Some day I will write about O's recent diagnoses, but today I have to share a particular fear.
Even at primary school, assembly made him anxious and when taking the Year 6 SATs he specifically asked for a seat near the door. His primary school teachers were very accommodating, and this was easily provided. So, when it came to transferring to secondary school I had many worries about how O would fit in and one of the things I mentioned in an introductory email was this very fear.
Two years into secondary school and at one of our few meetings with the head-of-year, she did mention how O would insist on occupying the end seat in assembly. Her concern was that this was frustrating for other pupils trying to pass him and her conclusion was that O was just generally being awkward.
So, when he admitted to me last week that he'd been secretly skipping assembly altogether, I wasn't surprised. He thinks his fear of assembly is in part due to a deep-seated fear of vomit and particularly seeing other people throw up. This is not something he's been especially exposed to, and has luckily largely escaped childhood bugs. But, even the thought of vomit or hearing it from another room can send him into shakes and panic, so he has no intention of exposing himself to the threat of this in public (and for some reason, kids throw up in assembly these days!) Given the head-of-year's hastily drawn conclusion about his sitting at the end of the row, I was reluctant to discuss this with her and decided to keep his confidence until the inevitable.
This morning it came as no surprise at all when I received a email informing me of a detention, the reason "defiance: refusal to attend assembly". I replied immediately with a little of what I've told you (not the vomiting bit!) and asking if they could speak to him about his fear rather than punishing him. I know how they see me though. I'm the parent always spouting, "It's not his fault he's naughty. He's got ADHD."
A lack of sympathy will definitely be their response and I can imagine any subsequent meeting with O. A meeting with a senior member of staff will spark one of two reactions - in a child that isn't used to trouble - remorse, fear and probably tears. In a child, like O, who has been here before - disappointment in himself, despair of the system. A child who is already failing at every turn and whose teachers seem to deliberately misunderstand him, knows before he enters the teacher's office that empathy is not forthcoming. He skulks in with defiance etched on his face. As well as that, this particular boy has Autism. He doesn't know how to win someone round with a cheeky smile or how to nod in all the right places. His hair is too long, his sad eyes invisible beneath his knitted eyebrows and his mouth is sealed shut. What's the point in talking? His words come out wrong or when he thinks he's got it right they are twisted.
Unfortunately for O and children like him, agoraphobia doesn't come with flashing eyes and perfect posture; it doesn't pay attention and give articulated answers; it doesn't nod and say "I'll try better next time." It looks like defiance. It looks like anger. It looks like silence. It looks like my child.
