Madeleine a bureau in a corner of the living room where she would daily sat to her paperwork. None of us were bold enough to sneak in it. We respected her desk work time. Yet, I observed the others as much as I did, it was a moment when we could approach her for personal matter. We knew she wouldn’t be interrupt and if no one was watching the TV or in the room, it was period to intimate with our thoughts. Everyone had used that instant and approached it in different. It was easy to just sat on the coach next to it doing nothing or just pretending, and wait to engaged a conversation or let her start one.

I had moment where I had no intentions out of just sat there with one more dogs, in silence or watching TV. With the years, Madeleine would also got me into conversation where none of us had anything to do in it. Gossips weren’t part, and if it seemed it was for genuine concern and self-reflect.

It was in such moment Madeleine questioned me about my father. Would he know since couple of months I was living here? I doubted very much knowing my mother’s pride and all the relatives living too far to be inform indirectly. It didn’t bother me at all. Madeleine noticed nobody from the social services staff mentioned him. For some kids there are sometimes warning about some parents or legal matters needed to know. Nothing was said about him, not even his name. Madeleine was curious and wanted we had a conversation.

My father often remind us who he was, where he was from and what he had to do in life. He was the middle child with two sisters. His parents were so poor they didn’t have the commodity in their home. His father was a Spanish from the legion in refugee in France. My father would often point out what looked like a shed each time we drove by to remind us where he grow up. They slept together. An orange for Christmas present. Only one pair of change of clothes by year. Every expenses would need to be discuss and selected. He used to say he wanted to learn in school, to be successful to not stay stuck in the poverty but it was very hard without having all the books and materials requested each class years. His father would hold the list one hand in each top corners and tear up in the middle. He would hand over one half saying this part you can have, not the other. He never admitted but I could sense the heartbreak it was as a kid. It gave him strength and determination he had to educate himself in anyway he could, with or without the furniture list. He was the moon of his mother. She didn’t manage to make him softer and emotionally open. He took after his father temper, toughness was a man duty to succeed. He dated my mother in his military service’s uniform. He owned a shower for the first time when they moved together. My mother got him a job at a minimarket. He later in made in way into hospital jobs. He loved driving and had a poste for ambulance driver at the local emergency. He was well-spoken, high spirited, entertaining, strong-headed, stubborn. He was easily noticeable. He grown his career in the hospital, advice all the way to step up and to graduate at in his forties as psychiatric nurse. I was never sure if he met his second wife in the neighbourhood while my parents were still together or at work as she used to work at the maternity section. He had pride and thought of himself highly. His principal were harsh on us and he made his perspectives view as the truth. He second wife had already two girls, aged between my brother and me. He devoted his fatherhood to them and didn’t realised – I often wanted to believe – he worked them to divided from my brother and I. They had our little brother, nine years younger than me. My brother and I were given a photo each and different to keep with us, which my brother joyfully brag to my mother it was our new brother. No need to express how much she was furious, rip up both photos as much pieces she could and flushed them in the toilet. My father was terrible with my brother, he constantly bullied him. We were familiar with his insults and belittling us as worthless. I was shown by my father and his second wife, courts paperwork he would have done everything he could to be our legal representative, to get us to live with him. When he bought a house with his second wife and keep working other part of the construction his task, he would often say if I wanted I could legally request to live with him. He said he would accompanied me in the procedure. I could have my own bedroom build above the garage. I just had to make a decision before he finished to build the garage. I had once mentioned in presence of my grand-mother and my uncle why couldn’t we lived with our father. The separation was fresh at the time and I didn’t know all I was thrown to learned about keeping my mouth shut. Needless to say how the answer went. My father always compared me to his mother and mine. Calling them and me psychological terms like paranoid and schizophrenic. It’s from my father I got to know more about my mother and her side of family past history. But what he told me about her own condition explained a lot of part of her behaviours. She was psycho maniac depressive. He loved her strength and capacity to accomplish high goal. He considered her to be the most intelligent woman he ever been with. But her insanity and jealousy drove him crazy. The way he kept to describe my mother psychologically and kept assuming I was just like her, hurt me for many years. He didn’t know me, didn’t try. He wasn’t making any efforts during the times we were with him for the holidays, how could he kept angry at me for never asked to live with him when I was a child?

Madeleine believe he should be inform, it wasn’t fair to him whatever his judgement or my mother’s. He was far away and maybe it could make a difference to him I wasn’t living with her anymore. I thought she was making good points. I express I wasn’t feeling ready to approach anyone. I know the rest of my family won’t have me live with them. My father knew from me how partially my life with was. He knew how was she. And yet, he left it to me, from a seven years and each years, to get my mother accepting my decisions and desires. It has always been, to his opinion, my fault for not asking to live with him. He denied the danger I was suffering and the incapacity as a child to be as tough as an adult could be. I agreed to informed him by sending him a post card for his birthday. It was giving me few months to mentally prepare and my heart was already pounding just to the thought. Madeleine approved it was a nice opportunity, he might see it as a present.

It took me a lot of process to make the step. Magalie and I shopped for a card. It may ridiculous to some, it one of few details making me sweat. The next step was to draft the content of the message and making sure the grammar, vocabulary, ponctuation were correct. My father was pernickety about writings. The names were highly important and should be respected to the details of the calligraphy. Throughout history name’s spelling were distorted due those who didn’t know to write, those who wouldn’t know how to spell for the illiterates, and those who wrote so badly others had to make up what it could be. He would not have the name of his father disrespected and certainly not by his offspring’s. I had Madeleine to make sure all was perfect. Madeleine offered to join a letter from her. She simply presented herself, informed he could contact her anytime if he would wish to discuss about me.

We planned to get the card posted and received as closed before his birthday date, if not on the day. The waiting was stressful. I wasn’t making up stories in my mind, I only wanted to know would he reply or not. The days passed and I was to give up when one day coming back home, Madeleine informed me he called her and they spoke about me. She was confident we made good to let him know. He left her his phone number and was expecting to call him back when I wanted. In those days, long distance phone calls, even in the same country, had a cost. I didn’t like giving phone calls from Madeleine and Jean’s house but was no close phone boot in such area. I tried to keep short and anyway he asked if we could meet to chat instead over the phone. He offer to drive to the foster home to collect me, meet Madeleine and to drive to another town he long haven’t been. I was impressed of his effort to do so much drive to see me and even more to go somewhere farer for only a couple of hours. It was an interesting catching up. He admitted having to think after receiving my card, although the initiative made his day. He thought it was for the best for me to be in foster family. we didn’t discuss the details to how it happened. He talked most of the time as usual of his point of view. I was happy about the day anyway, it was almost fairy tale like. It didn’t brought us together closer. My change of situation was a massive process for all to go through. I wasn’t ready to think I could integrate the family right away. I didn’t want what it was before and I didn’t know how to be from then. My father was more sceptic. He didn’t bother to know who I was before and to him I would be always like her. He wanted time.

Madeleine wanted every foster kids away for the end of the year holidays. Not only because she wanted to be with her family only, but also to view, kids should be with their family in such time. The placements contract of any kinds requested it as well. We the kids had the right to choice and the social services would see to it making the arrangement with the concerned adults.

Christmas with any member of my family was dreadful. Only with my grand-mother, on my mother side, but my uncle living there and a drunker ruined the moments. New Year’s eves with my father, wherever it would happen, were most entertaining, filled with music and dance. My presence wasn’t view any different by the rest of the company or to any other occasion I was been on holidays at my father’s. So for the year I was in obligation to be with family for the holidays, I spent the Christmas at my mother’s and New Year’s eve at my father’s.

Out of this holidays, neither my father and I requested visits. It was a silent mutual accord to hold the distance. His attitude with me changed a bit of standards. He lesser bringing me low status. He didn’t change his perspective and kept expressing his authoritarian ideology. I was feeling more as a patient than a daughter to him. He wouldn’t understand me, I wasn’t acting like others at my age. He wouldn’t try to think or hear me out, and kept seeing me as weird or the women of his life.

It did change I wasn’t been included as a member of the family. I have always been the last one to know the things happening in the family, often long after, if I was informed at all. Like the day he call me to informed me his new situation because he change address and phone number. Already. Things weren’t working out anymore so he left his second wife. Met someone else and they moved together. Another time he called me to informed me they married a month ago. This became the norme. Later in years, I would find out cousins and step-sisters and brothers, had kids. I wasn’t even informed of the pregnancies. Nine months no one could let me know will be an addition to the family before it happened. Once I was calling my father about planning to visit and he informed me he was on his way to one of my cousin who went to the hospital to give birth. He never told me which gender was expected. My father, the hero I hoped who would sees me for who I am.