

And here’s why I share that: we come from the same beginning. We share a lot of the same pain. But support changes outcomes. Stability changes outcomes. And when you combine financial support with mentorship and community, you don’t just help someone survive—you give them a real shot at thriving.