So, new school is about to enter day 3. For the two week assessment The Boy was sweetness and light. Then on Monday, his official first day, he calculated the time had come for attack. The element of surprise. Now was the time to bring out the big guns. This enemy had underestimated him. It was time for Shock and Awe.
By all accounts, it was an impressive display. He pulled out everything in his arsenal. Kicking, punching, swearing, biting, spitting - he bombarded them with the lot. Wave after wave, barrage after barrage. Oh yes, he'd show them who was the superpower to be reckoned with.
By the time I arrived to collect him at 3.30pm the battle was over. I was called into the office for a full de-briefing before heading to assess the battleground. And collect the wounded. As I opened the classroom door I was unsure what to expect. Tired and helpless, The Boy was flopped over a chair. The school uniform that had looked so new and fresh just hours earlier now hung from him like the battle fatigues of a veteran. He'd given everything. There was no more fight in him.
And standing next to him, the enemy. Mr Teacher.
"We made some wrong choices today, Dad", Mr Teacher said, beaming away. "But we've spoken about it and we're ready for a much better day tomorrow. I remember when I started at this school. And I was scared on my first day too..."
And his smile told me that we were in the right place. That far from being the enemy, The Boy had met an ally. Someone who understood. Things might just be okay.
As we trundled out of the classroom with the remains of a smashed Dr Who lunchbox in one hand and a bandaged Home-School diary in the other The Boy turned to me. "I really like my new school, Daddy".
So do I, son. So do I.
This blog is about bringing up The Boy. He's 12 years old and autistic. It's written by The Dad. It's my words, my view. Other people will think differently and have different opinions. Good.