Results Day

Results Day is a modern rite of passage. It is one of the ‘milestones’ that the parents of ‘typically developing’ children expect, and anticipate.

Freddie is sixteen now, and among the cohort of young people who left secondary education this summer.

Now, there are people with Down’s Syndrome who attend mainstream school and sit GCSEs; however, as Freddie progressed through the education system, it became apparent that this was not the appropriate path for him.

Although his specialist school does offer GCSE courses, his teachers, and we, his parents, realised that this was not a realistic ambition for him at this stage of his life, and that it was far more important that he concentrate on acquiring and consolidating the basic everyday living skills that would enable him to look after himself and live as independently as possible. He was, however, entered for some entry-level qualifications in functional maths and English, and so he was invited to come into school and pick up the results of those.

Freddie’s older brother and sister both sat GCSEs. On Results Day they met up with friends so they could pick up their results together. Then, after quickly texting their grades to us, they went off with their friends to celebrate (or commiserate).

We parents were merely adjacent to the process, not really a part of it.

For Freddie to get to school safely to get his results, though, I would have to go with him; and there is no way I could let him loose on the town afterwards, even with a group of friends – he needs so much more safeguarding than most sixteen-year-olds as he has no sense of danger or risk, and little understanding of consequences. I decided that we should make a day of it, though, make it special, and asked him where he’d like to go for a drink and snack to celebrate. To my surprise he chose a nice coffee shop rather than McDonalds, and we treated ourselves a little cake party for two.

I get the distinct impression that some people think this is very sad, and they expect me to be sad about it.

Sad that he couldn’t manage GCSEs.

Sad that he couldn’t go out to celebrate with his friends like other teenagers.

But I’m not sad.

Primarily, I’m not sad about it, because Freddie isn’t sad about it.

Freddie worked hard for those entry-level qualifications and did the best that he could. His teachers were delighted with what he achieved and so was he.

That’s good enough for me and well worth celebrating.

Freddie doesn’t compare himself to his brother and sister, perhaps because there’s such a large age gap and they’ve never been at the same life-stage.

Freddie doesn’t seem to compare himself to other people at all, to be honest. He lives life in the here and now, in a little Freddie shaped bubble that’s really quite a pleasant place to be.

In his world, going out for coffee and cake with your mum or dad is not in the least bit odd (at least they talk to you like a grown-up and not like a toddler or some kind of alien, like some people do; and they know you’re nearly seventeen and perfectly old enough to drink coffee if you want). And like the rest of the family, Freddie is a gentle soul, and a homebird for whom a loud and lairy night out would be hell on earth.

So, if Freddie isn’t sad, and I’m not sad, then it isn’t sad, is it?

I can’t help feeling that the people who were expecting ME to be sad about Freddie’s Results Day were missing the point. Because it wasn’t about me, was it? It was about HIM.