There is this common misconception that people “on the spectrum”, especially children, lack the emotional intelligence for empathy. This couldn’t be further from the truth, and I honestly believe the sooner these silly and insulting assumptions are put to bed, the better. Before I go on, can we also confine the term “on the spectrum” to the scrapheap and instead call it what it is – neurodivergence or autism?

Many years ago, when William was at nursery, he was having some challenges with his development and after an Educational Psychologist visit along with multiple speech and language therapist reports, we began the exhausting journey along the CAMHS (Child Adolescent Mental Health Service) pathway until, in early Reception, it was confirmed that William was autistic. After this we spent the next few years navigating the various minefields of Educational Health and Care Plans (EHCPs), specialist schooling, Disability Living Allowance and Blue Badge application forms. Each new process led to thick booklets of confusing guidance, complex forms, and the constant need to justify why the support was necessary so that William had the same opportunities as his peers and cousins.

As William has grown up, he has developed into this funny, attentive young man who is obsessed with movies. Ask him about any film and chances are he can tell you the year it was released, what production company was responsible for it, and which studios did the filming. For his specialist subject of Warner Brothers, he can even pick out the correct logo for Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, The Matrix and Beetlejuice from any line-up.  These intense bursts of attention were noted as one of the key observations during his subsequent ADHD assessment.

When he was first diagnosed, both Kath and I were quite convinced he would be able to develop in a mainstream setting, and I put my hands up and admit much of this was my own internal guilt and ableism. But by the time William was in Year One, it was blindingly obvious he needed more specialist support, and we were fortunate that the local SEN school agreed to the transfer. Since moving at the start of the 2019 – 2020 academic year, he has thrived with his education being tailored to his own needs.

As parents, you always strive to balance protecting your kids from undue distress with giving them just enough exposure so they grow up to be well-rounded human beings. With William, we agonised for ages about when best to speak to him about my changing sight and, in the end, the decision was made for us when I hung up my driving gloves. There would have been too many questions like “Where has Mum’s MINI gone?” and “Why have I always got to walk home from school when Dad picks me up?”. You know, the important stuff that directly impacts him.

We really didn’t know how he would react to the huge change – it is so hard to explain to any seven-year-old why their dad can’t do some of the simple things with them any more – but when you add William’s additional needs into the mix, there really is no way of knowing how he would respond. We needn’t have worried, because he just absorbed this extra news into his world and carried on regardless.  We didn’t discuss each and every change in my sight with him, but when I began needing more audio description for watching TV or when I started to use a cane, we always made a point of sitting down with William and explaining what was going on so he had time to process these changes.

Believe it or not, but, the biggest change for him was when I started needing audio description permanently. William’s specialist subject is movies, as I’ve said, he can tell you whether Universal, Disney or Paramount produced just about any film he has ever seen. Since an early age, he has preferred having the subtitles turned on, which was a huge contributor to his learning to read. So, we sat him down and explained that Dad needed this extra soundtrack to be able to enjoy a film with the family. This had an enormous impact because it meant he had something else to process.

William needs a lot of movement breaks – especially at the exciting parts of a film, like when Paddington is escaping from prison or when Neo is roaring through the underworld – and then needs to rewind to replay the bit he missed. When he’s not pacing, he often fast-forwards or rewinds to a specific scene, which can be confusing at the best of times, but especially when you’re relying on the narration. It is difficult to get the balance between enabling William to have these essential movement breaks for processing and regulation and allowing others to follow the screen. We’ve now developed strategies with him to help achieve this balance – for instance he now knows only to fast-forward or rewind three times before allowing the film to keep playing (not that he always listens!).

Now, audio description has become integral to William’s viewing habits. If there is something we want to watch as a family, he always checks if it has AD and makes sure this is switched on before pressing play. Whenever we go to the cinema, he always checks on the schedule to make sure it is an accessible showing so I can come along. Cinemas are funny environments for me: the loud soundtrack and fuzzy images on screen can be extremely overwhelming. The headphones they provide are often extremely uncomfortable and often cut out whenever someone walks past. To make matters worse, I have to wear them with one ear uncovered so I can hear the AD in one ear and the main soundtrack in the other. All of this makes me exhausted, so I often choose which films I’ll attend and allow William some alone time with Mum, Nana or big sis.

When he comes home from these trips, he loves to tell me all about them and can’t wait until the film is released to buy or stream so we can enjoy it at home, and when it is released, he always checks for AD, reminding me I need it “because you’re blind”.

For someone who craves stability, he always surprises us with how adaptive and resilient he is, and he already shows this in other practical ways, like reading things out to me or helping to set the microwave timer for his hot dogs. Again, simple little things but huge milestones nonetheless.

Just recently, at the Grand Canyon, William was tired at dinner, so I took him back to the hotel room so Kath and Kira could enjoy a leisurely dessert. It was pitch black outside with only a few lamps to guide guests along the sheer 20,000 foot drop to our right. As my sight was severely impacted by the alternating pools of streetlight and total darkness, William helped count the lamps and steered us safely to the steps up to the first-floor corridor before reading the room numbers so we could find our door.

This doesn’t seem like much, but if you’re a parent of a neurodivergent kid I’m sure you understand how these otherwise insignificant moments are actually hugely momentous examples of William’s ability to process these changing circumstances and apply them to his world – and I couldn’t be more proud of the person he has become.