TF FOR KFC!

 Kal was seven when he arrived to us, a smallish boy, shy.

Shy at first anyway.

Children taken into care and delivered to a new foster home are often cautious at first.

Imagine; they are tiny and alone, they're in a strange house with an unknown family.

They generally keep their heads down, mind their Ps and Qs and set their sights on learning about their new life.

People in fostering call it the "Honeymoon" period.

Perhaps the child is learning about themselves as well as learning about the new things in their life.

The number of "new" things are inestimable. But we foster parents have new things to learn too. We must learn about the new child and her journey as a new foster child.

The child might be new to using a knife and fork, new to cleaning their teeth. New to pyjamas, new to a fixed bedtime. They might be new to the concept of sitting up at table to eat. 

The foster parent needs to be on the alert to the child's fears and dilemmas, and be on standby to take the child to one side and gently explain. The child might be new to being spoken with in such a way.

New to being listened to.

Kal, like many foster children, had learned in his 'real' home the value of invisibility. He'd taught himeself that the best way to protect himself from unjustifiable retribution was to keep out of sight.

So, to begin with, he was almost too easy to accomodate. He moved noiselessly around the house, hoping not to be noticed, to the extent that in the morning he would come downstairs draped in his duvet and ask to eat his breakfast in the corner of the kitchen, hidden from our eyes.

I've learned not to confront the quirks that new foster children sometimes exhibit. It's their emotional anchorage. Their grounding in whoever they used to be, strategies that got them through life in their real home.

But. 

I wanted Kal to step out of his shell…

I had conflabs with our Blue Sky social worker about it. She said that time would tell, but I'd be right to make some effort to lift Kal's self-esteem.

I tried a thing I'd read about somewhere…it seemed looney, but worth a throw.

What you do is this; you switch roles with your children for a whole Saturday afternoon. Yup; they become the parents and the parents become the children. We introduced it one Friday evening, all smiles and laughter. But how would Kal deal with responsibility?

Answer; he was er…enthusiastic. Given the job of keeping the kitchen in shape he inspected every nook and cranny and politely ASKED me to empty the bin. He SUGGESTED that the fridge needed more snacks.  

Then…wait for it.. he asked if there was any disinfectant. In fostering you need to keep substances safe, so I unlocked the cupboard, gave him a Dettol spray and watched over him. Kal squirt the work surfaces and wiped them clean.

A few weeks later it was Saturday teatime. Kal sat up with all of us. I brought bowls of spaghetti and bollognese sauce to the table.

Before anyone could dive in, Kal went; "Spag boll! Every Saturdfay it's spag boll! FFS! Jeez, it'd be nice to be upstairs wondering what's for tea instead of going 'Oh it's Monday… fishfingers. Tuesday sausages…"

Then he made his point; "It's Saturday. Everybody else has a KFC!"

Kal's transition was spot on. His mini-rebellion was exactly on track. A good sign. It was hardly civil war, but it signified him finding his feet in our home, in the world.

He trusted us.

And yes, I started mixing up the menu.

And yes, Kal started on the road back to some kind of good life…

I bet wherever he is now, come Saturday it's KFC...