Suspended play. ASD at eight-and-a-half

I am feeling ambivalent about Jonah’s future. Huge gains are compromised by a better sense of his limitations, as was epitomised today when Jonah showed, and just as quickly lost, an interest in playing tennis.

It feels churlish to complain about a game, when Jonah is reading Harry Potter apace, his maths books returned from school with nary a mistake (although the handwriting is still hit and miss). He’s discovered a talent for climbing, for which conveniently we have a professional centre right at the end of our street. Generally he has a lot going for him. But his attitude will hold him back.

This summer has turned out nice, so far, aided and abetted by Tom still being on gardening leave. He took Ava to a have-your-own-pony morning last week, which made her achingly happy. Jonah is booked to go kayaking this week. The pair of them have spent almost every waking hour with their best mate Ronnie, playing in paddling pools, parks and blackberry picking (as well as the usual screen-time). They’ve only spent the one day at sports camp, from which they returned home exhausted following no major incidents. It’s been idyllic, really.

But to Jonah, life can still feel like a struggle.

I asked him today how happy he is on a scale of one to ten, with ten being the top (he likes to give things a concrete percentage like this, often asking me how far round the clock I would rate my day when we sit and talk before bedtime). He said 8 out of 10, which sounds pretty positive, but he said it was because he likes the holidays, when he can do more of the stuff he likes, and less of doing what he is told, which he has always found a challenge.</p>

Earlier this week, I tried to offer him a sense of perspective, when he was complaining about being asked to do something or other- eat breakfast or get dressed, rather than a particularly onerous chore- showing both kids the Jon Snow broadcast on the children of Gaza, which I was moved enough to write about here. He went quiet. But for a child who finds it hard to empathise, it wasn’t long before the idea of doing something vaguely against his will seems like the worst thing in the world. We had a row over breakfast one morning because I wanted tom and the kids to meet me after work in Regents Park to go for pizza one day, jealous of the amount of time they’re all having in the sun. Jonah didn’t fancy it – I guess it feels a long way on the tube, the cross town journey I have to make twice a day- and began to have a melt down.

It took an inordinate amount of patience to explain to him that it would be nice for me to have some fun too; that I was going to be at my desk all day, that I would like to spend some time in a park with my family, particularly as he had the whole rest of the day to do what he liked. He eventually came round, glowering. We ended up having a lovely sunset evening. It can be frustrating to parent a child who only wants to play Minecraft.

But he is showing an interest in other things. At a fun day that arrived in the park near us today (the new land at the top of the Faraway Tree – it changes almost every week in the summer) he queued patiently for the free dodgems, climbed rope-netting slung between trees, played hook-a-duck, and threw a beanbag and generally seemed to have a great day out. But it was not to last.

Perhaps it was tiredness, but when he picked up a tennis racket to try his hand at the game he’s so far refused to try, it wasn’t long before he was having McEnroe style bursts of anger. It’s an unattractive trait I recognise in myself – a natural competitiveness combined with little natural ability and a lack patience that can’t wait to run before walking. Rolling his tongue between his teeth – a little tick that has been driving me mad this week, all lanky limbs, loose grip and fringe in his face, his lack of coordination contrasted with some smaller, neater kids who easily picked the game up from scratch. It was hard to watch.

Tom patiently explained to Jonah he had to start small – practice bouncing the ball, hitting it back and forth over the net, moving away from each other gradually to practise his aim. But Jonah would have none of it. Having mastered a shaking serve, he couldn’t cope with not being able to instantly play like a pro, and took to throwing his racket, eyes as black as Andy Murrays’ having just lost Wimbledon. It’s his attitude that stinks – but I’m not sure, like the champions he takes after  – in temper alone – that he can help it all that much. Like them, he knows when he is reacting badly, but he hasn’t got the capacity to stop – even when it happens in front of a crowd.

He glowered all the way home, while Tom tried to placate him, promising to give him lessons if only he would learn to listen, something, alas, I doubt can be taught. But Jonah had already given up, knowing he’s just not that good at it. It’s a shame. He has so much opportunity here, living as we do in East London, where clubs and organisations catering for kids are everywhere. But he’s just not that interested. And I have to curb my by-proxy ambition and bite my tongue to avoid making him feel like a failure, just because he can be a little myopic when it comes to giving something a go, and sticking at it for a while, that he can’t do straight off the bat.

But frustrating though it can be to see him struggle (and I know he’s never going to suddenly be blessed with a sunny carefree demeanor and a can-do attitude), this summer is really nothing like as bad as I anticipated it might be, projecting in to the future when he was a tantrum-prone toddler, or, more recently, nose to the grindstone on the working parent rat race. Like many other things in life, there’s as much to feel grateful for as for to feel downhearted. After all, tennis isn’t everything.