the crone

I’ve been remembering one of the greatest moments of my life with my son when he was aged 8.

SCENE: A Paediatric Psychologist’s consulting room. Various toys and bricks are placed strategically around the doctor’s desk.

AFTER A PREAMBLE CHAT WITH THE BOY AND EXPLORATION OF TOYS …

Boy: “I see this wind-up Bob the Builder toy is broken.”

Doc: ‘Yes. Can you fix it?’

Boy: “I think I know how to do it^*.”

Doc: ‘Please try for me.’

BOY PICKS UP A PINK PLASTIC TEAPOT FROM THE CHILD’S KITCHEN SET AND WHACKS BOB WITH IT.

THE TOY STARTS MOVING AND PLAYS A JOLLY TUNE.

Boy: “See?”

LAUGHTER FROM ADULTS

….

AS MOTHER AND SON ARE ABOUT TO LEAVE THE SESSION …

Boy: (Very serious – to Consultant) “Now if that toy gets broken again, my advice is to take the pink teapot from the Sizzlin’ Kitchen and hit it – that should get it going.”

Doc: ‘Thank you, Boys-name.’

DOCTOR LOOKS UP AT THE MOTHER WITH A SERIOUS EXPRESSION.

Doc: ‘Mrs Steel, I am discharging Boys-name from Paediatric Psychology.’

A very happy day.

^*He didn’t say ‘Yes I can!”

We had an idea our son might be on the autistic spectrum (ASD). But we didn’t need a label for our funny, super-creative, artistic boy until the world (specifically school) started grinding him down.

He went from building crazily complex Lego models and drawing fine detailed (and very funny) cartoons and comics, to laying on his bed in his room, doing nothing.

He was crying a lot.

The worst moment was when he told me, “I am no good in this world. I may as well die.”

His self-esteem wasn’t improved by the school saying his behaviour was getting him a reputation that would stay with him throughout his school life.

But he wasn’t being terribly bad, he was just going at things differently. He didn’t always understand what was wanted of him.

He didn’t always want to do what the others were doing.

He was getting frustrated.

So, I began stumbling through the long NHS pathway to get an official ASD diagnosis, just so school would understand him better.

The memory of one parent (the mother of his only friend at school) still makes me want to weep. She was always complaining about our son, to the point she asked the school to keep them apart. Keep 8 year old friends apart!

Madness and sadness.

It felt like she had taken a personal dislike to Boys-name being friends with her precious son. To know he was now being kept away from his only friend added more painful sadness to school.

It became my mission to get him through the school system with the least damage to his mental health as possible.

I didn’t worry about results or exams. I just wanted to get him out the other side so he could be himself once compulsory education was over. 

He was teaching himself more at home than he was learning at school any way.

He developed fantastic animation skills, taught himself coding languages. Built funny, creative websites and made some startlingly good apps and games. He was even invited to Aardman (the Wallace & Gromit studios) to meet the animators when they saw his work in claymation. His 2D animation film was used at senior school presentations to help orientate new joiners.

Fast forward 12 years and I’m very happy to say that he did survive the school system (mostly intact!). He is now a talented software engineer at a top four global tech company, and he is illustrating and writing a book in his ‘spare’ time.

A gentle, lovely, creative soul who is kind and hard working. He makes me so proud.

Why not be like all the others. Do what all the others do.

Nah. That doesn’t work in our family.

If you’re interested, below is a clip of poem I wrote about how I felt at the time, when he was going through the worst at school.

Thank you for reading. Stay wacky everyone 🙂

________________________________________________

His face crumples in vividly visual disappointment (in himself, in his world).

His face speaks a thousand emotions, a thousand words to me.

His robust little self struggles against the bounds of convention.

I want him to win a paper star.

I urge him to spell out the pre-packed words.

I want him to reach the golden square of achievement,

and show them all.

Show them all.

I want the teachers to understand him.

I want other children to be his friends.

He is so funny.

So different.

I fear he might get lost.

I hold on to his warm little hand.

My heart is fierce with protective love, not soppy:

I have to fight my love,

To help him understand the Sorrow of having

to ‘Fit in’

to ‘Do as he is told’

to ‘Be like all the others’.

To crush his exuberant madness,

His brainwaves,

His creative force.

To crunch him up.

Tight.

In a box.

Like school and society want.

A controllable, bland, Vanilla Boy.

Just for now.

But hold tight to your beautiful, crazy, shiny self.

It will be your shield against the world.