Mick Pease

Children Belong in Families


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at ten on a Saturday morning, so I beat my way there by bus through the bustle of the sprawling city. We were there the rest of the day, talking excitedly well into the evening. Both women could speak some English and could understand far more and between that and my very basic Portuguese we were able to communicate.

      “Tell us about the English system,” they said. “We want to know all about it.”

      I related how I had worked in the residential care system and knew it from the inside. My role as a social worker was to find safe and secure family-based care for children unable to live with their family, either with foster parents or through adoption. I told them how I would arrange background and safeguarding checks, how the legal requirements operated, what support and training were available for foster parents.

      Competition for places at the higher quality, publicly funded universities is intense. A third of Brazilian graduates study at private or for-profit institutions. These run courses during the evenings as well as daytime so that people can work and study at the same time. It is common for a Brazilian student to work from 7:30 a.m. to around 6 p.m. and then spend from 7 p.m. to 11 p.m. in lectures and tutorials. There are few opportunities for practical fieldwork in disciplines like psychology and social care. Students work to support themselves unless their parents can afford to do so and this limits the opportunity for practical placements and hands-on training.

      Fostering was virtually unknown in Brazil at that time. Isa and Maria were keen to hear my experience of it in the UK context. Adoption was better known but associated by many with international adoption by wealthy foreign couples. The situation was complex; so many barriers, so many obstacles. I had a lot to say yet Isa and Maria Lucia heard me out. I was in full flow when Isa Guará leaned forward and held up her hand.

      “Mick,” she said. “This can work in Brazil!”

      2. Home

      Then if she dies, at least she’ll die at home.

      Matches, fire, smoke. By the time Mrs. Gardner reached her kitchen, the whole thing was alight. They knew something was wrong when I dashed into the lounge and dived under the table where the television had pride of place. The table was covered by a cloth so I cowered beneath it.

      Only set fire to the kitchen, that’s what. Mam had taken me around to Billy Gardner’s house. I must have been about six or seven. While she was talking to his mother, I went into the kitchen with one or other of his brothers and sisters. There I found something I loved to play with, a box of matches. What’s more, something to ignite, dishcloths hanging up to dry on a rack that stretched across the kitchen. Within seconds the room was full of choking smoke.

      Mrs. Gardner soon put the fire out, but it could have been a lot worse. As a boy, I was forever getting into