I’m old enough to have seen the first episode of Dr Who, with Willam Hartnell.
I had no intention of watching the new iteration of Dr Who in 2005, but Bigsister did. I happened to be staying with her when the “The Empty Child” was broadcast. The echoes of repetition, echolalia, non-communication and gentle compliance reminded me so much of my own little Ferretfingers that I was grabbed and held in familiarity and sadness. I had to watch the next episode, and the resolution in “The Doctor Dances” reduced me to tears (one of the few times I’ve allowed autism to do that to me).
Thunderthighs was watching with me and, although he looked at me sideways, didn’t seem particularly upset. We watched the rest of that series, and have watched every episode since, together. It’s become our Mum and Son thing (that and Ant&Dec’s Saturday Night Takeaway). Since the loft extension was built we’ve watched in his bedroom, leaving the living room telly to Ferretfingers.
We went back and viewed the Christopher Ecclestone episodes from the start.
The problem of Thunderthigh’s Christmas gifts was resolved; original series Dr Who DVDs, books, calendars, TARDIS items, mugs etc.
Then came my ‘adult’ Dr Who; David Tennant.
Almost every series he was in reduced me to tears at some point mirroring so many memories and my unresolved feelings of loss and longing.
Except “Blink” which was terrifying beyond anything the Daleks could do.
From Facebook archives…
I am very moved by this on youtube.com
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