HEROIC KIDS

 Fostering can easily drain your last drop of belief in humanity.

Sounds dramatic I suppose but hey, we foster parents always bounce back.

Blue Sky make sure we do, and we do.

But by Jimminy, sometimes you go pale at the gills.

Our middle foster child is a trojan. A finer kid you couldn't hope to meet. Bright, decent, resourceful - all those credentials. On top of the sterling stuff, the child has subtle kindness, care of others, and love deep down in a big heart.

We squared things when the child came; explained that fostering is temporary and the job is to bring the child's family back together so they can move forward.

The child bought in. The child decided to see being in care as a sort of holiday from the family nonsense.

Weeks turned into months, during which our Blue Sky social worker kept us posted on the progress being made by the child's family.

The stepfather had issues with the law; criminality, substance abuse, alcohol and domestic violence. He had a suspended prison sentence hanging over him, but he seemed hellbent on activating it, as he couldn't stay out of trouble.

The child's mother was almost equally aberrant.

The thing is this; in my experience all children in care want to be re-united with their real family - no matter how chaotic they are. There it is.  An amazing fact, yet I came to understand and accept it.

So.

Here's the thing.

The child's mother has decided to start a new life for herself. She's moving back to her grassroots in Lincolnshire. She's hoping to escape the child's stepfather. The child's real father has never been on the scene.

The child's Local Authority social worker visited us on Thursday to bring us up to speed. Our Blue Sky social worker made sure she showed up.

The news was devastating.

The mother has decided to go live with her elderly mother and father in a cramped farm workers terrace house where she was brought up. She hoped to disappear from her abusive partner. She felt she had benefitted from the peace of not having kids to look after. She wanted to look after herself.

So; she declared that she was unable and unwilling to care for her own children, didn't trust her ex-partner not to find them and cause danger. And didn't trust herself to mother them.

All the above boiled down to this;

Someone had the job of breaking the news to our lovely foster child.

"YOUR MOTHER DOESN'T WANT YOU"

Sister, go try that hat on, as my nan used to say.

Blue Sky's people crowded in on this one, my own personal social worker had the chair.

The news had to be passed on to the child, but how?

Blue Sky have a big thing about "age-appropriate" interactions.

There are ways of telling a 5 year-old that are different from the ways you'd tell the same thing to a 15 year-old.

The child in this scenario is 10, going on 27.

First up; Blue Sky offered to do it for me, break the news. But no, I wanted to tackle it head-on as I knew the child, and believed that by imparting the bad news I would at least retain the child's respect for the intimacy of the moment.

I called the child to the kitchen table (where we do 'stuff') and laid it on the line. I didn't diss his mum, maybe even sided with her about the stepdad, and how the real father had left her high and dry.

Know what? I think and hope the child got it. We talked about the fact that the child's mother needed a break from her life. Just like the child was having a break. And that one should 'never say never'.

Child was cool. 

Where do we get these amazing kids?

The mum is not my favourite person, the father and the stepfather definitely aren't.

But our new long-term kid?

A five star ocean going hero.

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FOOD FOR THOUGHT

 Alicia, our current eldest foster child, is transitioning from male to female.

She is a great person. I'm totally behind her in her goal.

All the hot air surrounding the issue seems produced by people who have no real world knowledge of the issue of transitioning or Alicia specifically. Whatever the hot air, Alicia is morally right and anyone opposing her basic human right to be who she believes she is are wrong. 

Simples.

One of the many beauties of fostering is how it opens the door on so many issues and experiences where previously one had no real knowledge. 

I find that many of the problems that result in broken homes are down to nutrition - and by "nutrition" I mean more than just food.

In my time I've had to gain knowledge of things such as; how to help youngsters with poor physical development caused by over-eating, under-eating, or plain old bad eating, aka "food poverty". Then there are the effects on a child of abject social and emotional poverty. A different form of malnutrition.

If you foster it helps to develop an understanding of things you didn't used to know about so you can do your job. Blue Sky training sessions point you in the right direction. Your BS social worker is there to clarify and support. Together, we feed our knowledge and it grows.

Most of the public binge on what they see in the papers or online, or hear from "the man in the street" debating on the media. It's bad fast food for the soul. The less a person knows about something the more strident and simplistic their opinions.

Alicia puts up with turning on her news sites and being greeted by people condemning her.  She gets down about it, I'm certain, but because she cares about me and our family she sucks it up, processes it and, I believe, is currently able to say to herself "They don't know me, never met me. I'm not affecting anyone. I shall go on."

It takes guts, standing up for yourself when you're a young teenager. She does it quietly and with dignity. She attends the occasional march, but only to support people who are in the same boat as her.

She gets in nobody's face.

The whole business of transitioning is fraught with obstacles. I'm helping her with endless paperwork about her new name and identity.

I've needed to negotiate with her doctors surgery which was reluctant to get involved - possibly because they were wary of trouble further down the line if legislation and opinion turned against anyone who had helped transitioners. 

Alicia's pharmacy told us one day that they "no longer dispense" the medication Alicia is prescribed, but only because "It's out of stock with our supplier and we don't know when it'll be available again". Hmmmm.

Her school have been, on the whole, brilliant. Her fellow pupils applaud her courage. Mind, there's a teacher who exercises their "right" to continue using the male pronoun for her. It's not her, she says: "The Bible says…"

Alicia doesn't eat brilliantly. It's not a problem yet, but worth monitoring. She hops around her plate like a butterfly with sore feet, she is okay with pasta, but not too big a bowl, better to come back for seconds. Yet she'll go through a whole serving of popcorn if the movie is right. Me and her social worker, we talk about it a lot. We're agreed the key is making good food available, and improving her ease with eating. She has her own fruit bowl in her bedroom, and gets through bananas just fine.

It's her emotional poverty we're also focussed on feeding properly.

When she comes home from school or from hanging out with pals, I always give her a loud welcome, whereas in her real home she'd been invisible. If I find hair cuttings in the bathroom sink, I'll comment favourably about her new hair look. If a parcel arrives for her then next time I see her I'll tell her how great her new top is. If she has a couple of friends round to our house I'll stay out of the way but when they're gone I tell Alicia how fantastic her friends are.

Serving up the right food in the right portions is important.

Serving up the right care, in the right portions, is equally important.

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FOSTER CHILDREN AND BAD DECISION-MAKING

 One of the things you wonder about in fostering is; what becomes of the children when they leave you and go out into the world?

It's troubling enough worrying about what direction your own children will take, but at least you'll know their story, and can always be there for them if needed.

And in any case, your own children haven't been scarred by chaotic home life, then removed and placed with total strangers. All that baggage is hardly the best start.

There's one common trait I often see in chaotic parenting;

Bad decision-making.

The seeds of poor judgement in important matters are probably sown early in chaotic parents, during their own childhood in fact. Their own parents made bad decisions, yet defended those decisions throughout life rather than admit they got things wrong, own up, apologise, and try to improve.

Take Colin.

The state of Colin's home life only came to the notice of Social Services as the result of a bad decision by the dad. He acquired a dog.

I say a "dog", Colin showed us images of the beast on his phone. And what a beast it was. All teeth and jowls, reminded me of Bill Syke's dog in "Oliver".

Colin's dad acquired the dog from a man he'd heard was trying to offload it as he had to leave it at home all day while he was out "at work" and it "wasn't fair on the dog".

Colin's dad came home from the pub one night with the dog; "Gunner".

Gunner was an anxious dog and couldn't settle. He barked all night. So they put him outside in the yard. Where…surprise surprise …he barked all night.

The neighbours got fed up, but rather than confront the family about Gunner (probably fearful of the father's reaction) they called the council and a Dog Warden called.

Colin's father was upset, then angry. In front of the children he threatened to have Gunner put down telling the Dog Warden "If that'll make you happy!" Colin's mum started shouting at her husband for "Getting the bloody animal in the first place!" and the children were terrified. Colin's father's temper tantrums often backfired on them.

The Dog Warden asked a number of questions about their care for the dog. The parents said there was always someone in the house during the day so Gunner never felt lonely. The parents may have thought it was ok to say that the children hardly ever went to school, assuming that would be a credential.

The dog warden began to wonder if there was a safeguarding issue for the children.

They clearly shouldn't be shut in all day with a volatile dog that could easily be taken for dangerous. 

There were other red flags. The Warden spoke discreetly to a number of neighbours who'd come forward about the dog. They had plenty of negatives about the family and the plight of the children.

When he got back to his office he emailed colleagues at Social Services, and one thing led to another. Social Workers took the view that Colin and the other children were at risk for a number of substantials; neglect plus emotional and physical abuse. Never mind the dog.

Their removal into care was approved and Colin arrived at our house

We have a dog, and Colin, once he got past his fear, bonded with her. And told us all about Gunner.

And all about how his dad made bad decisions.

Colin's dad left school early saying the teachers were useless and education was for losers. The only thing he'd been any good at was singing, he'd made the edge of the school choir. He boasted he could have been a pop star but never really bothered.

He got work on a building site thanks to the dad of one of his mates and decided against saving up for a van (something he told his family for years was "next on the list"). Instead he spent his cash on beer, drugs, tattoos and following his football team home and away.

Then he got his girlfriend Cheryl pregnant.

Then he got into nicking. He told everyone (including Colin) it was a victimless crime because the owners had insurance, and he sold his wares on at bargain prices so everyone's a winner.

All the while, Colin is growing up watching his role model father act proud of his achievements. Which is how he re-invented his bad decisions.

Colin told us that whenever it was Karaoke night at the caravan site his dad would get up and sing the same song;

"My Way" by Frank Sinatra.

If you know it, you'll know that Colin's dad is trying to tell the world he's proud of his bad decisions. And seems to be recommending bad decisions to Colin.

So. 

Colin gentled himself while he was with us. Sometimes our dog would follow him up to bed and sleep on his floor, which he absolutley loved. You always, always see progress in foster children while they are with you, it's wonderful. Then they go, and are at the mercy of the world again.

I don't know where Colin is now, a piece of me hopes he's got a sloppy labrador, a career of some sort and is planning a white wedding with his fiancee.

Whatever; good luck Colin, thanks for your time with us, we loved having you!

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YOUR BEST FRIEND

In fostering you quickly appreciate the importance of your best friend.

Your bestie. The buddy who who can be trusted to be discreet, and who understands what you're doing in fostering. Worth their weight in gold.

I've known my best friend since I was a teenager. We buddied up because the same things made us laugh. Plus, we had similar values, particularly about how important it is for people who 'can' to help those that 'can't'. My friend became a nurse, I ended up fostering. 

We continue to meet up every couple of weeks and Facetime almost every day. We share our ups and downs. Her ups are that she runs her own food hub, her downs are mainly that her partner is struggling with mental health and her daughter's marriage is on the rocks. She tells me all her latest. I listen. We talk about it. 

When it's my turn I tell her about the comings and goings in our home. She listens.

The big thing is that the two of us listen to each other. We don't offer advice unless requested. We can tell that the other is listening because every so often they ask a question about what the other is saying that connects with what's just been said.

Listening.

SO important.

A good listener can make you feel so much better about everything because they step inside you and you become a twosome. You double in size whereas the rest of the time you're a onesome, on your own with your thoughts.

A long while ago I made a heady discovery, namely that I have another best friend.

Our Blue Sky social worker.

What happened was this.

We were fostering a young teenage lad, Aaron. He'd been through the mill in his real home. As a small child was routinely punished harshly for things he hadn't done.  Part of my job was to help him develop a sense of security that the outside world has more justice than his childhood home.

One evening we took the family to a Pizza restaurant. I'd booked by phone. After eating I settled the bill and got everyone heading for the car. However, Aaron asked if it was okay for him to walk home alone. It was a quiet evening, it wasn't too late at night, the walk was no more than six or seven minutes.

I said sure.

Aaron stayed in his seat while we set off, finishing his pudding.

Shortly after we got home my phone rang. It was the pizza restaurant. A voice said there was a problem;

"The young man who was with you inadvertently picked up a bag belonging to someone else and the owner of the bag is very upset."

I apologised. When Aaron arrived home, he confirmed that he had the bag, but denied that he'd picked it up himself. He said that a waiter had run after him and said "One of your party left this behind, you'd better take it home." So he complied.

I phoned the pizza place and they conceded that they'd been mistaken in saying that Arron had 'inadvertently' picked up the bag, and confirmed that the waiter had made the mistake. The restaurant sent the waiter to our house to collect the bag and apologise, but when he arrived he dropped a bombshell. He checked the bag and said' "The owner says there was a purse in the bag with cards and I don't see it in here."

Yike. The situation ratcheted up several notches. I had no option but to ask Aaron if he'd had a purse foisted on him as well as the bag. He said he had not. Then our phone rang again. The restaurant said the panic was over, the customer had found her purse.

But. Harm may have been done - to Aaron.

The following morning I phoned my Blue Sky social worker. The agency likes to be in the know.

We talked for nearly an hour.

I say "we talked" but what I mean is that she listened.

She took notes. She was being a professional best friend.

After I finished the tale, the first thing she said was;

"The last thing Aaron would do is risk being in trouble."

He response was SO spot on. It showed not only that she'd taken in all the details, but that she knew and understood a key facet of Aaron that needed to be protected.

Aaron, vindicated, seemed unaffected by his brush with false accusation. If anything he was fortified that the facts came out and his integrity was confirmed.

Confirmation that the world is not too bad, most of the time.

What's also not too bad is having TWO best friends; a social one and a professional one.

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DILEMMA SOLVED

 A while ago I mentioned a problem facing one of our foster children, the one I'm calling Alicia.

Alicia is transitioning from male to female, and doing it with pride and purpose. And we're proud of her for her courage, integrity and unending kindness.

Alicia flattered me by letting me in on a dilemma she was facing.

It's rare to get an update on a troubled child from the child themself. I find that children in care only own one thing outright, and that's their own thoughts and memories. And so they guard their privacy like the crown jewels that they are.

Alicia had been invited to the birthday party of her aunt. Big party; the aunt was turning 50. She apparently wanted her birthday to be one of those Big "0" events. The aunt was very excited about her own party; she'd mailed out invitations with RSVPs, complete with dictats about the guest list. It was to be "Family, close friends and their partners and children only. The invite also briefed everyone on what stuff guests might care to bring, arrrival times, order of events (eg the cutting of the cake). Parking, even.

She was leaving nothing to chance.

Half of the above I learned direct from Alicia herself, the other half by being unable to avoid overhearing Alicia gossiping with her friends in the downstairs room off our kitchen.

Here's Alicia's dilemma.

The aunt considered herself very close to Alicia. She'd allowed the young Alicia to stay with her couple of times as a stop gap when Alicia's home had temporarily broken down.

However. Alicia isn't a kid anymore, she knows herself and her own heart and mind.  When the aunt learned that Alicia was transitioning the aunt virtually disowned Alicia. The aunt had told Alicia via Alicia's real mother that she was not to come to the party as Alicia, but must come as her former self, a boy called Troy. Alicia was to dress as a male and not talk to anyone at the party about transitioning.

For Alicia it seemed to boil down to either complying or refusing. Refusing meant not attending.

If Alicia showed up as Alicia there'd probably be a scene, and Alicia didn't want things to be all about her.

So, what happened?

Alicia played a blinder. She found a better way forward.

First up, she showed a bit of genius in her analysis of human nature. I heard her tell her friends that she reckoned that her aunt's problem was that she didn't want people to think that Alicia's transitioning was any fault of the aunt. 

If Alicia was correct it reminds us all how frightened for themselves some people are.

Alicia hatched a plan.

She would tell the aunt that she wanted to bring a guest; a friend.

The aunt would veto the request as she only wanted 'family, friends of the aunt, and official partners'. In other words if a person wasn't on her list they were not allowed.

Alicia's position was;

"I am who I am and I'm not going to live a lie, not even for a single afternoon".

A beautiful way out. The aunt declined her request so Alicia could say a polite "I regret..." back.

My guess is that almost anyone at the party who noticed "Troy" was a no-show knew why. The aunt sounds like a case in point.

Alicia? I'm not going to pretend she didn't have her ups and downs about it, but she has great support from social services, Blue Sky, and her network of friends. Plus I think she knows that her fostering family are in her corner.

I hope the aunt blew out all her candles.

But that her wishes don't come true.

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FOSTERING AND BEDTIMES

 Bedtimes are slightly different in fostering.

If you don't have children to put to bed you don't know you're born, as my dad used to say.

If the Bedtimes are simply those of your own children then things can still get complicated, but a routine gradually takes shape. The routine takes everything into account; age differences, which day of the week it is, the order of events, and more. It starts with the youngest and works its way up to the eldest. The first of the bedtime routines might kick off for youngest at 7.00pm, and might not finish until eldest at 9.00pm. Repetition is important. If you can get all the little events set in stone there's less wiggle room for argument.

We must never forget there's an understandable drive in kids to stay up as late as they can wangle. However if you have an unchanging family dynamic you're halfway there.

However. The business of Bedtime is slightly altered once you start fostering.

We had three children of our own when we began fostering. Our first foster child was aged ten, a couple of years older than our eldest, so technically the foster child should have been the last one to go up. Whether or not the foster child gets an extra half-hour downstairs after all the others have gone up is one of those seemingly innocuous things that are actually huge. Bedtimes are one of my regular conversations with our Blue Sky social worker when we get our 2/3 hour visit. These visits, by the way, are tailored to everyone's needs. Mine are currently monthly.

We chat about all the issues. In the case of our first foster child the issues included whether our own children would somehow feel miffed that a total stranger has somehow usurped them. We talked at length about what it would mean, especially to our eldest. In our case our eldest, though only eight at the time, was pretty level headed about most things. We took him into our confidence, explaining that if he went to bed cheerfully and without argument he would be a good role model for our new foster child. Our eldest rose to the responsibility. In return eldest would receive longer time in bed with the light on for reading.

BTW, for 'reading' make that 'game time' - we knew it, and he knew we knew it, but so what…? 

We agreed that if our new foster child tried to pitch for longer staying-up time our trump card would be that we were tired, and since we were going to bed he'd have to hit the hay as well because he couldn't stay downstairs on his own.

This wasn't merely a tactical call; I remember we were genuinely whacked.

Bedtimes can be fraught at the best of times, but despite the battles there's always that moment of triumph when your plan has come together and they are all tucked up.

And me and my other half can have a breather.

And an early night...

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PRAISE BE ICE CREAM

 Catriona came to us in a flurry.

It could have been a disaster, but my oldest trick came through.

Normally there's a measured process about a child arriving at your home for fostering.

For carers with an agency such as Blue Sky the process usually begins with a daytime phone call asking if you might be willing to take a child who needs to be fostered. 

The phone call gives a pen picture of the child and her circumstances, and, if there are no obvious problems Blue Sky put you down as a possible. They ping your details to the Local Authority which has ultimate responsibility for the child, to see if you fit the bill. Blue Sky send you everything they have that's known about the child, so you can consolidate your willingness.

I can't tell you how exhilarating this episode is! The prospect of a child arriving into your care, becoming part of your home, enjoying your parenting - whatever they've endured - it's heady stuff.

Catriona arrived by a slightly different route.

The phone call came late one night.

Blue Sky had been contacted by a Local Authority which had suddenly taken a child into care.

See, generally a child is taken into care after a process of investigation into the home life of the child by Local Authority social workers. They trawl through the situations in the home and evaluate if the child/children are at risk of safeguarding issues. 

If the social workers decide there are sufficient concerns they trigger a high level pow-wow review of the child's vulnerablity, which then decides if the child is to be taken into care.

All very measured.

However, not so with Catriona.

My phone pinged. The time was just after midnight. Blue Sky calling. I was on their list as a potential emergency carer. 

The question I was asked was; would I be willing to take a child who police had found wandering the streets in a dubious part of town. The child said her name was Catriona, but blanked other questions such as "Where do you live?", "Who are your mummy or daddy?", "Why are you out of the house at this late hour?"

The officers contacted the Local Authority's 24 hour service, and they put the word out that a bed was needed for a child, and fast.

I said "Yes" and literally ten minutes later a squad car was on its way.

See, the alternative accomodation for Catriona was a police cell, and no-one wants that.

I dressed myself, did a quick zizz of the spare bedroom and boiled a kettle. 

Catriona arrived with two officers, a female and a male. Their care for the child made my heart glow. 

It was agreed that almost all the necessary paperwork could wait until the morning, they made a couple of phone calls, jotted some notes, told me what they'd noted, and departed.

Catriona was well presented, smart even.  It turned out that her good appearance was her own doing, her family didn't give a tinker's cuss about her.

She was totally tight-lipped. I asked about how she was, she shrugged. I asked if she needed the bathroon, she didn't even shrug, just stared down at the kitchen table .

So I fell back on my cheapest trick. I went to the freezer and said "Well as it's late I'm going to have a bowl of ice cream. Not sure whether to have chocolate or strawberry…"

I saw her perk up a little, so I added "How about you? Chocolate or strawberry?'

I watched her litttle face as she wrestled with the problem. The REAL problem.

The real problem wasn't chocolate or strawberry. The real problem was whether to relax and engage with a stranger of an adult.

Catriona gave in;

"Chocolate…please."

Cue engagement.

Ok, we didn't talk way into the night, but ice cream had broken the ice.

She absolutley savoured every spoonfull.

Catriona wasn't with us very long, a more permanent foster home was secured a better distance from her chaotic home.

But I'll never forget her licking the spoon.

Or, even better, her smile and nod when I asked:

"D'you want a drop more?"

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