Fostering the Future
January 13th 2008 00:51
Over the last year or so I've noticed a recurring theme in books and movies. We are definately focused on the cloning of humans as a moral and social issue. It's a bit hard to tell whether we are enchanted by the idea or disgusted, but either way it makes for good story telling. After reading Cloud Atlas it brought to mind a short story I wrote about five years ago. When talk of cloning (sheep at that time) first became topical, my imagination immediately ran ahead and stuck on the idea of a corporate world that would breed workers. But how would they assimilate such a work force? Well, what came out of such active contemplating is Fostering The Future. My style has changed somewhat since writing this, but I hope you find it enjoyable, or at least worth your time.
“O’ give me burning blue … Blue and brittle sea-wood”.
Caroline looked down at the boy beside her. These were his first words since arriving in her care not half an hour ago. He was looking directly at the ring of small blue flames she had just lit on the gas stove, dancing a pirouette under the saucepan of milk.
“What was that Gavin?” she asked him gently. From the moment she first saw him she felt he was different. Unique.
He tilted his face up and stared directly at her with huge angelic brown eyes that penetrated straight to her heart. What she felt for these foster kids cut her deep every time.
“Did you say something?” she tried again.
“Above the tide-line”, came his response. She kept eye contact with the child, half in wonder, half in dread. How could something like that come from one so young? Was that a poem he was reciting?
“That’s lovely Gavin, is there anymore to it?” He gave her no more. Maybe there was no more. Certainly he had nothing else to say now.
That was OK … she would not press him, but every nerve in her body seemed to go into red alert.
She continued making the hot chocolate with the boy intently watching. Whether he was watching her motions or the blue flames Caroline was not sure, but he did not seem uncomfortable with her, standing close by, his curly blonde hair just making it to her elbow level. How old did they say he was, four? Yes four. Quite confident for his age, she absently thought. No doubt he had seen a lot in those few years. Most of them have, but Caroline did not like to know too much, she may only have him for one night. Besides, sometimes it was best not to know where they came from or why they were with you. That way, it was easier to let them go.
It was Caroline’s way and so far it had worked well for her. She had had ten kids off and on in eighteen months with little or no drama, and she loved fostering. Each child had been both a joy and a heartache rolled into one. You never had one without the other.
A low growl of thunder brought her back from her thoughts. Glancing out the window she took in the backyard. The gums were starting up a sway that announced a storm, leaves already skipping across the lawn.
“OK, let’s go get this chocolate into our bellies shall we.” She carried the cups into the living room with its old but comfy furniture. The wood burner glowing. Gavin trailing close behind.
They would sit and have this. Maybe she could get a few more words from him before bed. How he would handle a thunderstorm was yet to be seen.
“Do you like TV Gavin? We can watch a show or I’ll read you a story if you like. I have lots of books”.
With this, he abruptly got up and ran to a small knapsack that had been dropped at the door when he arrived. It was a pretty poor affair, with stitching coming loose and straps safety pinned on, but it was all he had come with. Caroline watched as he expertly worked the buckles and zipper, amusement playing on her face. She knew five year olds that would have problems opening this bag. Out he pulled a battered but clearly loved book called ‘Tim and Toby Have A Visitor’.
“Well, you have your own book. Let’s have a look”.
He settled next to her giving her the book in a very practiced manner. He has done this before Caroline thought. How many people have read Gavin this book, she could not help but wonder. And she did wonder at this child. He had many surprises for her she was sure. There seemed to be so much wrapped up in such a small package. Would it all stay neatly packed Caroline found herself thinking.
Rain was hitting the window with a ceaseless drumming rhythm that eventually brought Caroline to full consciousness. Her clock read 3:15. She recognized the muffled roar of a southerly rushing through the trees outside. Small branches and twigs were being tossed across her iron roof, clattering and squeaking their disapproval. She could hear no sound from the other bedroom so she padded her way down the hall to Gavin’s room. The hall light was always left on when she fostered young ones. He lay motionless in his narrow bed, the covers barely disturbed by the small form inserted under them. The stillness in the room gave an eerie contrast to the havoc being played outside.
“Gavin, are you OK?”
He was wide-awake, staring at the ceiling. No fear or confusion could she detect on this small, young face.
“Are you scared of the storm?”
“No. It’s the weather.”
“Yes. You’re right about that. But don’t worry, it’ll pass. Do you need to go to the toilet?”
A small shake of the head.
“Can I get you anything?”
Another small shake. Caroline frowned.
“OK then. Goodnight.”
He was a tough little thing, that was for sure, but there was something different about him all the same. She had seen tough kids before, even younger than Gavin. The thing was, you could see them steady themselves, actually watch them building the strength to face what ever was coming next. This one, Gavin … it almost seemed as though it was built in. He wasn’t trying to be tough, he was tough!
“Scary.” She mumbled to herself, climbing back into bed, the wind easing her back into sleep.
Caroline placed the receiver back in the cradle with a satisfied snap. She had Gavin until Monday morning. That made her happy. Surprisingly so. He certainly wasn’t the best company, not in the ordinary sense anyway. But she did enjoy having him here. His quiet presence enjoyable. They had spent the morning cleaning up the backyard from last night’s storm. The task of collecting leaves and twigs suited his methodical approach. She was able to get some lovely shots of him in the winter light. The concentration on his face, the seriousness in his eyes and the wind in his curls were a perfect contrast for a photographer.
Going free-lance had certainly made Caroline’s life more flexible, but it did tend to restrict her to mundane subjects at times. Weddings, school formals and such. Interesting projects came along now and again, just enough to keep her satisfied in her work, and as she worked the lens, capturing this child in freeze frame, she knew she had a rare subject. When he first heard the whirr of the film he gave her a quick glance, but appeared to have felt nothing unusual at having the eye of a camera on him. Odd, Caroline thought.
There were still few words from him. He answered when spoken to with no hesitation. And he never asked for anything.
“Gavin, would you like some lunch?”
“Yes.”
“Are you thirsty?”
“No.”
“What would you like to do now?”
“I will take a bath.”
He was not interested in the toys that she had collected for her children. He had a good look at them, then placed them all back in the box. Games were different. He would play board games or cards for hours. Always using that look of concentration, but found little joy in winning, or distress in losing. Caroline was simultaneously
baffled and taken by her little boarder. The only thing that was predictable about Gavin was his book. He would never say no to his book being read. Maybe it was the one thing in his life that never changed.
Conclusion in following post
“O’ give me burning blue … Blue and brittle sea-wood”.
Caroline looked down at the boy beside her. These were his first words since arriving in her care not half an hour ago. He was looking directly at the ring of small blue flames she had just lit on the gas stove, dancing a pirouette under the saucepan of milk.
“What was that Gavin?” she asked him gently. From the moment she first saw him she felt he was different. Unique.
He tilted his face up and stared directly at her with huge angelic brown eyes that penetrated straight to her heart. What she felt for these foster kids cut her deep every time.
“Did you say something?” she tried again.
“Above the tide-line”, came his response. She kept eye contact with the child, half in wonder, half in dread. How could something like that come from one so young? Was that a poem he was reciting?
“That’s lovely Gavin, is there anymore to it?” He gave her no more. Maybe there was no more. Certainly he had nothing else to say now.
She continued making the hot chocolate with the boy intently watching. Whether he was watching her motions or the blue flames Caroline was not sure, but he did not seem uncomfortable with her, standing close by, his curly blonde hair just making it to her elbow level. How old did they say he was, four? Yes four. Quite confident for his age, she absently thought. No doubt he had seen a lot in those few years. Most of them have, but Caroline did not like to know too much, she may only have him for one night. Besides, sometimes it was best not to know where they came from or why they were with you. That way, it was easier to let them go.
It was Caroline’s way and so far it had worked well for her. She had had ten kids off and on in eighteen months with little or no drama, and she loved fostering. Each child had been both a joy and a heartache rolled into one. You never had one without the other.
A low growl of thunder brought her back from her thoughts. Glancing out the window she took in the backyard. The gums were starting up a sway that announced a storm, leaves already skipping across the lawn.
“OK, let’s go get this chocolate into our bellies shall we.” She carried the cups into the living room with its old but comfy furniture. The wood burner glowing. Gavin trailing close behind.
They would sit and have this. Maybe she could get a few more words from him before bed. How he would handle a thunderstorm was yet to be seen.
“Do you like TV Gavin? We can watch a show or I’ll read you a story if you like. I have lots of books”.
With this, he abruptly got up and ran to a small knapsack that had been dropped at the door when he arrived. It was a pretty poor affair, with stitching coming loose and straps safety pinned on, but it was all he had come with. Caroline watched as he expertly worked the buckles and zipper, amusement playing on her face. She knew five year olds that would have problems opening this bag. Out he pulled a battered but clearly loved book called ‘Tim and Toby Have A Visitor’.
“Well, you have your own book. Let’s have a look”.
He settled next to her giving her the book in a very practiced manner. He has done this before Caroline thought. How many people have read Gavin this book, she could not help but wonder. And she did wonder at this child. He had many surprises for her she was sure. There seemed to be so much wrapped up in such a small package. Would it all stay neatly packed Caroline found herself thinking.
Rain was hitting the window with a ceaseless drumming rhythm that eventually brought Caroline to full consciousness. Her clock read 3:15. She recognized the muffled roar of a southerly rushing through the trees outside. Small branches and twigs were being tossed across her iron roof, clattering and squeaking their disapproval. She could hear no sound from the other bedroom so she padded her way down the hall to Gavin’s room. The hall light was always left on when she fostered young ones. He lay motionless in his narrow bed, the covers barely disturbed by the small form inserted under them. The stillness in the room gave an eerie contrast to the havoc being played outside.
“Gavin, are you OK?”
He was wide-awake, staring at the ceiling. No fear or confusion could she detect on this small, young face.
“Are you scared of the storm?”
“No. It’s the weather.”
“Yes. You’re right about that. But don’t worry, it’ll pass. Do you need to go to the toilet?”
A small shake of the head.
“Can I get you anything?”
Another small shake. Caroline frowned.
“OK then. Goodnight.”
He was a tough little thing, that was for sure, but there was something different about him all the same. She had seen tough kids before, even younger than Gavin. The thing was, you could see them steady themselves, actually watch them building the strength to face what ever was coming next. This one, Gavin … it almost seemed as though it was built in. He wasn’t trying to be tough, he was tough!
“Scary.” She mumbled to herself, climbing back into bed, the wind easing her back into sleep.
Caroline placed the receiver back in the cradle with a satisfied snap. She had Gavin until Monday morning. That made her happy. Surprisingly so. He certainly wasn’t the best company, not in the ordinary sense anyway. But she did enjoy having him here. His quiet presence enjoyable. They had spent the morning cleaning up the backyard from last night’s storm. The task of collecting leaves and twigs suited his methodical approach. She was able to get some lovely shots of him in the winter light. The concentration on his face, the seriousness in his eyes and the wind in his curls were a perfect contrast for a photographer.
Going free-lance had certainly made Caroline’s life more flexible, but it did tend to restrict her to mundane subjects at times. Weddings, school formals and such. Interesting projects came along now and again, just enough to keep her satisfied in her work, and as she worked the lens, capturing this child in freeze frame, she knew she had a rare subject. When he first heard the whirr of the film he gave her a quick glance, but appeared to have felt nothing unusual at having the eye of a camera on him. Odd, Caroline thought.
There were still few words from him. He answered when spoken to with no hesitation. And he never asked for anything.
“Gavin, would you like some lunch?”
“Yes.”
“Are you thirsty?”
“No.”
“What would you like to do now?”
“I will take a bath.”
He was not interested in the toys that she had collected for her children. He had a good look at them, then placed them all back in the box. Games were different. He would play board games or cards for hours. Always using that look of concentration, but found little joy in winning, or distress in losing. Caroline was simultaneously
baffled and taken by her little boarder. The only thing that was predictable about Gavin was his book. He would never say no to his book being read. Maybe it was the one thing in his life that never changed.
Conclusion in following post
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