Homeless At Home Hey, I am busy writing a bit of an autobiography. I provide support for children of foster carers and as my mother fostered for a lot of years I am writing this for some of the young people. I know first hand how they feel so thought I could provide some insight for them now I am older and have a better understanding of what goes on and can help explain why things are happening. This is a snippet of that. Chapter 9 Age 13 The door slams once again followed by an indecipherable volley of abuse and foul language. Here we go again, every day without fail. What was it this time did he not get any ice cream after his tea. He would of done if he didn't bite the other kids at school. It was my mother's fault last time. She should have let him watch what he wanted on the telly and he wouldn't have kicked off. The pipes start to rattle on the radiator. Hope Dad has time to switch the water off. Had to have a new floor laid just last week after he pulled the radiator off the wall. I open my bedroom door to go see what the problem is but instantly regret my decision as the smell of vomit and faeces hits me like a brick wall. Dirty little bastard, pisses me right off. Does he know how much of a bad mood my mother will be in now. Having to wash all that off the walls and windows even puts my dad in a bad mood and he has the patience of a saint. I still have to ask her to let me go on the school skiing trip. Consent forms have to be in by tomorrow. Selfish little prick. I hear the click at the bedroom door as my mother goes around locking all the doors. Can't close him into any room but we can keep him out of the rest. Don't think we have any ornaments left but we could probably make a pretty mosaic out of the pieces. Hold on. Why am I the one locked in my bedroom. I haven't done anything wrong. I try shouting at my dad to let me out but he says it is safer for me to stay in my room. That really starts to annoy me. Safer, what does that mean? The kids only seven and fucking nuts. I'm thirteen, what's he gonna do to me. I start banging on my bedroom door knowing full well I am not helping the situation but hey, anything for a little attention. I mean they are my parents after all not his. I hear the glass in the front door smash. Again. Hopefully that means the glazier with the dirty calendar in his van will be back again tomorrow. He keeps coming at this rate I will be able to mark the days off for him. I hear a woman scream, my mother, always melodramatic, he probably stepped on her toe. Serve her right for locking me in my room. I walk across to my desk and turn my music right up. It's blink 182. Punk music always makes you feel rebellious when played at full volume. I can still feel the vibrations of every crash and bang downstairs through my feet. For fucks sake. Getting really pissed off now. Who does this kid think he is? Little bastard. Should I risk having a smoke out the window. Might get away with it while it's all kicking off. Just spray a bit deodorant and they will never know. The window opened wide enough for me to lean out. Excellent, the wind was blowing so should take the smell away. About halfway through I hear sirens. Still a way off, time for a couple more drags before I have to put it out. If i get caught its still that little pricks fault i get caught cant leave my room cos of him The police always gave you an earful if they found out you smoked. Hypocrites. See them all the time parked in lay-bys having a sneaky one. Anyway. Time to head in I can see the lights reflecting off the windows of the house in front. I can just catch a glimpse of the reflection of a van in those windows too. Surely the haven't sent a riot van to help restrain a seven year old. Overkill or what. An ambulance screeched round the corner followed by a police car about 30 seconds later. He has probably cut himself on the glass yet again. I see the police take the twat into the car and wait on social services. Serve him right. Hold on, the paramedics haven't come out yet. Who are they here for...