J went off to Glasgow this morning. Apart from trying to resolve lost passports and missing taxis from a long distance, he arrived safely. He was to spend the day at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland. I thought about him frequently throughout the day. This is his first formal audition and while he might not have seemed nervous, I was nervous for him. Flying alone, managing the arrangements for the day are a big deal to someone with Aspergers, probably an even bigger deal to their parents.
At 7 I text him and I try not to fire questions at him. How is it going? Fine, comes back the reply, on way to airport now. My next question – how was the audition? I send it and imagine what it might be like if it didn’t go well, if he was alone many miles away, feeling disappointed and rejected. My phone bleeps. I look at the text from J. I have a scholarship. I squeal, alone in my hotel room and call him immediately. With no overt smugness or glee, J tells me that it went really well, he loved it there and they told him they wanted him to come and would offer him a scholarship. Just like that. A boy who, aged 11, was told he would probably never pass exams, is offered a scholarship to a 4 year degree course. I cry with pride on the phone and J listens to me in his usual bemused way. But I can hear pride in his voice too, and quite rightly.
I call his father and tell him the news. He is with L, taking her home for the weekend. I speak to her ans she sounds ok, pleased to be heading home. All is well.