The End of the Foster Care Journey
At the age of seventeen I would say that my attitude was far from improving. Yes I treated my foster parents with the respect they richly deserved (I am sure they would say differently), but when your that age there is (for some) no escaping the rudeness and obnoxious behaviour not only of a teenager, but perhaps a fairly damaged one at that. I also felt that it was time for me to move into my own place so that 'I could do what I wanted, when I wanted.' Now to this day I am not sure how long the Smith's had agreed to look after me, but after making umpteen number of threats to leave they finally decided to call my bluff....and before I knew it the social services had found me what I can only describe as a step up from bed and breakfast. It was a house owned and lived in by a rather mature lady (Margaret), yet she let two of her rooms out. I can only surmise she had some sort of deal going with the social services, and I found myself on my own - to a degree at least.
Now for someone to have just turned seventeen the prospect of living on ones own would initially appear to be a dream. Yes I could do what I wanted, I could go out for as long as I wanted and I could even have back whom ever I wanted. Margaret even did my washing for me and cooked on occasion. The fact that she was part of what I could only describe as a religious cult (hardly that in hindsight) impeded on my life a little, particularly as one of her disciples (who was probably a decent guy) took an interest in gently recruiting me to this religious gathering (I didnt think to alert my Social Worker at the time). On many an evening I can recall locking myself in my room when she had told me that they had a meeting set...and listening to religious speeches, natterings and social activity (nothing sinister here - hardly the Wicker Man). Despite all that was going on around me I regularly visited my foster parents, and after securing my leaving care grant I managed to acquire a CB 125T Honda Superdream Motorcycle......I had found a new level of freedom.
At this point I began riding over to my hometown, resuming contact with my biological mother and sister, and later on my brother. After completing College (and living in the household as described above) I returned to my hometown and took up residence with my mother. My care order was completed on my 18th birthday, yet the social services assisted me in moving back home. My mother was extremely keen on having me back home, and after unpacking and settling in it began to dawn on me that I had already had multiple experiences of living in homes, foster placements, with family members, their friends, independently and now with my biological mother - all by the tender age of 18 years.
Whilst it would be neat and tidy to conclude the story there I must mention one more association with the social services. I had heard through my sister that they were organising a trip to Ireland for four children who had been in fostercare and children's homes. By some miracle (and I don't know how I did it) I managed to be one of those four, and so on one warm night in July two members of staff (Bill and Sam) and four children aged around fifteen to seventeen (Me, Charlotte, Vicky and Darren) left the children's home in a mini bus and set of for Ireland. The idea behind the holiday was that we would go to a farm on the outskirts of Belfast and assist in its renovation for the many school children who would visit in. It would be videoed and played to those at the top of the food chain within the social services, and if successful would be implemented on a much larger scale. I felt that the idea was an excellent one, and that furthermore the trip itself had a significant impact as to how I would develop as a person. Above all it taught me to appreciate the concepts of responsibility, hard work, respect for others and being fortunate. We all received a copy of the video and I still have mine to this day, yet the memories of that working holiday will never fade - there were so many things that happened on that short trip that I would not be ready to share within these pages - well not yet anyway. This trip signified the end of my contact with the social services - the end of my parenting by the state.