Father’s Day 2015

With Father’s Day beckoning, now could be the time to indulge in fatherhood musings. How my son, Isaac, has affected any perceptions I may have had. How he enriches the experience. And challenges it. How his autism may have sent us off course for a bit. How my role as a father in my universe sits slightly out of kilter with others’ universes.

But that feels unnecessary and unimportant right now. What feels very right and very relevant this father’s day is to celebrate something, dare I say it, more fundamental to Isaac.

His mother.

His mother, who gave birth to him in barbaric conditions. And balanced recuperation with a stressed baby from day one.

His mother, who from that day to, well, perhaps forever, bats off judgemental glares and tuts from people who should know better but know nothing at all.

His mother, who had no place to hide from what felt like hell, when her husband could escape daily.

His mother whose instinct told her something was wrong but battled on because what else could you do? Who nodded unknowingly when other’s shared their similar stories; because in reality they were different.

His mother, who ferried around her sinking and struggling son to therapists and doctors. His mother, who never flinched in her unrequited love for her unresponsive son.

His mother, who kept calm when diagnosis was delivered. Seeing a future not finality.

His mother, who learnt and listened and devoured and dissected. So she was armed to the teeth with rights and knowledge.

His mother, who made the system fear her and not vice versa. Who got Isaac the right support, his statement of needs and who never ceases in improving his life.

His mother, who found him a school that was right. And another one when it all went wrong.

His mother, who campaigned not just on his behalf but on the many like him. Spreading awareness, sharing, inspiring, strengthening, surviving.

His mother, who sensibly delayed having a second child for the sake of her first. Before finding the inner strength to create a sibling for Isaac. Mixing nature with counter-intuition and most of all courage.

His mother, who tolerates swings in behaviour of an epic scale. Experiencing outpourings of love, bundles of anxiety and no little cruelty, day in, day out.

His mother, who knows how to push not punish. Comfort not compromise. Who can temper frustrations with empathy. Whose maternal instinct never wavers.

At best I play second fiddle to my wife’s orchestration of Isaac. Managing his days, taking him places, speaking to his school, arranging his time. She is mum, mentor, therapist and teacher. His absolute anchor. Which is why I see this Father’s day more than ever for what it is. An affirmation that what I do as a father is enabled and enhanced by the miracles managed by his Mother.

(I always try to respond)

A New Kind Of Holiday

This article originally appeared on www.enablemagazine.com  

 
This year we took a holiday from holidays, so to speak. It was at times arduous (mainly for my wife Eliza), relentless and repetitive. But it was also as relaxing as it could be and reassuringly routine for our son Isaac, who has autism. And that was all that mattered. 
 
LOSING BATTLE 
 
Since Isaac was born, my relationship with holidays has been fractious. A trip to a peaceful Mediterranean resort a few months before his diagnosis reached the pinnacle of distress for him and despair for us. What we know now – that routine is his oxygen, his thinking rigid, and he’s never a second away from sensory overload – means we were fighting a losing battle daily. 
 
It rips my heart out how we were (unknowingly) letting him down. From forceful shepherding through maddening airports, to inconsistent mealtimes, to improvising the day’s events, to a need for armbands in the pool. 
 
But out of the chaos came the calm of successive UK-based holidays. Where mapping out the journey right down to the service station visited, meant Isaac knew what, where and when, and was a delight and delighted as a result. Photos of the cottage before we got there, his favourite books, specific foods. We’ve had an all-out autism-friendly couple of holidays. 
 
BREAKTHROUGH 
 
And then, last year – a big bold breakthrough. Engineered and orchestrated by my wife, we ventured on to a plane to a little house we knew in a cosy complex with a swimming pool. Despite Isaac being able to learn and speak in his own way and express himself better all the time, he and we are very much governed by autism. So meticulous planning was absolutely critical with visual cards navigating us through the hardest bit: the airport with all its twists and turns. 
 
He knew we were going “in an aeroplane, in the sky, to somewhere hot”. He could “splash about with pants and a jacket” (an inflatable one). He’d have all his books and DVDs and food with us. 
 
NO SURPRISE 
 
My wife’s preparation meant minimal surprise and small but consistent rewards led to a successful experience. A half hour – allowed for in the schedule – going up and down the escalators, provided sensory relief for him. On the plane, he actually enjoyed the turbulence which confirmed how topsy-turvy his balance and physical being is. It was a liberating and lovely holiday. 
 
We stayed put this year. Isaac was fine with it – he doesn’t seek adventure, escape from the norm. His holiday was blissful as he went on the tube every day, printed pictures, and was thrilled that days were panning out as planned. He also got to kiss his new baby sister Tabitha every day, which was enough change for him to deal with for one summer.