THE STORY OF TRACY BEAKER SERIES
THE STORY OF TRACY BEAKER TV

While her trauma’s impact was never brushed off, though, it also showed there was much more to Tracy than her past.

THE STORY OF TRACY BEAKER TV

Whether dealing with half-hearted foster parents or phony friends, Tracy would accept nothing less than what she deserved, teaching me that, when nobody is there to be your cheerleader, you need to work doubly hard to back yourself – if there’s no space for you at the table, you make a space.Ĭhildren’s TV shows are shiny, perfect, happy, but The Story of Tracy Beaker never shied from illustrating the real trauma Tracy lived with. Having struggled with my self-esteem, it was refreshing to see a character who knew their worth. Whether climbing the highest tree or eating a garden worm, she’d clear any obstacle quicker than you could say “bog off”. I feared being challenged Tracy Beaker thrived. I would love to say I was like Tracy Beaker as a child the truth is I was more like Tracy’s quiet pal ‘weedy’ Peter Ingham, lurking on the fringes with a dog-eared Jacqueline Wilson book. Since being diagnosed with autism at 10, I always feared being written off as another ‘special needs kid’

THE STORY OF TRACY BEAKER SERIES

If millennial excitement over the new series My Mum Tracy Beaker shows anything, it’s that we haven’t forgotten them. She never bowed to change the world would have to change for her. Things have moved on since the show ended, but the lessons she taught my generation have remained. As champion of the outsiders, Tracy Beaker influenced thousands of young people as her unapologetic, authentic self. The Story of Tracy Beaker, a CBBC series based on the Jacqueline Wilson book of the same name about a young girl’s life in a care home, defined not just my past, but that of a generation of misfits.

Then, we’d charge home and rip the DVD off the magazine (which was left unread), while that ever-familiar theme began to play. Clinging to her coat, we’d peer over the kiosk, our breath held until that familiar eye-stinging neon magazine appeared. Every Friday afternoon, my brothers and I would beg, plead, and whine until Mum finally took us to the Post Office.

The story of tracy beaker