Latest news with #fosterparents
The Guardian
14-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
‘Call me Chickenella!' How Guardian readers got their nicknames – and what they feel about them
Nicknames are dying out, according to the Wall Street Journal, thanks to a fear of causing offence or sounding unprofessional. But they're not dead yet. We asked readers to tell us theirs, where they came from and how they feel about them. My foster father gave me the nickname Weeb around 1995 – way before it meant someone who enjoys Japanese culture – because I have very thick, dark hair and, at that point, I was in my gawky teens. I fell over a lot. He said I looked like tumbleweed stumbling into rooms, then it became Weeb because of the 'b' in Phoebe. I've always loved it; it is one of many things my foster parents did, and still do, to make me feel loved and at home. I do have to keep explaining that I'm not particularly into anime to my 14-year-old's friends, though! Phoebe Pallotti, independent midwife, Sheffield I'm Pine Cone – at least according to my girlfriend. It came about not long after we started spending time together. I was getting frustrated by a video game and she said: 'Have patience, young Pine Cone.' It turned out she had recently seen a meme of a pangolin being asked, 'Little pine cone, why do you drink?', to which the pangolin replied, 'To forget', while slurping water with its long tongue. I don't drink by licking, I rarely touch alcohol and I'm not particularly pine-cone-shaped, but it kind of stuck because of the absurdity. My girlfriend is the only one who calls me Pine Cone, but I don't remember the last time she called me anything else. Pine Cone, software developer, London Through my teenage years, my nickname was Magic Pockets, as I always seemed to be the guy who had the right change, a working pen, a lighter, an important phone number … Sadly, the powers are now gone. I kind of liked the expression, as it sounded as if I was lucky, which has turned out to be mostly true. Robert Balcer, part-time teacher, Chiang Rai, Thailand My given name is not easily shortened, but my Slovak-speaking grandma would call me Jojo. I never thought much about it until she died: I surprised myself by crying, knowing no one would call me Jojo again. That's when I became Jojo in my own self-talk. My officemates laugh when they hear me whisper 'C'mon, Jojo!' to myself. Joel Neubauer, Lutheran pastor, Virginia, US I was called Plug, which might have been related to the character of the same name from the Bash Street Kids in the Beano, but I claim it was derived from the playing field adjacent to our house, where there was a broad selection of playground equipment. The roundabout was a favourite. It was divided into six segments and each of the neighbourhood children would claim ownership of a particular segment. Mine was the one that had the hole for lubricating the roundabout and it was sealed with a metal plug, hence my nickname. I accepted it quite happily. Anonymous, the Netherlands I'm from London and after living in Italy for many years decided to move to Sri Lanka. Being a gelato chef, I opened a gelateria and named it Love Gelato. Local people often asked me what 'gelato' meant and I would explain the Italian meaning, but for some reason to this day I have not been able to get my explanation through – and I have become known as Gelato. When I'm out in the village where I live and I hear someone call, 'Hi Gelato!' I absolutely love it. I feel that I've made it in this life. Oz Qadir, Unawatuna, Sri Lanka Growing up, most of my friends had older brothers and apparently I was especially short compared with them. Someone mentioned that I was like Master Shifu from the Kung Fu Panda movies and the nickname stuck – it's still used more than my real name. Master Shifu was wise and all-powerful, so I embrace it. Safar Yusuf, postgraduate student, Glasgow One night, when we had been dating for about two years, I woke to find my husband sniffing me, saying I smelled like a little chicken. He laughed, then rolled over and fell back to sleep. In the morning I reminded him of this and he had no memory of doing it. From then on I've been Chicken. The story still amuses people, so it's stuck. In the past few years, it's become Chickenella. Jan, graphic designer, Hammersmith My nickname is The Force, and it's all because of Bradley Walsh. In January 2021, I was on The Chase, and when asked what I would do if I won the prize, I answered that I'd take a career break and train as a professional wrestler. When Bradley asked what my wrestler nickname would be, I said: 'The Force of Nature'. After my cash builder round, Bradley went backstage with a grin on his face and a producer returned to ask if they could change my name plate for the show from 'Aidan' to 'Force'. I thought this was a really great idea, something a bit different, and the nickname has completely stuck. Aidan Jones, resource coordinator, North Yorkshire My nickname is Buffy. I read somewhere that it was also the nickname of the queen mother, so I'm in good company. My mother used to keep diaries and I read an entry saying, 'Buffy is one!' – so it goes back that far. But I don't know exactly how it originated. My father was a fan of the American singer Buffy Sainte-Marie, so one theory is that it originated from that; someone else suggested it came from being 'in the buff' (naked). Caroline Jane Smith, recruiter, The Hague, the Netherlands In primary school in Scotland, during the early 70s, I was given the nickname Punk. This was derived from the children's game Ker Plunk, a play on my surname. When punk rock finally made its way to Scotland in the 70s, the nickname became very fitting as I fully embraced the ethos of punk, which has stayed with me throughout my life. I'm still referred to as Punk by old schoolfriends, and I use the name as a pseudonym when posting pictures of meals I've cooked on social media, where I call myself Punk Floyd, which combines me (Punk) and Floyd (Keith, the late celebrity chef). James Kerr, retiree, Huntingdon During my undergraduate years, I was given the nickname Bubbe, the Yiddish word for grandmother. Apparently, I gave off powerful enough grand-maternal vibes for it to stick for more than a decade. To be honest, I loved it and still do. Bubbe is a sweet word with lovely connotations – my imagination conjures an image of a woman who fiercely loves her bubeles, with a whipcrack wit and a pot of soup on the stove. Still, it confused some people, as I was, and remain, a balding man without grandchildren. Alex, college administrator, New York, US My nickname is Podnil, or Pod, which derives from my surname (Lindop) backwards. I began using it in secondary school. When I began teaching in Spain, some people knew me as Pod, but newcomers were introduced to me as Chris. When my now husband arrived and began teaching, he kept hearing about this other teacher called Pod. Who was Pod and when would he meet them, he wondered. It was some weeks before he realised Chris and Pod were the same person. Recently, I spent a few days in hospital and was always addressed as Christine. I found that quite startling. Christine Lindop, retired writer and editor, Bristol My nickname is Rags. It originated when I was 16: my friends and I were at a loose end on the night of our Intercert results – the state exams in Ireland. There was not much on offer as a distraction in our North Kerry town, but the local cinema was showing The Exorcist and age limits were not really enforced, so we got in. The name of the young female character was Regan, my surname; her nickname was Rags. It stuck to me like glue since that night in 1980 and I love it. It is very much part of my personal story and many people only know me as Rags. I still get a thrill when I get a letter addressed to Rags or a table setting has just the name Rags at an event. Catherine Regan, semi-retired lawyer, north Wales and North Kerry When I was about 16, a mate started calling me Ali Baba, which became Babs. Soon all my mates were calling me Babs and by the time I left school no one called me anything else. When I met new people I'd always introduce myself by my real name, but among schoolfriends I was always Babs. I tried to shake it but it seemed unnatural when my close pals called me Alasdair. I'm now teaching the kids of people I was at school with, and sometimes they say: 'My dad says you get called Babs!' Sometimes I feel a bit daft being a 45-year-old man called Babs, but I've made my peace with it. Alasdair Allan, teacher, Helensburgh, Scotland My nickname as a child was Chiffonette. My French mother was always upset about the state of my clothes when I came home from playing outdoors. She thought they looked like 'chiffons', meaning rags, and so she started calling me Chiffonette, and that is how I was known in my street. I didn't mind my nickname: it really described my appearance and I now associate it with the fun I had playing outdoors without giving a thought to the state of my clothes. Alexandra Lavizzari, Somerset My stepdad has called me Rooney for as long as I remember. It isn't after Wayne Rooney, even though I did play football when I was younger, and he has no idea how it started. I suspect it came from Zachary (my full first name), which became Zacharooney, then just Rooney. But truth be told, I have no idea. I like it – no one else calls me that, so it's a unique thing between us. Zach Wheelhouse Steel, social media manager, Badminton, Gloucestershire My nickname is Bits – coined by our former neighbour's son. It was about 50 years ago and he'd come around for tea. He was fascinated by the fact such a tiny child loved cabbage and wanted to finish the unwanted, overcooked green mush. As he saw me eagerly scoop up his leftovers, he said I liked to eat the 'bits'. From then on it became my nickname, adopted by my seven older brothers and sisters. I love it. It's morphed over time to Bitsy or Bitties, but Bits gives me the warmest glow of childhood: I was good at something – eating my dear, frazzled Irish mum's cabbage. Precious. Patsy McGill, psychotherapist, Derbyshire My former partner and I used to pet sit together and we came across an advert for a whippet named Minkie. One day soon after, I called him using what I imagined Minkie's voice would sound like, if she could talk. I left a message, which my ex-partner thought was hilarious. Every now and then, Minkie would make another call to him. He started calling me Minkie and the name stuck. I now call him Monkey. Anonymous, Norfolk When I was born, my parents nicknamed me Jelly – apparently because I wiggled in my crib like a little jelly bean – and it stuck. I'm really not an Ange and definitely not an Angel. I've always been Jelly to my friends, to my teachers throughout school, to my students, to my colleagues and strangers. I love it – it's who I am. Angelica Hill, linguist, Amsterdam
The Guardian
13-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
‘Call me Chickenella!' How Guardian readers got their nicknames – and what they feel about them
Nicknames are dying out, according to the Wall Street Journal, thanks to a fear of causing offence or sounding unprofessional. But they're not dead yet. We asked readers to tell us theirs, where they came from and how they feel about them. My foster father gave me the nickname Weeb around 1995 – way before it meant someone who enjoys Japanese culture – because I have very thick, dark hair and, at that point, I was in my gawky teens. I fell over a lot. He said I looked like tumbleweed stumbling into rooms, then it became Weeb because of the 'b' in Phoebe. I've always loved it; it is one of many things my foster parents did, and still do, to make me feel loved and at home. I do have to keep explaining that I'm not particularly into anime to my 14-year-old's friends, though! Phoebe Pallotti, independent midwife, Sheffield I'm Pine Cone – at least according to my girlfriend. It came about not long after we started spending time together. I was getting frustrated by a video game and she said: 'Have patience, young Pine Cone.' It turned out she had recently seen a meme of a pangolin being asked, 'Little pine cone, why do you drink?', to which the pangolin replied, 'To forget', while slurping water with its long tongue. I don't drink by licking, I rarely touch alcohol and I'm not particularly pine-cone-shaped, but it kind of stuck because of the absurdity. My girlfriend is the only one who calls me Pine Cone, but I don't remember the last time she called me anything else. Pine Cone, software developer, London Through my teenage years, my nickname was Magic Pockets, as I always seemed to be the guy who had the right change, a working pen, a lighter, an important phone number … Sadly, the powers are now gone. I kind of liked the expression, as it sounded as if I was lucky, which has turned out to be mostly true. Robert Balcer, part-time teacher, Chiang Rai, Thailand My given name is not easily shortened, but my Slovak-speaking grandma would call me Jojo. I never thought much about it until she died: I surprised myself by crying, knowing no one would call me Jojo again. That's when I became Jojo in my own self-talk. My officemates laugh when they hear me whisper 'C'mon, Jojo!' to myself. Joel Neubauer, Lutheran pastor, Virginia, US I was called Plug, which might have been related to the character of the same name from the Bash Street Kids in the Beano, but I claim it was derived from the playing field adjacent to our house, where there was a broad selection of playground equipment. The roundabout was a favourite. It was divided into six segments and each of the neighbourhood children would claim ownership of a particular segment. Mine was the one that had the hole for lubricating the roundabout and it was sealed with a metal plug, hence my nickname. I accepted it quite happily. Anonymous, the Netherlands I'm from London and after living in Italy for many years decided to move to Sri Lanka. Being a gelato chef, I opened a gelateria and named it Love Gelato. Local people often asked me what 'gelato' meant and I would explain the Italian meaning, but for some reason to this day I have not been able to get my explanation through – and I have become known as Gelato. When I'm out in the village where I live and I hear someone call, 'Hi Gelato!' I absolutely love it. I feel that I've made it in this life. Oz Qadir, Unawatuna, Sri Lanka Growing up, most of my friends had older brothers and apparently I was especially short compared with them. Someone mentioned that I was like Master Shifu from the Kung Fu Panda movies and the nickname stuck – it's still used more than my real name. Master Shifu was wise and all-powerful, so I embrace it. Safar Yusuf, postgraduate student, Glasgow One night, when we had been dating for about two years, I woke to find my husband sniffing me, saying I smelled like a little chicken. He laughed, then rolled over and fell back to sleep. In the morning I reminded him of this and he had no memory of doing it. From then on I've been Chicken. The story still amuses people, so it's stuck. In the past few years, it's become Chickenella. Jan, graphic designer, Hammersmith My nickname is The Force, and it's all because of Bradley Walsh. In January 2021, I was on The Chase, and when asked what I would do if I won the prize, I answered that I'd take a career break and train as a professional wrestler. When Bradley asked what my wrestler nickname would be, I said: 'The Force of Nature'. After my cash builder round, Bradley went backstage with a grin on his face and a producer returned to ask if they could change my name plate for the show from 'Aidan' to 'Force'. I thought this was a really great idea, something a bit different, and the nickname has completely stuck. Aidan Jones, resource coordinator, North Yorkshire My nickname is Buffy. I read somewhere that it was also the nickname of the queen mother, so I'm in good company. My mother used to keep diaries and I read an entry saying, 'Buffy is one!' – so it goes back that far. But I don't know exactly how it originated. My father was a fan of the American singer Buffy Sainte-Marie, so one theory is that it originated from that; someone else suggested it came from being 'in the buff' (naked). Caroline Jane Smith, recruiter, The Hague, the Netherlands In primary school in Scotland, during the early 70s, I was given the nickname Punk. This was derived from the children's game Ker Plunk, a play on my surname. When punk rock finally made its way to Scotland in the 70s, the nickname became very fitting as I fully embraced the ethos of punk, which has stayed with me throughout my life. I'm still referred to as Punk by old schoolfriends, and I use the name as a pseudonym when posting pictures of meals I've cooked on social media, where I call myself Punk Floyd, which combines me (Punk) and Floyd (Keith, the late celebrity chef). James Kerr, retiree, Huntingdon During my undergraduate years, I was given the nickname Bubbe, the Yiddish word for grandmother. Apparently, I gave off powerful enough grand-maternal vibes for it to stick for more than a decade. To be honest, I loved it and still do. Bubbe is a sweet word with lovely connotations – my imagination conjures an image of a woman who fiercely loves her bubeles, with a whipcrack wit and a pot of soup on the stove. Still, it confused some people, as I was, and remain, a balding man without grandchildren. Alex, college administrator, New York, US My nickname is Podnil, or Pod, which derives from my surname (Lindop) backwards. I began using it in secondary school. When I began teaching in Spain, some people knew me as Pod, but newcomers were introduced to me as Chris. When my now husband arrived and began teaching, he kept hearing about this other teacher called Pod. Who was Pod and when would he meet them, he wondered. It was some weeks before he realised Chris and Pod were the same person. Recently, I spent a few days in hospital and was always addressed as Christine. I found that quite startling. Christine Lindop, retired writer and editor, Bristol My nickname is Rags. It originated when I was 16: my friends and I were at a loose end on the night of our Intercert results – the state exams in Ireland. There was not much on offer as a distraction in our North Kerry town, but the local cinema was showing The Exorcist and age limits were not really enforced, so we got in. The name of the young female character was Regan, my surname; her nickname was Rags. It stuck to me like glue since that night in 1980 and I love it. It is very much part of my personal story and many people only know me as Rags. I still get a thrill when I get a letter addressed to Rags or a table setting has just the name Rags at an event. Catherine Regan, semi-retired lawyer, north Wales and North Kerry When I was about 16, a mate started calling me Ali Baba, which became Babs. Soon all my mates were calling me Babs and by the time I left school no one called me anything else. When I met new people I'd always introduce myself by my real name, but among schoolfriends I was always Babs. I tried to shake it but it seemed unnatural when my close pals called me Alasdair. I'm now teaching the kids of people I was at school with, and sometimes they say: 'My dad says you get called Babs!' Sometimes I feel a bit daft being a 45-year-old man called Babs, but I've made my peace with it. Alasdair Allan, teacher, Helensburgh, Scotland My nickname as a child was Chiffonette. My French mother was always upset about the state of my clothes when I came home from playing outdoors. She thought they looked like 'chiffons', meaning rags, and so she started calling me Chiffonette, and that is how I was known in my street. I didn't mind my nickname: it really described my appearance and I now associate it with the fun I had playing outdoors without giving a thought to the state of my clothes. Alexandra Lavizzari, Somerset My stepdad has called me Rooney for as long as I remember. It isn't after Wayne Rooney, even though I did play football when I was younger, and he has no idea how it started. I suspect it came from Zachary (my full first name), which became Zacharooney, then just Rooney. But truth be told, I have no idea. I like it – no one else calls me that, so it's a unique thing between us. Zach Wheelhouse Steel, social media manager, Badminton, Gloucestershire My nickname is Bits – coined by our former neighbour's son. It was about 50 years ago and he'd come around for tea. He was fascinated by the fact such a tiny child loved cabbage and wanted to finish the unwanted, overcooked green mush. As he saw me eagerly scoop up his leftovers, he said I liked to eat the 'bits'. From then on it became my nickname, adopted by my seven older brothers and sisters. I love it. It's morphed over time to Bitsy or Bitties, but Bits gives me the warmest glow of childhood: I was good at something – eating my dear, frazzled Irish mum's cabbage. Precious. Patsy McGill, psychotherapist, Derbyshire My former partner and I used to pet sit together and we came across an advert for a whippet named Minkie. One day soon after, I called him using what I imagined Minkie's voice would sound like, if she could talk. I left a message, which my ex-partner thought was hilarious. Every now and then, Minkie would make another call to him. He started calling me Minkie and the name stuck. I now call him Monkey. Anonymous, Norfolk When I was born, my parents nicknamed me Jelly – apparently because I wiggled in my crib like a little jelly bean – and it stuck. I'm really not an Ange and definitely not an Angel. I've always been Jelly to my friends, to my teachers throughout school, to my students, to my colleagues and strangers. I love it – it's who I am. Angelica Hill, linguist, Amsterdam
BBC News
10-07-2025
- General
- BBC News
Foster children 'should feel loved', say Dorset couple
A couple who have fostered more than 60 children have said the most important thing is making sure each child "feels cared for and loved."Sue and Des, who specialise in caring for children with special educational needs and disabilities (SEND), have also responded to emergency calls - sometimes welcoming a child into their home in Weymouth, Dorset, with just a few hours' believes the key to being a good foster parent is understanding that every child is don't need to have it all figured out," she said. "You just want them to be happy, to feel cared for and loved, and to be safe."With a background in working with SEND children, the couple began fostering in Wales in 1988, initially offering short breaks to families of children with disabilities. After moving to Weymouth, they transitioned to full-time fostering, raising foster children alongside their three biological and one adoptive child. They adapted their home to meet a wide range of needs."Some need hoists and ramps, others are climbing stair gates and trying to put things down the toilet," said Sue."You must adapt your care to each child's needs."While fostering comes with challenges, Sue said the rewards are profound - like witnessing a non-verbal child use a communication aid for the first time."She could finally tell us what she wanted," she said."That was huge."Sue also reflected on how fostering has shaped their own children. One is now a social worker, another is launching a sports charity for children with additional needs, and a third is training as a speech and language Council is encouraging anyone interested in becoming a foster carer to get in touch. You can follow BBC Dorset on Facebook, X (Twitter), or Instagram.
Yahoo
02-07-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
Trump's Tax Bill Plans To Decimate Medicaid. For One Group, The Cuts Will Be Unspeakably Cruel.
Now that the Senate has passed its budget bill, the House is voting this week on taking my ability to commit to medically complex foster children away. That's not what they're calling it, of course, but when this legislation takes $930 billion from Medicaid, it's going to hit foster kids waiting on families hard. Four in 10 kids across the United States are on Medicaid, including 368,000 foster kids like mine, who are entitled to Medicaid benefits through the foster system. All those kids will hurt as a result of these cuts, but for those in the foster system, it could make the difference between finding a forever home or growing up in institutional care. My husband Nic and I have fostered around 30 children over the last 14 years. We know how essential Medicaid benefits are for children in the foster system, nearly half of whom have special health care needs. All children in the foster system are entitled to Medicaid benefits, and for many this benefit is extended after adoption or aging out of the system in order to ensure continued health and safety. Medicaid has saved the life of every single foster child who has come through my doors, and it's what made it possible to foster in the first place — and to adopt some of those foster children, with continuing benefits ensuring that we'd be able to meet their ongoing medical needs. Cuts to Medicaid would be devastating for medically complex foster children like mine across the United States. I know this very intimately because of Ansley, my wonderful little girl who loved the color yellow, balloons and listening to music. Ansley came to us as a foster infant with complex medical issues. We later adopted her and remained her loving family until her death in 2019 at age 5. Ansley brought so much love and joy to our family during her short time with us and activated my 'advocacy bone,' turning me into an advocate for medically complex children in the foster system and giving me the inspiration to keep fostering children like her. Because of Ansley, I am a person who sees people as valuable no matter who they are. Because of Medicaid, I am able to open my home to children like Ansley, who would otherwise be too expensive for us, and most families, to care for. Ansley wasn't a burden, because loving a child is never a burden, but she did have complex medical needs throughout her life. Medicaid's coverage of necessary treatments and therapies also freed up resources for us to provide her with enhanced opportunities, paying for additional services that she needed to thrive and live her best life with us. Medicaid provides essential support that helps medically complex foster children like mine lead full lives at home in their communities, where they know love and companionship and enrich the lives of everyone they touch. Our daughter Luci, a micropreemie born at just 27 weeks, also came to us through the foster system and struggles with behavior and emotional regulation. She receives Medicaid coverage post-adoption to support her critical mental health needs, which will require lifelong assistance to manage. Our youngest girl, Lilah, also a micropreemie who started out in the foster system, was born at 22 weeks and survived because of Medicaid. Medicaid made it possible to bring her home with us, to access oxygen at home and to receive the surgeries and other care she needed to thrive. Members of micropreemie support groups often tell me that without Medicaid, they would have been bankrupt or financially ruined; no one expects a premature birth, and NICU stays cost millions of dollars, with medically complex preemies experiencing high health care needs for life. Five-year-old Z, who was recently adopted after four years in our home, is hearing and vision impaired, has spastic quadriplegia, uses a feeding tube and lives with life altering effects from a traumatic brain injury. He has benefited tremendously from Medicaid coverage of his equipment, such as a Tobii Dynavox eye gaze machine, which allows him to communicate directly with us about when he's not feeling well, which toy he wants to play with and what music he wants to play. He has been able to introduce himself to us and access the community in a way that's simply unreal. He can go to school with his peers and communicate with his teachers, understanding and responding to what they are teaching. This would have been unimaginable without the critical equipment that we could never have afforded on our own. Providing Z with the tools he needs to communicate has opened up his whole world, and ours. Every child deserves this kind of access, and Medicaid makes that possible, allowing foster children with medical complexities and disabilities to find forever families instead of languishing in institutional care, be it the hospital, state facilities or nursing homes. Without it, I would be unable to afford care for my foster children, and the children I've adopted through the foster system would also lose the coverage that keeps them at home, safe and loved, in their community. They could have been forced into institutions because of their medical needs, as is the case with several children we already know are waiting for adoptive homes in state facilities. Medicaid is also crucial for family reunification, the most important goal within the foster system whenever possible. We've had medically complex foster placements who were able to be reunited with family members because of Medicaid; those family members were able to take those children because they knew their medical needs would be covered. They were able to get those children out of the foster system and raise them. It would be heartbreaking for kinship placements to have to hesitate because of financial concerns. As a foster mom, my calling is to care for medically complex children. I do not believe the cruel cuts to Medicaid in this bill are what Jesus meant when He said, 'Let the little children come to me,' and 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' We are taught to take care of the sick in this world, especially children. I pray that when my time on this Earth is done, I will be reunited with my daughter Ansley. In the meantime, I will ensure that her legacy lives on in the form of providing comfort, love and shelter to children just like her. I cannot imagine having to close our home because of our inability to afford the health costs of a terminally ill or disabled child in need of a family. Disabled and medically complex children already suffer enough. Even one child being denied access to support for home and community living is one child too many. Do you have a compelling personal story you'd like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we're looking for here and send us a pitch at pitch@
BBC News
23-06-2025
- General
- BBC News
Symbolic tree in Reading used to help recruit foster carers
A tree planted to symbolise keeping children in care rooted in the communities they come from has been decorated with messages from foster parents and young Fostering held an information event at the tree - planted four years ago - in Reading town centre as staff sought to recruit more Capan, who works for the agency, said some children have to be placed outside their hometown because of a lack of foster can foster children from Reading if they have a spare room, are aged over 21 and live within 20 miles of the town. "Due to the lack of fosters carers in the past and even currently, children end up going out of area which we don't want for them," said Ms Capan."We want them to be secure here in Reading so that's what the tree symbolises."Sinead Gibson, who has fostered for nearly 20 years, said she enjoys the difference she can make."I've learned that you can just never predict," she said."You might get a description of the child and the child may have loads of difficulties on paper and then when the child comes to you, you're just a fit and it works." You can follow BBC Berkshire on Facebook, X (Twitter), or Instagram.
