A FRIEND GONE

Just when as a foster mum you think maybe you know as much as you need to know, along comes something.

Been at it donkey's years now. Ought to know a thing or three.

Then along comes transitioning.

Up to now, like most - if not almost everyone - I thought I knew a bit about it, from the news, from documentaries and dramas and articles In newspapers and magazines.

I can tell you for sure that nothing prepares a foster parent for the perfect storm of ignorance, prejudice and sometimes downright persecution that rains down mainly from people whose defining principle is something they call 'respectability'.

Nothing prepares you for having to listen to a young man quietly sobbing himself to sleep because, in this free country in which we live, where many have fought and died for so many freedoms, there remains an army of people who want to make someone feel bad, really awful, for reaching for the simple freedom of being who they really are.

I've even lost a close friend of many years because she believes I'm wrong to 'allow' it in my house.

She messaged me would I like to meet for coffee and a catch-up. 

When I arrived at the cafe she was sitting, still buttoned up and arms folded, and  only managed a weak hello.

Mind, she's had her health problems so I guessed she was merely under the weather.

We swapped "How are you?'', but didn't get beyond "And how's the family", becaue I mentioned I had a new placement and she said that she knew, she'd heard on the grapevine.

She hadn't. I don't allow anything to do with fostering to go near any grapevines.

What had happened was that her youngest daughter goes to the same school as my new placement and had seen me pick him up one afternoon. Apparently it's in the open at the school that he is transitioning, the school have been very supportive and professional.

My friend proceeded to lecture me on why it was wrong in every way. Wrong in the face of what the universe stood for, wrong for the child, their family, wrong for doctors and clinics who could be sued later for not stopping them.

She informed me that foster parents don't have the knowledge or the understanding to help transitioning young people and they should hand the child back to the system.

This from a friend who has no experience of fostering, or of transitioning, or what she calls 'the system'.

On it went, blimey.

I asked her what she knew about transitioning and she replied she knew all she needed to know, she said she was certain there wasn't anything out there she didn't know that would change her mind.

I had to sit and listen politely to a never ending diatribe of nonsense, ignorance, and something else.

It gradually began to seem to me that she was frightened of something. But the mood she'd worked herself into meant I dare not try to go deeper with her to get to the heart of her feelings. 

She told me once, many years ago, that she had been abused as a churchgoer by a man of the cloth. I know it had haunted her ever since. She believed her health problems were somehow connected to it.

I began to wonder if her prejudices were consciously or unconsciously driven by inner turmoil, but look; I'm a humble foster mum, my friend needed kindness and understanding, not analysis. But she wouldn't let it lie.

In the end I cited a pressing engagement elsewhere and got up to go, but she stayed with me. Walking along the High Street she was still banging away. I got to the car park entrance where my car was and said;

"Can I say...you seem a little obsessed."

She gave it a moment's thought. I would personally feel diminished to have someone wonder if I had any obsessions. They're not good things are they?

"Yes!" she suddenly barked "I am obsessed about this!"

And off she marched.

Her details are still in my Contacts, but she's going to be off my social scene for good, unless she turns around.

My new placement knows nothing of the dent in my friends network, and never will. He's got enough on his plate.

He also has an ally in me that is more on his side - much more on his side-  than I was before my ex-friend treated me to her two-pennorth of rubbish.

I'm quietly making sure he knows that much.

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TRANSITIONING IN FOSTERING

 Been quiet on the blog, been busy on the fostering front.

We've taken a new pacement and he's wonderful. But it's complicated.

I use the word "he" because he is now a he.

But this issue is not why the placement is complicated.

It's complicated as these things often are by chaotic parenting and an awful home life.

The child was one of many in a house supported magnificently by Social Servies wher most of the children didn't know who their fathers were,

A house with one mum, a mum who is out of her depth as a mum.

The mum is a bright person but brittle in her dealings with people. 

The notes you get when a child is on their way can never paint the full picture, you get a variable amount of background depending on circumstances.

If the family have been on Social services radar for some time you get lots of information, all of it verified and outlined with professional discretion.

Other times the authorites have to act as soon as they go into a home, that's when support information is sketchy.

In this case the mum was well-known to be vulnerable and the children at risk, but Social Workers worked hard to keep them together if it was at all possible, as that's almost always what the family want, and with good supervision can be best for all, including the Local Authority's strained purse strings.

I'll call the child Billy, which is neither the name he grew up under, or the name he's chosen now that he wishes to be percieved as male.

Billy is tall and slight. He has a strong voice but speaks quietly. He is more than shy, he's frightened.

How could he not be?

We were informed that he was transitioning when we were asked to consider taking him, and replied that it wasn't something we knew a great deal about, but were prepapred to learn. Moreover we were no less prepapred to help than we would be with any child of any profile.

To us they are all kids in need of physical and emotional safety and attachments to caring adults.

Billy's not been with us long enough to present the normal challenges that foster children bring once they've got confidence that we won't hurt them or reject them. We've got that to come.

He's enjoyed coming out of his shell and talking (he's best one-on-one). He appreciates talking about his transitioning, which he's clearly proud of.

It's been agreed that we will help him maintain the self belief his journey is giving him, while also ensuring that he keeps hold of the many other qualities we believe he has that also deserve praise and celebration.

In other words, help him define himself in full, not just a person who has chosen to fight for his own true gender identification.

So far so good.

To be continued alright...

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FOSTERING GIVES CONFIDENCE

 Blimey, 'gatherings' are ever-changing aren't they?

A 'gathering' is what used to be called a 'party' but our young discovered they could easier get the nod for a 'party' by calling it a 'gathering'.

Are us adults sufficiently gullible that we fall for things if they are blustered?

Yes. For a while. Ask the outgoing British Prime Minister. 

The gathering was the weekend after Westminster's latest round of chaos and general bile.

So; we agreed to a gathering to mark the end of the academic year of eldest foster child.

Interesting side-point; do you know why the UK academic year runs from September to July? With a 6 week summer break? 

Because going back 200 years they needed the kids to bring in the wheat.

Unbelievable we've never modernised.

Anyhoo; eldest wanted a gathering. We said yes. It's not his first, he's had two over the last four years, each different, due to eldest's development, but also down to changing times.

Our child's latest gathering happened last night.

It was a Saturday, the proper night for a knees-up.

When I remember teenage parties I remember mostly grotty events in people's parents' houses with a smattering of beer cans, some frantic dancing then an exodus to the privacy of the garden by those who had paired up.

I don't know if last night was typical in any way, but it was very different from my day.

First off, there was absolutley no 'Alpha male' posturing. Even one huge lad who arrived late after finishing his evening work shift and who's on course to sign up to be a paratrooper, and who, in a lazy moment, you might expect would bring a bit of boisterousness to the proceedings, sat next to two other earnest types and held a discussion about ethics and politics. And supped juice.

Another group formed cross-legged on our lawn and dicussed human relations and social interaction.

A smaller group formed on the landing, also quietly chatting.

There was alcohol. In moderation. There was no drunkeness, no one got unwell.

Nobody smoked tobacco and if anyine smoked anything else they must have done it beside the fire pit to camouflage any smell. But I don't think anyone did.

There was music. Loud enough too, thank goodness (otherwise it was more a conference than a party).

The finale to the music was a hearty rendition of Sweet Caroline.

I know. Neil Diamond. None of your rappers, your Bibby P or Gangsta G.

When it was midnight I asked everyone to come inside (for the neighbours) which they did in 30 seconds.

The head count was about 50% girls (that is to say people who presented as girls), 25% boys (same thing) and 25% people who were in various stages of transitioning.

A bit like the make-up of the next Parliament I would guess, although politicians aren't as good at being who they really are as our young people today. And anyway, they drink too much don't they (the politicians). And do drugs.

And come to think about it they probably spend less time discussing the issues that matter.

What I'm saying is; I'm confident the future is safe with the next generation.

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