THE WAY THEY BLOOM

All parenting is fraught with endless fears and trepidations.

It's not until you look back that you can separate the many joys from the many mini-traumas that beset our most important role in life, namely trying to be a good parent.

If you can do it halfway well with your own children you can pull it off for other people's children. 

BTW, you don't need to have had children of your own to foster well. My best friend in fostering is a mother who never had any children of her own and she is more than mustard.

But. If you had your own children, there are experiences you can bring to bear.

I often ask future foster parents about their recollections of childhood. We've all had a childhood.

One thing I sometimes ask about is their first memory of being allowed out of the house on their own.

Go ahead and take a moment to remember your own memory of that great day in your life. 

I remember the first day I got to cross a MAIN road. We lived on a backroad avenue with almost no traffic  except the people who lived there, most of whom didn't have a car. 

But. At the end of the road was a MAIN road which was used not just by cars but DOUBLE DECKER BUSES. I remember, when I prompt myself, the terror I felt when I found myself at the traffic lights at the top of our road awaiting to cross the MAIN ROAD for the first time.

Spool forward 20 years and my own children are getting old enough to go to the shop by themselves. Put into words I dare you, how harrowing the parent finds this moment.

 Remember? We've all done it.

Terrifying.

The parent feels the need to be casual but meticulous. Your kid has witnessed yourself buying plenty of Haribo, all they need to do is to do what you always did; pick the packet up from the shelf and go to the till.

But you find yourself treading the minefield of what if it goes wrong for them?

So it was the day that foster child Abraham got to go to the sweetshop alone.

It was aways back, there were no tracking devices available then. But I gave him my mobile phone and said; "If you have a problem call home".

And off he cycled. On the pavement. Our nearest One Stop /7/11/ Co-op happens to be a short trip with no road to cross - a happy accident he didn't miss;

"It's not like I'm crossing a road!"

So. Off he bicyled. I watched him stand on the pedals, feeling free as a bird on the wind.

Me, tethered to the tree of uncertainty.

Short story long; he returned, of course, intact and alive.

I had to do another gala performance of normalancy:

"Yeah, well done. Er can you put your bike on the garage."

In life we count these triumphs as triumphs. 

I fostering they are more than that.