Despite his autism, anxiety and reluctance to speak, we attempted to keep Thunderthighs in our nearest mainstream school.
It was not a success.
He may have been with his ‘peers’ chronologically but they treated him more as a pet than a playmate. I know because I was forced to go in and help supervise him at lunchtimes.
The school eventually provided a one-to-one assistant; she was a childminder who lives in our street and when not with Thunderthighs served as a dinner lady. She was apologetically aware that she had no training in autism or special needs and was frustrated that she couldn’t help Thunderthighs more. She was as unimpressed as I that most of his one-to-one time was spent in the cloakroom cum corridor.
He made it through Nursery (the Nursery teacher was excellent), Reception and part of Year One. Things came to a head in a meeting with the Year One teacher, the SENCO (Special Educational Needs Coordinator who once wrote a report saying “we need to illicit (sic) speech from Thunderthighs”) and our local authority Language Coordinator.
The Language Coordinator was giving information on ways in which he could be helped, at which the teacher asked brusquely “Will this make more work for me?”
Even if she thought it, and it was true, it was a crassly tactless thing to say in front of a mother.
I said nothing but my thought was “If she doesn’t want him in her classroom I certainly don’t want her teaching him.”
The local authority had promised us a place in an ‘autism ark’ in one of their mainstream schools since Nursery but there never seemed to be a vacancy. He was getting a lot less than his Statement of Special Educational Needs set out he required.
The same afternoon I went to an assembly at Ferretfingers’ school.
There every child’s every achievement, however small, was celebrated.
It broke my heart to realise that Thunderthighs was not as valued or cherished in his school.
I had a good relationship, via Parent Teachers Association meetings, with the head of Woodlawn and I didn’t want to risk upsetting or embarrassing him if he was forced to deny Thunderthighs a place. So I wrote a letter (copied to appropriate councillors and other officials) to the head of education pointing out that Thunderthighs Statement of Special Needs was not being met.
In it I suggested that Woodlawn might provide far more than he needed, but, until a place in an ‘ark’ was available, perhaps he could go there to make up for the past year’s lack of provision.
A few weeks later I was in school for some PTA thing and Henlady, a teacher there, came up to me saying
“I’ve seen Thunderthighs’ file and I’ve told the Head ‘I want that little boy in my class.’”
(That, dear reader, is why I love her.)
Shortly thereafter he went on a visit to her classroom.
There was a trainset out which immediately caught his attention
Henlady reported “He’d never seen a trainset in class before then Mrs S said that if pupilX got a sum right she would dance on the table. Pupil X did so Mrs S danced on the table. You should have seen Thunderthighs’ face. He was astonished.”
Driving home I asked him which he preferred, Woodlawn or the nearest mainstream school.
“Woodlawn” he replied firmly and clearly.
He started the day after the Autumn half term holiday.
It was like putting a duckling into water, he found his feet and took off.
That was December 1999.
This was December 2001, I was ironing and Thunderthighs was sitting on the floor near me.
Out of nowhere he asked “What’s happened to Dominic?”
Surprised I replied honestly “He died darling. He was very old and very poorly so the vet put him to sleep so he wouldn’t be in pain any longer.”
He seemed quite satisfied with the answer.
A thought struck me.
The child must have been wondering and worrying about Dominic for nearly two years, but hadn’t the words, or the confidence to ask his mother about it.
I felt
very sad and very guilty.
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