TAKE TWO KIDS

[Linda Jane McLean]

PART ONE
Darryl the Dastardly
In many ways, we could not have been more fortunate - though it did not seem like that at the time. We had taken a huge step, and trained as professional foster carers for children over the age of 12 years, who had such a difficult personal history that no home could be found for them.

The first boy we experienced was Darryl. We had opted for boys because we were told they were easier – so, thank goodness we did not choose girls. It was not a stroll in the park, and there were so many gaps in their learning to be filled in, it could be quite daunting.

Darryl was a real look-alike to Lewis Hamilton. The dark hair and eyes, the ready smile that would melt your heart (only available if in a good mood, we discovered, as time went on): the brilliant white teeth that flashed when he was amused – they were all very endearing. And he was not stupid.
However, he was extremely volatile, the Children’s Home informed us once we started working with him at weekends. If he wasn’t setting fires, he was breaking someone’s legs, and it was decided that the quicker we could take him, the better. Unfortunately, we were unable to expedite this before his last act of arson, to my knowledge. And so we ended up visiting a prisoner in the Assessment Centre.
There his humiliation was complete. Instead of spending what was to be his first weekend with us, he was locked up.
There, all his clothes had been taken away.
There he was only allowed Assessment Centre casual garb and plastic sandals.
There he was only allowed juice in plastic bottles.
It was difficult. He was mortified. He sat with his head down, avoiding eye contact. Conversation was as painful as a tooth extraction performed in slow motion. Suddenly, he seemed only capable of “yes” or “no” answers, and the hour that we had with him each time was very long. If we did manage to elicit three or four words together it was a victory.
My husband, who was a wheelchair user, and myself were made very welcome, and the access was easy. Even although Darryl had not moved in with us at this time, the staff took time to tell us about him, and obviously felt that it would be quite a positive move.
Where school was concerned, he had obviously burned his boats, and he was going to be sent to a List D school, as it was then known, in Tranent. The teachers there were extremely helpful. We were interested in his progress, - he was slightly dyslexic, as I discovered later. Many an hour was spent on homework. Trying to find a book that would hold his interest while he deciphered the letters was quite a challenge originally, but we eventually mastered the art of reading a chapter without him having a temper tantrum, doors being slammed, or storming out of the room.
One day, he came home from school in a very bad mood, swearing at me for no reason. I suggested that he went upstairs and came down when he was calmer, as we did not tolerate that kind of language in the house. He refused to comply.
He was quite small for his age, so I decided that I would pick him up and eject him from the room. As we passed the wall unit he grabbed a decanter.
“Put me down, or you’ll get this over your head!” he announced.
The decanter was empty, but it was an antique, belonging to my husband. Reluctantly, I put him down, but overbalanced, and he was on top of me, trying to break the decanter against the wall to put in my face. All I could do was restrain him – there was no-one there to help. Eventually, after what seemed like a lifetime, he collapsed into tears and became a wee boy again.
I was severely shaken: my husband was very angry when he came home.
As the evening wore on, and Darryl became terrified that we no longer cared about him, I took him out for a long walk with the dog, and we talked quite a bit. Then I washed his hair. By the time my husband Phil, returned from his meeting, Darryl was happy and biddable once more.
A week later the Social Worker visited and asked: “Do you know why you were angry, Phil?”
Enough said.

To reduce Darryl’s aggression we bought him a bike for Christmas, and suggested he join a Cycling Club.
“Have I got to find out about that?” he asked.
We assured him it was his responsibility.
He sighed heavily.
“Where will I find out these things?”
“Try the Yellow Pages” was our suggestion.
He brought the book, and sat opposite us, leafing carefully through the names. This went on for some time. Then he appeared to go back, and start again. Eventually, he offered:
“There are no Cycling Clubs in Edinburgh!”
“Don’t be silly, Darryl, of course there are!”I responded.
“No there aren’t! I’ve looked under all the S’s!”
We had three and a half years to get him ready for the world…….

In “List D” , there was really only one episode that caused contention. I received a phone call from his teacher one day, to say that Darryl had run away after an explosion of temper. Several teachers had taken up the chase and he was eventually subdued in the street – however, it took three of them sitting on him to restrain him.
“He’s exhausted!” said the teacher. “Will you come and pick him up?”
I thought about this for a moment. Then responded:
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Oh, I think you should. He’s really done in. I would hate to put him on the bus!” she replied.
“Well, I’m looking at it from Darryl’s point of view. If he behaves well, he has to get the bus home. If he behaves badly, I come and pick him up. If you wanted a lift home, what would you do?” I asked.
“I think that is very hard,” she replied.
“I think you’re right, but at least if he does it again, I will know that I haven’t encouraged him,” I replied.
There was a disapproving silence. Darryl would get the bus home as usual.
He returned eventually, having fallen asleep and gone past his stop, which had taken him all the way into town. So he had had to get another bus home. Seeing his tear streaked face, I felt quite cruel, but I did not regret my decision.
He never misbehaved to that extent again.
I rest my case.
The teacher and I became firm friends, and I like to think I made her think slightly differently. Eventually, the headmaster became engrossed in what we were doing, and new friendships were made.
Darryl was there for a year, he had settled, his teacher was pleased with him. It was time to approach the Local Secondary.
There his background was explained. His mother had left him at the age of two. It was believed his father was an American serviceman. His grandparents had tried, but were unable to cope. He had been placed fourteen times without success.
But he had stayed the course now for a year – or we had –we were never quite sure which. We wanted him to benefit from local schooling – would they accept him?
Fortunately, having made the relationships with the staff that we had, there was moral support and educational reinforcement of our argument. There were serious discussions. There were grave doubts. There were many meetings. But eventually, by promising to stand behind the school, we won through.
It was not unproblematic, but they said at that after a year that no-one would have known he was in the school. His behaviour was excellent. We did not need to attend the school for any reason.
The school was totally accessible, with interested staff. As time went by, they came to trust us, and I was invited on to the School Council. (My husband was a full-time civil Servant – he liked his evenings free where possible.) By inviting us in, it helped to consolidate the parent/teacher relationship, and we felt very privileged.
©Linda Jane McLean