Firstly let me quantify everything I say in this blog by saying, I worked in the social health sector for 25 plus years specifically in children’s residential homes.

While time spent in the sector doesn’t make me an expert, it certainly does give me experience and a memory bank filled to bursting with memories. Oh, the memories.

To be fair I can’t go into much detail because the information is so very personal, not only to me and the team members I worked with, but also to the brave and wonderful young people I have met along the way.

Guys, you should see me as I type this. I’m grinning like a Cheshire cat and I simply can’t get the smile to leave my face. I think of the good times mostly. Often they came on the back of some of the most harrowing of periods. Each significantly positive event would be irretrievably linked to an equally dower and sombre moment in a child’s life that would often see me well up with tears when driving home.

So many times I’d have to pull over and gather my composure before re-joining traffic. But the need to match the bravery of the children I worked with was an all-consuming passion.

So exactly how does one match the bravery of a child in care? And when I say bravery what do I actually mean?

Well here is an example- Names have been changed for obvious reasons.

D.

I met D in a children’s home where I worked as temporary deputy manager. From the start, D and I hit it off. D was just a young boy when I first encountered him. What struck me most was his ability to accept me into his world. You see, as a visually impaired child, he had already faced several challenges in his life.

D was also nonverbal, partially deaf, as well as having physical challenges that made it difficult for him to walk. But on our first meeting as I stood in the doorway of the purpose-built respite care bungalow I noticed the small excitable silhouette I would soon come to know as D. D spotted me greeting other children as they returned from school. He stopped and turned his entire body towards the lady assisting from the bus. With one hand he attempted to hold on to the handrail and with the other, he signed furiously while motioning in my direction.

The lady helping D simply smiled and said, yes dear he is new and yes he does work here.

As this remarkable young boy strode forward ever appearing to be on the brink of falling forward and sustaining injury, I heard the clink and the clang of his leg callipers as he bound towards me.

“Careful D” shouted the lady whilst hurriedly pursuing D from the driveway. I did not know quite what the protocol was in this moment. If I reached out to him would I scare him? Would he be offended that I didn’t trust him not to fall? Would he feel patronised by this hulking great man who as of yet did not know him?

Just then D ran headlong into my chest, almost collapsing as he did but I was about to catch him as he stumbled into me.

Woah! I say Woah there boy! I said in my best foghorn leghorn deep southern drawl. I then returned to my actual voice and ask “are you ok?”

D struggled to gain his balance and once again began signing furiously.

I knew some Makaton sign language and made out the words “I am good”.

From that moment I had a shadow. Where I went, D went. And over time my sign language improved. One day, D asked me if I liked rap music? Confused I responded yes both verbally and in sign. What happened next stunned me…

D once again began signing with gusto. The words he strung together seemed quite frankly odd! Slow it down a bit D, I signed with an increasingly confused look on my face.

He slowed his signing a touch but instead placed more emphasis on both his facial expressions and the force with which he would use his unsteady hands to sign.

D continued “you’re big, I’m small, if I hit you, you fall”.

“I don’t want to be hit” I said now feeling a little concerned. “Have I upset you D?”

D looking a little perturbed repeated his signing but this time added something that seemed to imply that I smelled bad and he, on the other hand, was very handsome.

Then it hit me!

I was in a full-on RAP Battle with a school kid who rather than unleashing a barrage of clever witty verbal punchlines, had issued his surprise lyrical onslaught via sign language!

Now as many of you reading this may know, not only am I a senior manager within the children’s therapeutic residential services. I am also a 90’s hip-hop connoisseur. Therefore I know all too well that when it’s time to rhyme battle, it is time to get busy-boy. Nahmean!

I backed up. Got into my B-Boy stance. Feet approximately 2 ft apart in distance, arms folded exaggeratedly, eyebrows furrowed and nodding.

D squealed with delight and motioned for me to begin.

I launched into my fresh opening gambit. I signed with the skill and dexterity of a non-verbal Jay Z.

I kicked the ballistic dope sign rhyme. “I’m the man of the hour . I can’t be beat, your Raps are sour and my raps sweet”.

We both laughed and thrashed about. And so we went on. Back and forth. With D eventually being declared the winner.

D showed raw bravery putting himself out there like that. All the reasons in the world not to get up, get out and get his, and yet this young boy was straight up taking the life he had and living it to the absolute limit!

D was only one example of the children I’ve worked with that have inspired me to match their bravery. There have been many, many more.

So to D and every single child in care, I will forever tip my hat to you. Keep being brave.

You are an inspiration.

Bless.

Cliff