FOSTER PARENTS V REAL PARENTS

 One of the non-stop issues/problems in fostering is when the child in your care starts to think about the calibre of their real parents. and the quality of life in their real home.

They don't ask straight out in my experience. They sort of hint that they're starting to see things for themselves.

But the question starts to arise once they notice - if they ever do, because some don't - that the parenting of a foster parent is not just different, it's necessarily better. I hope that doesn't sound like a boast, it's not. The very central foundation of fostering is that children who are getting seriously bad experiences in their real home are removed and placed in a family where they will get better experiences.

This episode comes to mind.

He was a bright 13 year old called Roque. British himself, of South American/UK extract. Mum English, dad Brazilian.

He'd been with us for about 3 weeks when he had his first little wobbly; normal.

It arose from us telling him he could not go across town on the coming Saturday night to hang out with some friends and make his own way home, he said he didn't need a ride home. "Didn't need a ride" meant he wanted to be out until about 2.00am. How did we know? The dossier we had on him from Blue Sky.

We said no.

"No!?" he came back.

Obviously we dug in, there was no question he could do whateverwanted as he'd been previously allowed  to do under the flakey regime his parents had for him. They had let him go out, do what wanted to do. Not because they had developed keenly held views about freedom of choice or independence (which they claimed when Social Services aksed them about Roque doing as he pleased); truth was they didn't care.

He stood his ground, arguing he would be fine, he did it all the time, he knew how to look after himself…and so on.

So when we put our foot down, there was a standoff. He made to go for the front door. What do you do? We'd been advised by Blue Sky that if he left our home against our wishes we had the option to call the police - for his own safety. Then we would call Blue Sky's Out Of Office people (there's always someone on hand).

We told him that.

He shouted "Are you seriously going to waste police time with picking up some young guy who just wants to see his friends? Are you mad?"

I replied "Yes. Er..yes to the first bit. But no, we're not mad."

He yelled; "Why? Just tell me why FFS!!!"

I told him. It was because we cared. We cared that he shoudn't be out roaming the streets or hanging around all-night fast food takeaway joints begging fags or worse off late night revellers.We woud worry about him all night until he came home."

I'm not going to pretend that words like that have any instant effect, they tend not to. But many looked-after children have the skill to appear incandescent with frustration but beneath their tears and wailing, they're taking everything in.

On this occasion (and I've had plenty of this one) Roque had a dilemma; he needed to comply with us, he could see that, but he needed his dignity. We agreed that if he acceeded to our wishes he would earn himself a takeaway, did he want a Big Mac or pizza? Or Chinese? We woud have to go out and fetch it, this was in the days before Deliveroo and co.

My husband, I told him, was partial to fish and chips.

Thank the Lord for fast food, thank the Lord (whoever she is) for the technique of offering up distraction with the added clout of giving the child a sense of control.

On this particular evening it worked. Only by a hair's breadth, but it worked.

His first stipulation was anything but fish and chips. This gave him a hands down victory over his foster dad who had been firm about Roque not going into town.

Short story short we all sat down to a Chinese. 

Sweet and sour. Which about sums the episode up, except the epilogue;

Roque took the last of his Chinese up to his bedroom where he digested his treat along with the evening.

Half an hour later he appeared back in the kitchen.

"Can I have a coke?"

I didn't ask him to say please, there's a time and a place for everything.. I just said "Sure. Afraid we've only got Diet."

He went to the fridge and as he fished out a can he said one word, but I swear he said it differently to his normal throwaway, he said;

"Thanks."

A few days later I asked him if he knew how his mum was. She'd been taken to hospital with injuries, which was how come the police and then Social Services had got involved. We knew he was keeping up a text message relationship with her.

He said she was fine. He was worried about her, children in care worry immensely about their parents no matter what their treatment had been like.

Long story short (I'll unpack the detail another time) Roque began to wonder about his mum and dad and the way he and his sibs were either invisible or, if visible, in line for a rucking. He began bonding with my other half, loved staying up watching Match of the Day with him once he found peace in being denied his previous version of a late night Saturday.

Then he came out with this;

"I'm thinking of asking if I can stay here even if they say it's ok for me to go back to my mum's. Only, can she come and visit so she can… well…y'know...see what it can be like?"