HARD TO BELIEVE. BUT 100% TRUE.

 In fostering you can sometimes forget that you're in fostering.

And that's a splendid state of affairs.

Because it means one thing and one thing only;

It means that your ship is steady despite there being an unusual load on one side of the boat.

But if you can absorb the special stuff that fostering brings to your home, and notice that you're going along on the straight and narrow, you're doing something right.

"Becks" was eight when she came to us. Her first name was Rebecca, which she hated.

Her dad had chosen it because before he met Beck's mum he'd had a fling with a woman called Rebecca, who he continued to pursue.

Wrong, on so many levels. A child shouldn't learn of such things.

She told us she didn't like "Becks" either, which her stepdad coined as he was a Man U fan.

But we agreed on "Becks" and she answered to it.

Becks had the usual amount of baggage.

Every happy child is identical in their happiness, every foster child is identical in the amount of sadness in them, but unique in the specifics that have made them unhappy.

Becks was quite a long term placement. The longer they're in your care the more they grow into being a member of the family.

Then all of a sudden you find yourself half-forgetting they are fostered.

It's a mind-set that doesn't last long because the reminders of the child's fostering status come thick and fast. Ordinary kids don't get visits from social workers, special care at school, supervised meetings with family members.

The latter of those unusual events - "Contact" it's called - didn't happen much for Becks. Her real parents didn't want to know, and her stepdad probably knew nothing because he'd vanished the night the police were called and social services took Becks into Care.

However she had an aunt who, out of the blue, asked to meet up with Becks, so I got to meet the aunt. She was lovely. 

Long story short; the aunt ended up asking social sevices if she could take Becks in. 

Take her off our hands.

Social services did the necessaries. Becks would need a new school, and while that was being sorted Beck's wishes were heard and explored.

The move was on!

To me it felt a bit of a blow, but it was going to be good for Becks so I was happy. It was good for the lovely aunt too because her kids were grown up and being a natural parent she had so much love left over.

Brilliant.

For me, the kicker was Becks' parting gift to me.

She had already said that she and her aunt had agreed she could ditch the hated name of Rebecca and the shortened version "Becks".

Her new school had agreed to respect her wish to be called something different from her official name.

Then, one moment, when she and I were alone together, she said;

"From now on," she said, "Me and aunty have agreed on a new name for me."

I asked her what her new name was.

Her reply was yet another reminder that she was my foster child, not my real child. Real children couldn't do really say what she was about to say.

She whispered my name.

So I replied; "Yes?"

"No," she said.

"That's my new name…"

Dammit I'm filling up again…

Ain't fostering grand!