GETTING REJECTED

 It's been an interesting couple of days.

Mind, I could probably describe any 'couple of days' in fostering as 'interesting'.

You don't get bored when you foster. No siree.

What happened was this;

My phone rang and I could see from the screen it was Blue Sky.

Joy of joys it was their Placement people calling to ask the golden question:

"Would you consider taking a child who…"

I've had my phone light up with Blue Sky asking this question countless times (a hundred maybe..) and it never ceases to quicken the pulse.

During the quick call - and it's quick - the potential foster parent is given a pen picture of the child including any details that might make it a no-no for the potential foster parent. Blue Sky never pressure anyone, fosterng requires absolute concensus, the prize is too precious for anyone to gamble.

That said, I have always replied "Yes" to the question.

What happens next is that the Placement team provide every scrap of information they have about the child, the history and problems with the child's family. It arrives electronically provided you have the technology (I know a very good foster perent who doesn't do email).

And you sit at your kitchen table sifting through the notes.

The child is called Destiny, age nine. Destiny is, in the new parlance, a designated male.

Destiny, the eldest of four children, lives with his mother. The father is absent, and Destiny appears to be the father-figure in their home. 

Destiny's mother is in police custody after a drug squad smashed a gang who were using what's called County Lines to sell cocaine and other stuff to kids.

County Lines is a criminal practice aimed at making police investigation almost impossible. It must have been invented by a drug dealer who knew how police forces are set up. The phrase "County Lines" is based on the simple fact that if a criminal crosses the boundaries between two separate police forces, the responsibility for investigating the crime comes under dispute. So all a drug runner needs to do is collect the package in one area, get on a train and cross county lines, pass the package on in a different area, and if intercepted leave the police to worry where the crime occurred.

The gang leaders groom youngsters to carry out the drug runs because they are cheap (a pair of trainers or a video game would be payment) and they're easy to boss.

Destiny was one of the gang's runners.

And, almost certainly; a user. 

Aged nine.

So; as a foster parent one reads the information and forms a picture of the child you're being asked to come live with you.

The optimist in you imagines, in the case of Destiny, an innocent victim who longs for a normal home with a family that cares. The pessimist sees a child who sells and uses hard drugs and is maybe more street smart than the average foster parent could ever be.

In the words of a former Prime Minister, I'm an optimist who carries a raincoat. I'd kept my partner informed all along the way, he was at work, he agreed. I said "Yes" to Destiny.

And began preparing in case we got the green light.

The file on Destiny had touching details. His favourite TV programme was "The Magic Garden". Favourite takeaway KFC. He liked gaming (they all do), his ambition was to create internet content.

After saying yes one simply sits and waits. The child's Local Authority, who from the point that they intervene seek parental rights over the child (but it's a process - a quick one but not instant), are sat in a room sifting through the offers to take the child.

My phone rang about an hour after I'd said yes, it usually takes them about that long to decide.

It was a young person with a heavy accent offering to upgrade our washing machine insurance.

About half-an-hour after that I was becoming hopeful. I've always figured the Local Authority assess the potential foster homes and knock out the ones that they think wouldn't work. Often geography is the key, it's best to be nearby the child's real home but not too nearby.

The longer it takes for the verdict to come through, the more you start to believe it's going to be you.

So by this point I'm wondering if we'll be ordering a KFC delivery that evening, and checking Destiny's bedroom to ensure it's acceptably grown-up for a person aged nine, going on twenty-nine.

The phone rang again. Blue Sky Placement Team...

So sorry, they said, but Destiny wouldn't be coming to us.

Some sort of red tape mix-up meant that although Destiny was with the police, he hadn't been arrested; (you have to be 10 years old or older) and the legal paperwork that give the Local Authority parental rights over the child hadn't yet gone through.

Or something like that, I'm not a lawyer.

A youngish man had turned up at the police station saying he was Destiny's uncle and had arrived to look after Destiny. The police did their job and checked out the person's credentials. They asked Destiny about the 'uncle', and he seems to have satisfied them; apparently Destiny knew a lot about the guy.

My guess. Your guess too I guess; Destiny is out there crossing County Lines, snorting stuff and day-dreaming.

Dear Lord, I wish I could have got him to our house…

Good luck Destiny.