It was my ex who was first approached by our son’s nursery teacher. Our arrangement was that I worked and she looked after our son, so anything pertaining to his health and well being she was the first response. In the most calm and diplomatic way his teacher explained that our son was not like other children of his age. She suggested that it might be a good idea to contact a child psychologist to set in motion the N.H.S. diagnostic process. My ex did not respond well to this and insisted that the teacher should first talk to me before we agreed to anything being done. For his mother, I think (and this is only a theory), she felt a failure; as if something was wrong with her DNA. For me, I felt relief finally that after 2 or so years I was going to get some kind of explanation for my son's behavior.

So I gave no resistance to the teacher’s suggestion when we met, and on returning home explained to my wife that it could do no harm. The first thing to organize was a meeting with several professionals all of whom would observe him at nursery, and after said observation we would all have a meeting to plan the way forward. In attendance was a children’s health co- ordinater, nursery  teacher, special needs teacher, speech and language therapist, and child psychologist. My wife and I were to attend later, after they had observed my son. 

We all sat around a child’s table on children’s seats, a comical sight I am sure but I could not raise a smile. His mother did not attend. Next was a home visit from the speech and language therapist, I think largely to see what his home life was like. She was there for an hour. My wife hid in the bedroom for half that time. That was when I began to realise I had more than one challenging member of my immediate family ...

We decided at age 3 that my son was ready to go to a nursery, or pre school or kindergarten, or whatever you like to call these places. Our first choice proved a mistake but confirmed our feelings; that our son was indeed different from other 3 year olds. The pre school teacher would have the children sit at a desk at the end of the day with their arms folded waiting for their parents. Of course, my son would not comply. He was more interested in exploring other parts of the building and upsetting the neatly arranged toys and pens and other such equipment found at these establishments. Quite simply, because he felt they looked better arranged his way.

He was not malicious in his behavior; far from it. In fact almost everything he did and does for that matter is done with an effervescent smile, like the angels told him to do it. Which is actually very funny when he is confronted by a traditionalist from the child care profession. Needless to say that was his first and last visit to that establishment. On collecting him the teacher commented,"He is a little behind I think." But she said it with exasperation in her voice (not very professional). We did however find a pre school much better suited to him, staffed by people who understood that something different was going on in his mind. They also spotted the physical differences in him, although subtle and difficult to spot in a 3 year old.

And so the journey began. Life changes when you become a parent, but it changed again when I was faced with the thought that my son was different and could in fact be given a label. As long as we were willing to go along with the "diagnostic process" ...

My son was 3 and 1/2 when he was diagnosed with autism.Up until that point his mother (my ex wife) had kept him close to her. She did not feel comfortable at mother & toddler groups, and she would turn the home visitor away when she came to check on my sons progress. So it was not until he started to attend nursery that another grown-up with experience of children was able to interact with him. Until that point it had only been my self and his mother, as my ex also shunned most other people that came into our lives.

We had both felt that something was different about him but were completely in the dark about autism. He was always fascinated by water. Once he had learnt how to turn on the cold tap he would stand at the sink and move his hand in and out of the running water. He could do this for 45 mins at a stretch, longer if I let him. He was always organizing his bricks into colours and lining up our DVD boxes; he just did not play like other children. In fact it was not like play at all, it was like he had a higher purpose. A little disconcerting at first, but to me it was utterly fascinating, not so his mother ...