03/09/2026
I witnessed a beautiful moment this afternoon.
Today was my son's first day at his specialist secondary school. There were all sorts of reasons why he could have struggled to settle in, but he got to know his new form teacher on his transition days, he knew what the school was like, and his teacher had sent a social story to take him through everything that would be happening on the first day.
This morning could have gone badly. He hasn't been going to sleep early enough, and I struggled to wake him up. He hadn't tried on his uniform, and a lot of it was new. He doesn't really like leaving the house. He gets nervous about meeting people, being in a crowd, finding his way round, having to stand up for himself and ask questions, and so much more.
His sister had all the support I could have hoped for when she started at her mainstream school in Year 7. She became very attached to two or three members of the support team, and when she made it to school, they were the main pull - they often still are.
But despite the relationships she has built with individual friends and members of staff, she has never felt completely safe at school. Some days she's able to push past the discomfort, seeking refuge in the people who do feel safe to her. Other days, she can't. Today she couldn't.
My son, on the other hand, arrived at school and went off with a teacher to his classroom quite happily this morning.
This afternoon, I arrived 15 minutes early to pick him up, and I waited for ages. About 10 minutes after school ended, it transpired that he had been waiting with his teacher at the wrong car park, and had presumably thought that I hadn't arrived to pick him up.
I expected him to be distraught when he finally arrived - but he wasn't. I saw him coming up to me, chatting with two members of staff, smiling, and not looking at his shoes or anxiously searching for me. He was happy to see me, but he was also happy before he saw me.
The beautiful thing that I saw today was a child who felt safe at school.