After eight years of epic
struggle (his first four years of school, before learning got less playful and required
more sitting still and listening, were OK, good, even…), today marks the end of
the first week of specialist autism college for 16-year-old Oliver.
It’s not just a relief
for him. After eight years of defending him in meetings, representing him in
meetings, advocating for him (and AuDHD in general) in meetings and battling
for some level of provision and adjustment for him in meeting – and this is
just one of my neurodivergent kids! – I we are done trying to fit into a
one-size-fits-all education system. And I am, I realise, absolutely knackered.
Thank god we didn’t have a fourth!
Image AI generated
A
funny kind of thankful
And I’m grateful. I
really am. Grateful to the council for funding his place (although, given that it
was clear to everyone that Oliver needed specialist provision three years ago
and they said no – leading to a cataclysmic breakdown and Oliver learning alone
in a classroom from worksheets for the last two years – I think they were left
with little choice). I’m grateful to the college for existing for people like
Oliver. But, at the same time, I’m grieving for the life that 16-year-old him
is not accessing.
At his college, there
are literally six other students – in the entire college. (Just one of them is doing
Sports Studies – one! Makes me wonder what possible sport he can be partaking in
– athletics? Yoga? Walley?!)
Whilst Oliver couldn’t
be dealing with large groups of people, busy corridors and sensory overwhelm,
having so few students in the college allows for a very small friendship pool.
And as everyone travels long distances to be there, even if he did make some
good friends, he wouldn’t be able to freewheel off with them somewhere after
college, as they all get picked up I taxis and whisked home as soon as the
college day finishes.
I remember my 16 year
old self and all the (mis)adventures and memories I made. It was probably the
best time of my life. It’s sad that, for many autistic children, the choice is
either overwhelm and autistic shutdown at a mainstream college, or shut off from
the world and any chance of having those adventures and making those memories
at a specialist setting.
I feel like the
sentiments of this year’s SEND white paper, that calls for better integration
of SEND students into mainstream school is, actually, the Holy Grail in all of
this – if only it was possible.
·
Because teachers aren’t properly SEND trained
and, even if they were, the extent of the curriculum, pressure to reach targets
and reduction in classroom support would mean they don’t have the time or space
in their teaching to accommodate different learning styles and needs.
·
Because secondary schools will still be huge,
sprawling buildings that smell of cabbage and mashed potato, filled with
echoing corridors and hundreds/thousands of other people.
·
Because learning will still, mainly,
happen from the front of the class, through spoken word, written word and
memorisation, because that’s the only way to teach en-masse when there’s one
teacher and 30+ students – but these approaches don’t work for so many
neurodivergent, visual learners.
·
And because, by trying to circumnavigate
some of these challenges by having bigger SEND bases within mainstream schools
you are, effectively, just creating mini specialist settings within mainstream
schools. Turning the neurodivergent students into the ‘other’.
Honestly, I don’t know
what the answer is, but surely there must be one? In the meantime, I’m just so
relieved that I won’t have to be having any more battles with teaching staff
and systems that don’t understand reasonable adjustments, and that Oliver can finally
start learning about things that interest him and in a way that makes his brain
come alive.
‘Not
just’ any custard creams; Not just any family
Meanwhile, the eldest
autistic in our family continues to drive me mad with his exasperating behaviour.
I mean, I absolutely advocate
for autistic people and always will but, at the same time, living with their foibles
– or at least my husband’s – can be infuriating.
Just yesterday, he
admonished Oliver for eating two out of the packet of six chocolate-coated custard
creams he’d bought from Marks and Spencer (for those who don’t know – it’s the
Ritz of grocery shopping).
It’s a loss of control
thing – he struggles with anything that takes control away from him and how he
thinks things should play out…
Which, it seems, was
him eating them all as, later that night, he took the (unopened) second packet
of white chocolate-covered custard
creams – arguably even better than the plain chocolate version – and ate not
just two, but the lot (the evidence there for all to see in the bin the next
morning)!
The hypocrisy is incredible!
As is the complete lack of moderation or impulse control.
His reaction, on being
discovered, was to go out and buy three more packs which he swears he won’t be
eating any of. This is always what he does (this happens a lot) and, invariably
what happens is that, they stay in the cupboard unopened (or opened with just
one or two eaten) until, one night – normally when he’s a glass of wine down –
his impulse control will go and he’ll eat them all again!
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