When’s the right time to start fostering

When men turn 40, it’s traditional to have a midlife crisis. I decided to become a foster carer. More accurately, my wife suggested we explore the possibility of becoming a foster family.

Our birth children were 5 and 7, and although I am biased, they are really rather fantastic kids, being academic, sporty and fairly sociable.

My job as a secondary school teacher was demanding but going well. My wife was a solicitor. We lived in a semi detached house with pebble dash and a compost heap. Perhaps we were in danger of becoming a little ordinary.

At first glance, the risks seemed to outweigh the benefits.

Would we have room in our house and hearts for an extra child?

How would our kids and wider family be affected? Would my wife and I still have time for each other?

We went along to an Information Event run by our Local Council. I’d been on worst dates.

We heard stories from a foster carer, a social worker and a young adult who had grown up in foster homes. Their stories had us in both tears and laughter.

Many adults who have grown up in care struggle in later life.

Many of our homeless and prison population were once in care. Academic outcomes for foster children are also way below any national attainment targets.

This information offended our sense of justice. It was not enough to feel pity. We had to show compassion and take action.

Our own situation also influenced me. Our own children had begun to go on sleepovers.

Our son, aged about 5, showed a bit of anxiety about spending a night at his best friend’s house.

I sought to reassure him.

My son knew where he was going, what he’d be having for tea, he knew where the toilet was, he was taking his own duvet and pillow, his own bag of Power Rangers and a bag of sweets. He knew the adults and the children in the house, and he knew his Dad would be picking him up in the morning.

And yet, still he was nervous.

I began to wonder. What would it be like for a five year old, or younger, or older, to be taken to a stranger’s house, and left there, perhaps forever.?

I knew we could keep a child safe. We could provide food, a warm bed, and some sort of reassurance. I hoped we could make a child feel safe. This is the essence of fostering.

We rang the Council and applied to foster.

8 months later, we became approved foster carers.

Fostering is difficult, but the rewards outweigh the problems, and it’s value is unquantifiable.

Trying to convince a kid that 3.00am is a bad time to play tennis, and that not all adults are dangerous, is not particularly glamorous, but it is worthwhile.

The right to time to consider fostering is probably right here and right now.