IS FOSTERING A PROFESSION?

It baulks with me that we foster parents are sometimes regarded as amateurs.

One of the foster parents in my Blue Sky support group is a lecturer in child development. To be precise she's Head of Child Development at a prestigious college. She's a qualified Primary School teacher, a former Youth Club Chief Officer and single-handedly built one of the first Adventure Playgrounds in the UK. She has a Masters in managment. She's been a foster mum for ten or twelve years, and is absolute mustard.

One of our social workers refers to her as "The Pro."

She told me this story;

She fostered a child whose real parents were going through the penal system. Both parents had been jailed for offences against society, but most of all for offences against the child. The parents were due for release after serving half their time, as is the case nowadays.

A Hearing was scheduled at which the impact of the parents release on the child would be assesed. 

The child had been in the care of the foster mum for two years. The foster mum had bonded with the child, who'd come to know her inside out, in ways that no-one had ever befriended the child before. They were an item. The child worshipped her foster mum. It was a two-way street of mutual care, respect and the particular type of love that can develop in fostering.

The foster mum did some asking around and learned that the Hearing would address whether the parents early release dates should be rubber-stamped and what restrictions should apply to their movement and in particular their contact with the child.

The foster mum had accumulated a mass of concrete evidence that the parents were planning to try to force the child back into their care despite the Court Order blocking them from any rights of care of the child.

The child knew/guessed what lay in store as the parents had boasted about their plans to family members during prison visits. The family members had split the information to the child.

All of the above stuff that the foster mum told me this far was the province of the police and the law. The foster mum knew that.

But also on the Hearing's agenda was "The Child and their needs".

The Hearing was due to be attended by a dozen people; The police, Court Officers, a rep of Social Services, legal bods, a child psychologist, the deputy Head Teacher from the child's school. Even the tubby old red-nose parson who was on the school board of governers got an invite on the basis of Parish.

The foster mum telephoned the Hearing's secretary and offered to attend that part of the Hearing which addressed the needs of the child.

She was aksed; "Are you a professional?"

She replied; "I'm the child's foster parent. I've looked after her for two years. I know her inside out. I've documented her needs and preferences and can supply the best possible picture of the impact of the parents' release and the impact of their possible plans to affect the child."

The reply:

"I'm sorry, you're permitted..."

Then;

"… you're not a professional."

The Hearing went ahead without the child's closest friend and ally. A roomful of people, most of whom had never met the child, and a couple of distant bods who knew her as no more than a name on a spreadsheet.

And the one person who knew the child inside out, and had the professional wherewithall to provide concrete evidence, information and insight was left outside the loop while the 'professionals' used up a whole morning in a chinwag about a theoretical youngster. I bet the red-nosed parson chimed in with something about the Bible.

Hot air.

The foster mum told me her Blue Sky social worker saved her day.

Next time the SW showed up for supervision (by the way, I don't call it 'supervision' any more, I call it 'coffee and catchup") she laid the ghost for the foster mum. Explained that the meeting was 'to cover themselves'. In other words, ensure that if anything unwanted kicked off they could all show from the Hearing's minutes that each of the different bodies involved had done it by the book.

That helped my pal.

But it sticks in my craw to this day that the 'professionals', from time to time, see us fostering folk as amatuers.

I'd like to see old red-nose have a go.

Haha

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WHAT IF YOU DON'T CARE FOR THE CHILD YOU'RE CARING FOR?

 After reading "TF for KFC" a reader who signs as "L" posted a comment;

"May I ask a question? It's not necessarily related to this post but is something I'm struggling with and would appreciate the advice of a more experienced carer. Have you ever had a kid(s) who you've struggled to bond with / to attach to / to like? I'm not talking about challenging behaviours but about connection. If you have, how did you work through it - what worked? Thank you."

It's a good question.

I have a friend who's been 30 years in teaching, secondary education (11 through to late teens). English and English Literature. He says the biggest mistake many young teachers make is to try to get the kids to like them, and want to like them back.

The job at hand, he says, is to teach them about English; books, plays, poems etc and how to write.

The business of who likes who doesn't get anybody an 'A' level.

Sounds cold and heartless? It's professionalism.

So…maybe we move you - "L" - on with your dilemma by remembering what our profession wants of us foster parents -  it's a darn site more complicated than teaching.

The requirements are summed up in good old Mazlow's Heirarchy of Needs.

First and foremost a child needs the fundamentals for survival; air, water, food, shelter, clothing and sleep. Second she needs security (from violence, crime) and predictablility in the home.

The higher you go up the heirarchy, (always looks like a mountain to me) the closer you get to where "L" is asking about;

The third tier hits the nail on the head for "L". Note it actually specifies the exact same word "L" asks about; 'connection'. Every child needs social connection and acceptance. And like most of us in fostering, we hope to get it back from the child. Maslow says this is a family thing first and foremost. This is your Everest "L", because you can't be proper family to your foster kids, you can only be the kid's foster family. 

As I've piped up at many a Blue Sky training session:

"He never fostered, this Maslow, did he?"

Most kids in care are compliant, often even happy, with their life in fostering, but from time to time you get a grump.

My experience is that there are 101 reasons why a child brought into care might be a bit anti to their new circumstances, and we all get why.  Must be hard as hell for them. Some kids seem to think if they try your patience you'll boot them out and they'll get to go home. Other children maybe test you to check that you don't give up on them. You don't. You keep accepting them no matter what.

If you feel someone doesn't like you it's hard to like them. Even harder if they're living in your home.

But. You don't boot them out. You keep giving them everything they need. If you think that they should show you they like you in return, that hope can affect your energy for the job. Our job is to climb the mountain of needs with them and get as high as we can. If we get stuck at level 3, no problem, we camp right there and keep at it.

We had a kid stay with us who was difficult to like, call him Tony. He was grumpy with my other half who one time joked he was thinking of moving into a B and B for a bit of respite! I didn't like Tony much myself at first, so I pulled back on seeking that connectivity, just provided the basics. My other half also pulled back, kept things polite but formal.

We agreed that wanting to be liked/loved wasn't the priority. 

We simply stuck at it.

Then…

My other half had to go into hospitsal for a knee operation. Too much football when younger. They kept him in for two nights. (this was a good few years ago when the NHS did things like that).  His armchair was empty, there was one less person at the table at teatime. 

Foster child Tony said nothing, asked no questions, but pieced something was up.

I picked up other half from hospital and when Tony got home from school other half was sat in his armchair, heavily bandaged, leg up on a stool.

Then this happened:

Tony dropped his schoolbag and walked nervously towards his foster dad, with both arms outstretched. When he reached him Tony froze and kind of air-hugged him, then turned, grabbed his bag and went upstairs to his room, fast.

That air-hug meant the world and his wife to me and my other half.

We packed up tents at level 3 camp and began the ascent to level two; "Esteem".

"L", that part of the journey took about 6 months, but we made progress.

It's what we do, it's what YOU do,  and you do a great job.

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THE IMPORTANCE OF PORK PIES IN FOSTERING

 One of the keenest challenges in fostering comes when the child asks why they're being fostered and how long before they go home.

If they're persistent the questions can get to the foster parent. I learned why back in my early days.

Nowadays I try to try to liaise with my local authority social worker to get the latest news on the child's real family. I talk to my Blue Sky SW for guidance on what to say and how. If a child asks a leading question and I feel I'm not prepared (say, perhaps the child hasn't been with you long and details about the placement's family are still being processed) I often reply; "That's a good question. Can we come back to it later?" Which buys a bit of time to have a quick consult with a professional.

The way you frame your explanations depends on the child, especially their age. You also have to get a handle on their mental and emotional intelligence, and their degreee of resilience. After all, what you're about to discuss is potentially a bit harrowing.

You have to be truthful, but consider the impact of how you tell the truth to the child.

Some time ago a famous politician denied telling porkies*(1), claiming instead that he'd been "economical with the truth". 

That said; children coming into care are often quite tough - after all, many of them had to be to survive.

But we foster parents are driven to get our answers to those difficult questions right. And by 'right' I guess I mean we should make our use of the truth of benefit to the child.

Listen; most of what all of us do in these instances is instinctively right. Foster parents have all passed a vetting that includes ensuring that we have the skills to get results from these moments.

Remembering my early days in fostering; I had a test of my own resilience with a child who was unrelenting in her questioning about the reason she was in care, and begging for a schedule as to when she would be allowed home.

Kaz was 14, very strong willed and had single-mindedness on top of resilience. I didn't realise it at the time, but my Blue Sky social worker helped me work out why I found it a bit gruelling.

She and I sat at my kitchen table drinking coffee and talking it through.

She let me do the talking; about how concerned I had become to say the right things; not to show any judgement about Kaz's parents, despite their physical and emotional abuse and poor lifestyle choices; drugs, infidelity…and worse.

Kaz loved them in spite of everything and a foster parent often must deal with that huge fact of life *(2).

As I talked my social worker began to help me discover an important truth about being a foster parent.

Namely; don't expect a mountain of gratitude from the child. They've got enough on their plate without paying you or the system any compliments.

But there was something else going on in my heart that I now know about and recognise every time it returns.

It's this; when the foster cild is badgering to hear positive things about their parents, and hectoring the foster parent that they want to leave and go home…

…you can, if you're not careful, take it as a slight.

You hear a voice whispering to yourself; "There's gratitude! We rescue them from their miserable home, give them proper care and support and yet all you ever hear is that they want to leave you and never come back!"

When I'm asked those questions by the child nowadays I'm thinking of what it means to the child, and not at all what it means to me.

                                                                    _______________

*(1) "Porkies": cockney rhyming slang. "Pork pies/lies".

*(2) I heard that Kaz made it back to her beloved chaotic home and is going along ok. Apparently she speaks highly of the 'holiday' she had at our house...

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TF FOR KFC!

 Kal was seven when he arrived to us, a smallish boy, shy.

Shy at first anyway.

Children taken into care and delivered to a new foster home are often cautious at first.

Imagine; they are tiny and alone, they're in a strange house with an unknown family.

They generally keep their heads down, mind their Ps and Qs and set their sights on learning about their new life.

People in fostering call it the "Honeymoon" period.

Perhaps the child is learning about themselves as well as learning about the new things in their life.

The number of "new" things are inestimable. But we foster parents have new things to learn too. We must learn about the new child and her journey as a new foster child.

The child might be new to using a knife and fork, new to cleaning their teeth. New to pyjamas, new to a fixed bedtime. They might be new to the concept of sitting up at table to eat. 

The foster parent needs to be on the alert to the child's fears and dilemmas, and be on standby to take the child to one side and gently explain. The child might be new to being spoken with in such a way.

New to being listened to.

Kal, like many foster children, had learned in his 'real' home the value of invisibility. He'd taught himeself that the best way to protect himself from unjustifiable retribution was to keep out of sight.

So, to begin with, he was almost too easy to accomodate. He moved noiselessly around the house, hoping not to be noticed, to the extent that in the morning he would come downstairs draped in his duvet and ask to eat his breakfast in the corner of the kitchen, hidden from our eyes.

I've learned not to confront the quirks that new foster children sometimes exhibit. It's their emotional anchorage. Their grounding in whoever they used to be, strategies that got them through life in their real home.

But. 

I wanted Kal to step out of his shell…

I had conflabs with our Blue Sky social worker about it. She said that time would tell, but I'd be right to make some effort to lift Kal's self-esteem.

I tried a thing I'd read about somewhere…it seemed looney, but worth a throw.

What you do is this; you switch roles with your children for a whole Saturday afternoon. Yup; they become the parents and the parents become the children. We introduced it one Friday evening, all smiles and laughter. But how would Kal deal with responsibility?

Answer; he was er…enthusiastic. Given the job of keeping the kitchen in shape he inspected every nook and cranny and politely ASKED me to empty the bin. He SUGGESTED that the fridge needed more snacks.  

Then…wait for it.. he asked if there was any disinfectant. In fostering you need to keep substances safe, so I unlocked the cupboard, gave him a Dettol spray and watched over him. Kal squirt the work surfaces and wiped them clean.

A few weeks later it was Saturday teatime. Kal sat up with all of us. I brought bowls of spaghetti and bollognese sauce to the table.

Before anyone could dive in, Kal went; "Spag boll! Every Saturdfay it's spag boll! FFS! Jeez, it'd be nice to be upstairs wondering what's for tea instead of going 'Oh it's Monday… fishfingers. Tuesday sausages…"

Then he made his point; "It's Saturday. Everybody else has a KFC!"

Kal's transition was spot on. His mini-rebellion was exactly on track. A good sign. It was hardly civil war, but it signified him finding his feet in our home, in the world.

He trusted us.

And yes, I started mixing up the menu.

And yes, Kal started on the road back to some kind of good life…

I bet wherever he is now, come Saturday it's KFC...

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A LITTLE BIT OF CHAOS DOES YOU GOOD

One thing I find myself talking to other foster parents about is how fostering can change your home life for the better. Some of the changes are challenging. A great many of them are wonderful.

Example;

Before fostering, our home was - I now realise - organised to the point of mundane. Everyone knew their role, we were conventional to a tee. Nothing wrong with that; people need stability as well as fun and laughter.

Obviously, one's household is altered when foster children join your happy valley. Children who've been taken into care know all about chaos. It's our job to show them the value of order. 

And they introduce us to the many joys of uncertainty.

So...

Last Sunday our eldest foster child was due to bring his new and first-ever romantic partner to our house to watch the football on Sky. The two of them had been a tentative item for about two weeks. I doubt anyone'e kissed anyone yet. We monitor, discreetly.

Watching a TV football match for a first date is hardly the same as strolling hand-in-hand in the park. I suspected maybe one or both of them were reflecting parental role modelling. Meanwhile middle foster child had an 18 year-old relative coming for Sunday lunch. I say 'relative', the fact is no-one knows how to describe their relationship. In most families, the blood lines are clear; brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins and so forth. But things like that can get complicated with foster children. Our middle foster child and the young relative don't know what their blood links are. But they need each other in order to experience that need of belonging to a family.

Youngest foster child was cool about being the 'youngest child'. Youngest children can be very artful at playing the 'little one' role.

Sunday lunch was timed for half-time in the football. I'd sweated over roast spuds, beans, brocolli and carrots, plus boned enough chicken thighs (skinned them too, trying to pre-empt any "I don't like").

Before we fostered, the technicalities of cooking a Sunday lunch was clockwork; uneventful.

Here's how Sunday afternoon went.

First; a text from eldest; "Running late", the romance had hit its first snag; unspecified.

Middle child's relative arrived, turned out he'd rather watch the cricket than the football, he's never had a dad to infect him with the football virus. So they're glued to the limited-over cricket (limited' being the key word).

We only have one full-size telly. What if it boils over into a cricket v footy stand-off?

Meanwhile.. the roast spuds and chicken are coming on.

Middle son's relative starts to bond with my other half who will watch any sport any day. They're discussing the merits of a swinger versus a yorker. Or somesuch.

Middle son is loving the bond that's growing between his older relative and his foster dad. A taste of family normality for him. The cricket is strangely raucus. A family-style argument breaks out over whether the Essex Car Thieves are going to beat the Kent Tax Frauds (I may have got the team names wrong, forgive).

My partner goes to the fridge. Snaffles two Peroni and a Sprite. "Going well in there", he said over his shoulder.

Eldest suddenly bangs in through the front door. Had a first-ever lovers tiff. The football thing is off.  Meanwhile youngest is on a first Calippo and a second bag of crisps for being "Such a good child". Two minutes later eldest comes in and announced they've sorted it out and the partner is on their way to ours.

Long story short; the green veg was soggy, the chicken came out 7/10. The potatoes were overdone. And…I forgot the Yorkshires.

A bucket of instant gravy got me out of jail.

My partner and middle foster child's relative had become joint tribal elders with middle child their keen apprentice. Middle had been poured a glass of weak shandy (lawful and within Blue Sky guidelines, I know the rules inside out).

They were mates. No...more than mates…family.

Eldest wouldn't join us at the table pleading need for privacy in the front room with partner.  No problem, that's why God gave us trays.

Then, this happened. I swear this is simply the truth, the whole truth and nothing but...

There I was laying out the table. I had my music on Alexa when our own two grown-up kids showed up on the dot for family Sunday roast. Our house had; a foster child with partner nurturing a start-up relationship, a foster child and their indeterminate relative bonding with their make-believe dad in the TV room and a littlest foster child already hassling for ice cream to top up (if they "couldn't finish the brocolli"), plus my own two who simply got stuck in. 

Then, for me, from nowhere...a wave of well being.  

I wanted to tell someone how wonderful life can be when you get stuck in, but there was no-one to tell.

Except me. 

And so I did...

Then I called out; "Come and get it!"

And so they did...

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KIDS IN CARE REACT TO OTHER KIDS IN CARE

Kids in care often bond with each other in ways that are charming and, more to the point, useful.

I remember the first time we had more than one foster child in the house. We already had one who'd been with us about six months, a teenage girl who had endured a rotten childhood at the hands of adults who…

You don't want the details.

Actually, I know you really do want the detaila but the child's privacy is all important, so you'll have to take my word for it… a rotten childhood.

Things had been going along okay with her, and we (Blue Sky, the Local Authority and myself) had worked up a timetable to get the child back to her real home. The thing was this; the child wasn't much of a chatterbox. I'd learned to read her mind to some extent, but there's no substitute for a good heart to heart.

Then Blue Sky's Placement team telephoned me; "Would I consider taking a child who…"

The new child needed a foster home asap, and we had a spare room.

If Blue Sky judge that a carer is up to more than one foster child, then that carer is up to more than one foster child, that's how I pitched it to myself. I made the necessary phone calls to the family, our answer was yes.

The second child was much younger, and no more talkative than the older girl.

Everyone connected with her case (social workers, the police, the Crown Prosecution Service) were desperate to get as much information as possible about the goings-on in the child's life. But she'd clammed up. Possibly under threat from certain adult perpetrators not to blab.

Then something wonderful happened.

It was all down to the fact that I now had a double school run to carry out. Each morning I'd load both girls into the back of the car and drive the 20 minutes to the school gates of the elder child. I'd drop her off, then take the younger one to her school.

One morning we're all in the carin the car. I was driving, Terry Wogan was on the radio (remember? the 'gob on a stick' as he called himself?). The girls sat in the back in silence.

Suddenly; a magic moment. Eldest foster child said to youngest foster child;

"So what happened to you then?"

Little one:

"What d'you mean?"

"Like, how come you're in foster?"

"Dunno…"

"Somebody must have screwed up, else you wouldn't be?"

"The police came and took my mummy away."

On and on they nattered, me all ears and glowing inside. 

They bonded - no mean feat for two children who were strangers to each other. They were years apart in age, but equals in their circumstance.

I gleaned more by eavesdropping on that car ride than any one-to-one could ever unearth. I couldn't wait to log it all in my report. When they visited, my social workers told me I'd done a great job.

I politely spurned their praise. The hero was the power of human cameraderie.

The girls were both in our house for about six weeks, and although neither were any the more chatty with me or social workers than they had been before, those shared car rides were often hilarious and always eye-opening.

When the elder girl was returned to her real family, the younger girl seemed to need a substitute buddy to chat in the car. 

She talked…to me. 

I became her pal. 

Until one day, out of the blue, from the back of the car, she called me "Mummy".

And believe me, on the rare occassion that such a moment occurs, it is the reddest of red letter days in fostering.

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HEROIC KIDS

 Fostering can easily drain your last drop of belief in humanity.

Sounds dramatic I suppose but hey, we foster parents always bounce back.

Blue Sky make sure we do, and we do.

But by Jimminy, sometimes you go pale at the gills.

Our middle foster child is a trojan. A finer kid you couldn't hope to meet. Bright, decent, resourceful - all those credentials. On top of the sterling stuff, the child has subtle kindness, care of others, and love deep down in a big heart.

We squared things when the child came; explained that fostering is temporary and the job is to bring the child's family back together so they can move forward.

The child bought in. The child decided to see being in care as a sort of holiday from the family nonsense.

Weeks turned into months, during which our Blue Sky social worker kept us posted on the progress being made by the child's family.

The stepfather had issues with the law; criminality, substance abuse, alcohol and domestic violence. He had a suspended prison sentence hanging over him, but he seemed hellbent on activating it, as he couldn't stay out of trouble.

The child's mother was almost equally aberrant.

The thing is this; in my experience all children in care want to be re-united with their real family - no matter how chaotic they are. There it is.  An amazing fact, yet I came to understand and accept it.

So.

Here's the thing.

The child's mother has decided to start a new life for herself. She's moving back to her grassroots in Lincolnshire. She's hoping to escape the child's stepfather. The child's real father has never been on the scene.

The child's Local Authority social worker visited us on Thursday to bring us up to speed. Our Blue Sky social worker made sure she showed up.

The news was devastating.

The mother has decided to go live with her elderly mother and father in a cramped farm workers terrace house where she was brought up. She hoped to disappear from her abusive partner. She felt she had benefitted from the peace of not having kids to look after. She wanted to look after herself.

So; she declared that she was unable and unwilling to care for her own children, didn't trust her ex-partner not to find them and cause danger. And didn't trust herself to mother them.

All the above boiled down to this;

Someone had the job of breaking the news to our lovely foster child.

"YOUR MOTHER DOESN'T WANT YOU"

Sister, go try that hat on, as my nan used to say.

Blue Sky's people crowded in on this one, my own personal social worker had the chair.

The news had to be passed on to the child, but how?

Blue Sky have a big thing about "age-appropriate" interactions.

There are ways of telling a 5 year-old that are different from the ways you'd tell the same thing to a 15 year-old.

The child in this scenario is 10, going on 27.

First up; Blue Sky offered to do it for me, break the news. But no, I wanted to tackle it head-on as I knew the child, and believed that by imparting the bad news I would at least retain the child's respect for the intimacy of the moment.

I called the child to the kitchen table (where we do 'stuff') and laid it on the line. I didn't diss his mum, maybe even sided with her about the stepdad, and how the real father had left her high and dry.

Know what? I think and hope the child got it. We talked about the fact that the child's mother needed a break from her life. Just like the child was having a break. And that one should 'never say never'.

Child was cool. 

Where do we get these amazing kids?

The mum is not my favourite person, the father and the stepfather definitely aren't.

But our new long-term kid?

A five star ocean going hero.

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