CAN COOL PEOPLE FOSTER?

 When one becomes a foster mum or dad there's a moment which reminds me of when I passed my driving test. My driving instructor drove me back to my parent's house - he said the L-plated car wasn't insured to for a qualified driver other than himself. I thanked him for helping me learn to drive and opened the passenger door. As I got out he called after me;

"Now go and learn to drive properly."

Great advice.

Similar to fostering, because no amount of theoretical prepping gets one fully geared up for doing the job properly.

Don't get me wrong, Blue Sky cover all the bases and couldn't do more to tool us newbies up for the gig. The sense that they're always there is, well, always there.

But when your front door closes as the social workers say their goodbyes having dropped off your first ever foster child, you're doing it for real.

Like most new foster parents I experienced a rush of several feelings; elation, trepidation, the joy/burden of responsibility, the rush of empowerment that the happiness of somebody else's dear child depended deeply on little old me…

And the emotions continue unabated, to this day.

What happened was this; during the holidays our middle foster child had some friends come for tea. By 'tea' I mean sitting around watching superheroes movies and playing computer games in the TV room off the kitchen. Oh yes, and eating and guzzling junk. But after all it's the holidays and it's what everyone else who had the chance was doing.

Our downstairs configures nicely for fostering. Our kitchen has a room adjoining with a big screen TV, a games console, an old sofa and a couple of armchairs that have seen better days. Perfect for 14-year olds to chillax. No connecting door. Open plan.

Perfect for me to keep tabs on everything while going about the catering; chucking fries in the air fryer, knocking out bowls of Jalapino crisps and so on.

One of foster child's mates appeared in the kitchen and asked' "Please can I go to the toilet?" I directed him to our downstairs loo. Two minutes later he came back via the kitchen. I was drying dishes while half-watching through to the TV, at a distance. Batman was having a pop at the Joker.

The youngster asked, out of politeness;

"Do you like Batman?"

Thing is, in fostering one to be on one's toes with the likes of Batman; some of the movies can be dark. This one was officially ok for people aged 13 and over, so got the green light.

One thing to remember with young people's culture is; it belongs to them.  Old fogies like me are not supposed to get it. If we do we're invading their territory. So I said something like: "Well we had a version of Batman when I was your age, but they've taken it to a new level these days."

Spot on, though I say so myself.

The young man and I had a brief chat. I asked him who was Batman's most dangerous enemy and if Alfred the butler was still solid.

He went back to slobbing out and I went back to hospitality.

A bit later on there was a lull in the noise of car chases and fighting.

I heard a small voice say to my foster child;

"Your mum's cool."

"Cool?" Me?

A thousand violins began to play.

First up; it meant that posssibly, somewhere along the way, my foster son had referred to me as "my mum". Confirmation of trust? Hope so.

 Whatever, maybe the friend simply assumed I was his mum,  but our kid didn't naysay him. This sense of belonging is mega if the child has any degree of permanence, and he looks like being long-term.

But, on top of that, our foster son's mate called me "cool".

This meant that, if I read it correctly, my foster son might have felt a tiny glow of pride in his "mum".

Our relationship may have ramped up a notch. But steady on; don't milk it. No, you act as if you never heard it. If anything, to keep onside, to retain one's core image of being no threat, you call through to the TV room "Is that policeman Officer Gordon?"

And what came back?

"Commissioner Gordon mum!"

"Mum"!

A shaking of heads all round; mum's cool, but only kinda... coolish.

Perfect. No toes trodden on.

A key role in parenting, letting them have their domains. Key in foster parenting too.

And a foster parent who's whistling off key. Whistling an out-of-date Johnny Mathis tune while emptying the bin...

A cool foster parent mind...