FOSTERING AND TRANS

 Our transitioning foster son is doing great, all things considered.

Yeah, he's doing great, it's the people who are using the issue of transitioning as a political football who are doing not so well.

When the government were recently described as a "parcel of rogues" in the House of Commons, the reference was entirely about ill-gotten wealth.

Shame, because roguery comes in many forms, and one face of rougery is that of increasing the pain of a suffering child to win votes, win power.

I can hardly believe that the entire future of the United Kingdom is going to be decided by transitioning.

But it's set to be so.

Look; this isn't a political blog, but when politicians and those members of the public who like to get agitated gang up and have a negative impact on my fostering of a vulnerable child…

I have no option but to have my say.

So; Scotland has voted to allow people aged 16 to choose which gender they are. And the UK government is over-ruling them. There's going to be a big bean-fight England v Scotland with Scotland looking for ways to leave the UK.

And the issue, instead of things such as the economy or public services or national defence…

…is transitioning.

Well bully for all of them, they've found their perfect bone to fight over.

Except for one wee factor.

Every time it comes up on the news, on the internet feeds, on social media, it hurls my kid into turmoil.

It feels to him like they are honing in on his painful life and trying to dictate the solitary thing he has ownership of, namely who he is.

Here he is, in fostering. In a strange home, unfamiliar surroundings, eating and talking with strangers. He has ownership of nothing except himself. 

He believes with utter conviction he knows who he is, and nobody else possibly could.

It should be a private, gentle journey taking him to wherever is a more peaceful place.

As his foster mum I have to try to soothe his huge anxieties that there are people who think he's misguided, easily led, not fit to make decisions about himself, maybe even somehow a danger to the very quick of their lives.

As if fostering isn't hard enough without the TV news, the debate shows, the radio, newspapers, Twitter, Instagram and the rest becoming a torrent of debate about…as he sees it …. him.

Thanks media guys and MPs. Whatever happened to Ukraine?

"It got boring."

So...?

"Transitioning, that's got legs…"

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LITTLE THINGS MATTER

 There are, in my experience, tons of folks who wonder "Could I foster?"

I remember a story I read as a child about a wise man who wandered from village to village and villagers would tap him for his wisdom. One time a villager asked him if believing in any of the Gods was the answer. The wise man pointed to a tree and walked away.

This response caused endless argument in the village, A year later the wise man wandered back to the same village and they asked him what the heck he meant, pointing at the tree. He replied "It's an apple tree. Your question is the same as wondering if you like apples. You don't know if you like them until you try one. Same with Gods."

Same with fostering. 

And it's not a ball and chain; if fostering turns out not to be for you, you can walk, no-one will stand in your way.

I recommend contacting an agency. Blue Sky are as good an example as there is. 

One of the things I find I do is to notice the little things about people and organisations. Before I fostered I once got a visit at home from a new colleague who roared up and parked her BMW half on the pavement, half off. And at a diagional. I figured from that alone I might not like her. And I was right.

So; one of the things I learned the first time a Blue Sky Social Worker came acalling to check me out she told me this;

"When a court order is issued that says that a child must be taken into care, and Blue Sky take on responsibility they turn up at the child's home to collect them."

Their policy, I was told, is to always have a nice suitcase or holdall in their boot.

I asked "Why?"

"Because one time, way back, a Blue Sky Social Worker showed up to supervise the removal of a child and found that the child's belongings had been bunged into a black bin liner."

A black bin liner.

The child's world; all her clothes and her other things, chucked into a 5p plastic bag which would normally be used for rubbish.

It was too much for the Social Worker who went back to the Blue Sky office and unloaded on her colleagues.

The upshot was that Blue Sky made it policy that no child would again go through the process of having their world chucked into a bin liner.

On top of that the Social Worker had looked into the bin liner to see if they'd packed the child's favourite soft toy; a teddy or an Eeyore or whatever. There was none. The child had never been given one.

I gather that Blue Sky now not only has a stash of smart, clean, second-hand luggage to take along begin the process of making the child feel better. They have a cupboard of cuddly toys in case they don't have any.

So; learning little things like that made up my mind about Blue Sky. Wait, what am I saying? These things aren't "little", they're HUGE!

And it taught me a big lesson about fostering; it's the little things that matter.

Little things are HUGE.

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HAND WASHING

 When you foster a child one of the first things that rears itself into view is the child's view of their own family.

They are bewildered - especially if young - that they've been haulded out of a domestic situation that they assume is normal. 

"So," they think to themselves "Why an I now living and sleeping in a stranger's house, and who do they think they are? What, so some stranger told me just  because my mum and her latest boyfriend, the syringes thing and the drinking while we were watching them wierd films. And the loud crazy noiseslate at night. Isn't it what people do?"

It's one of the many tricky ones that foster folk face. And when children in care ask why are they in a strange house, the foster parent is stuck with trying to explain that it's because their parents (or bunch of adults who came in and out) needed some time and space to sort out a few things.

And the big thing you tell the child?

Which they scarecly believe in my humble experience.

The big thing you have to try to get across is: that it's NOT THE CHILD'S FAULT.

So: can't remember if I've told this before, forgive me if have.

We accepted a child who was very acquiescent, very shy and quiet.

Age eight as I remember.

She was very polite and obedient, almost too much so.

Every morning we heard her in the bathroom washing herself. Most fastidious.

Every evening she followed the same procedure.

She was washing her hands, almost to the point of them getting red and sore.

Together with our Blue Sky Social Worker we pieced it together.

The child had been brought up in a chaotic home. Where hygiene and normal protocols were out of the window.

But, whenever a Maccy D meal or a Chinese takeaway arrived, one of the "adults" would shout at the (hungry) children; "Oi! Go wash yer hands!"

A sad attempt by the person who shouted it to appear responsible. See, everyone ate with their hands to avoid any neeed for washing dishes and cutlery.

BUT.

What fomented in the child was that her failure to wash her hands properly and often enlugh was the reason the family was intervened.

She came to us believing that the 'family' was disseminated  because she didn't keep her hands clean or wash her hands properly.

She was eight when she came to us.

I happen to understand she's gone on okay and is doing not too badly.

Still in care.

I guess you could say that her significant others washed their hands of her...

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YIKES! MY FOSTER CHILD IS AN ADULT!

 Interesting question; what happens to a child in care when they reach their 18th birthday?

They're not a child any more, not in the eyes of the law. Mind, does that mean they're ready to get out there into the big bad world and fend for themselves?

Stupid question. 

Of course not.

Why, I'm not sure I'm ready yet, and my 18th birthday is a dim and distant, except for one sure memory, namely I could not have come close to coping on my tod.

The fact that a child is in care all the way up to their 18th means they haven't a home or family to return to, so if they strike out on their own and it doesn't work out they've got nobody to run to. No mum or dad with a bedroom made up and ready.

Now, people are all too quick to knock Social Services and Local Authorities, but they should come see the amazing safety nets they put in place for children leaving care.

I've had a small handful of foster children reach adulthood in our home, and down the years the aftercare has got better and better. 

We've got one such child at the moment, so we're witnessing the system first hand.

A quick word about the 'child', a young person we have come to love as our own. Literally.

The young adut is giddy with 'adulthood'.  He's testing out being a full-blown citizen and no longer enduring the second-class status we confer on children.

Bought himself a can of something mildly alcoholic, and one of those ridiculous ecigarette pens, which he 'smokes' in the shed. Went for 'afters' with some older friends after celebrating New Year, and walked home by himself in the dark. See, he's now a geezer.

He calls my other half 'mate' and me 'darlin''

The way I see it, his childhood was so rotten he's mad keen to draw a line under it and sees reaching adulthood as a kind of baptismal new start.

But it don't mean he'd know how to get a job, or how to claim universal credit or rent support or how to juggle domestic finances.

When a child in care reaches 18 they say goodbye to their Local Authority Social Worker. 

Which was a bit emotional, because everybody loves him and no-one wants goodbyes where he's concerned.

But they don't abandon him. His Social Worker is replaced by a kind of personal trainer, a social worker who specialises in helping the young person on their way.

And Blue Sky, rock solid as ever, stay on hand.

The allowance that we get for paying his bills is reduced, but as he's staying on with us he gets help with the rent he's required to pay us! 

This is a new one on me, because I'm not the landlady type, but it's been explained it's all part of a plan to shape the young person up for the real world.

His personal assistent is great, she's visited us and made a great impression. She's right across all the potential pitfalls and our 18-year-old is happy as can be to have the right type of support.

He borrowed the car last Saturday, didn't get home 'til after midnight. Stuck to Pepsi Max all night.

We noticed that he switched off the headlights as he coasted silently up our drive so's not to wake anybody.

He's going to be a great adult.

Actually, now I think of it, he already is.

As usual, when everything else is stacking up around me, I have a dwell on how amazing is our fostering system in this country and puff my chest out for being a small part of it.

But you don't get much of a chance to daydream.

Next job; how do I get him to take his turn to put out the wheelie bins…?

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