I am not better or over it. But I have (sort of) taken control and (sort of ) made some decisions to tidy up my life. I may struggle to pay my mortgage, I may be writing in a year in a homeless, husbandless half life or we may be doing some of the best things of our life, but things are different so we will see.
But Max left primary school this week. Despite the need for him to have an easy transition, I failed to get him into the desired secondary school. I failed. I appealed. I succeeded in my appeal. But I failed. And so my son who needs security and a gentle and supported transition has none of the support that all other special children . Dan might forgive me eventually. No. No he won't. But he'll do something almost as bad soon enough and will feel uncomfortable enough not to wish to remind me of it.
I told you I don't deal well with lack of success.
So I sat in his leavers' assembly and wept. It was ok. Other parents wept too. I could disguise it as sentimentality. Other children performed. There were the comedians, the gymnasts, the sports people, the singers, the dancers even the magicians. I couldn't see him. I strained my eyesight. I eventually spotted him in the whole year group song, grimacing and waving unselfconciously. I waved back. Then sat on my hands and rolled my eyes at no one as he developed another hand flapping habit that he didn't have until today.
My mildly autistic son now has a diagnosis of actual autism. Apparently it's not called Aspergers now. And I don't care, and I wasn't crying for him, even though he was shoved at the back of the year to sing although he's now the shortest in the year, and I wasn't crying for his autism which is hardly a surprise, and I wasn't crying for his journey into teenager hood. I like teenagers. I understand teenagers. I'm expecting that challenge. I was crying for me and him and how much harder his life will be just for a few years when those fragile acquaintances can no longer sustain their kindness for his difference and he enters a world of being an outsider, clinging to other survivors, bobbing round in the sea of high school when they can't physically get on the lifeboats with the normal, exceptional kids and don't have enough friends to drag them on.
He'll be ok. I know he will. I need to remind myself to encourage him more and celebrated his successes more and appreciate what those successes are which won't be the same as mine, or his sister's or even his remarkable little brother.
I was jealous of all those other parents though. But I will treat each of their exceptional offspring as they enter my domain of secondary school as kindly as I treat my unexceptional, exceptional young man.
The flowers in the pictures by the way, are from my exceptional colleagues and my lovely sixth formers, to "the best teacher ever" whom they "will miss". So maybe we are all exceptional to someone, even when we think we are not, maybe one size does not fit all.
