What’s your top kids’ movie of all time?

Barry Norman* I’m not, but The Boy’s dyspraxia is one of the reasons he and I have developed a shared love of children’s cinema. Movies offer an ideal escape into an imaginary world, which he can replicate with his own characters and derring-do adventures. 

This is the list of the top films we’ve watched together - some at the cinema; some at home. It mightn’t be my view of the best film, but instead the best memory of the whole experience. 

10. Solo: A Star Wars Story: Star Wars is a more recent discovery for The Boy and there should be no argument that The Empire Strikes Back is the standout movie of the franchise. But Solo was at the cinema and The Boy shouting “Chewie!” at the top of his voice on the Wookiee’s appearance - along with Alden Ehrenreich’s valiant attempt at the impossible task of filling Harrison Ford’s size 9s - made it particularly memorable. 

9. Trolls: A great soundtrack and all-star cast make this film a winner. It would be higher but I'm not allowed to watch it anymore - it makes the boy cry! 

8. Inside Out: For those who remember The Numbskulls in The Beezer, this is a similar premise - characters working inside your head, controlling emotions. A Pixar Great with humour, teary stuff and an important message for kids and adults alike - sometimes it’s necessary to feel sad. 

The Numbskulls: forerunner to Inside Out

7. Despicable Me 3: Once again, a trip to the cinema (this time a surprise) means the far superior earlier films don’t make it. But this is still fun, especially thanks to its 80s soundtrack, including Bad by MJ and Take on me by Aha. Plus, The Boy loves Minions so who am I to argue?

6. Incredibles 2: Yet again a treat at the cinema forces a lesser film to leapfrog its original. But this sticks to a winning formula - superpowers to entertain the kids and the conceit that even superheroes have childcare stresses for the adults. This time, Bob is a stay-at-home dad and Helen is the homesick breadwinner. 

5. Up: For its tear-jerking opening sequence alone this film easily makes the top 5. Pixar do it so well - good versus evil, losing love and finding friendship are staple storylines to make sure you love some lovable, flawed characters

4. The BFG: The Steven Spielberg one. The book was published when I was 9 so has particular affection. We won tickets to the premiere in Leicester Square, memorable for The Boy heckling The Great Man behind Saving Private Ryan from the fifth row with: “why’s this man talking? When will the film start?” Lots of shushing from embarrassed parents. The film’s whizpopping fun, too!

The victim of The Boy's heckling at the BFG premiere

3. The Lego Movie: our first film together at the cinema. Hilarious and adventure-packed with some exceptional characters such as Lucy “no, I’m not a DJ” Wyldstyle, Will Ferrell’s President Business, a God-like Vitruvius (played by Morgan Freeman - who else?) and Batman, who got a fully-deserved Lego follow-up. The pick of the bunch is Emmett - the Every[plastic]man reluctant hero. 

2. Coco: An amusing and immensely moving film with phenomenal animation, covering some major subjects, like the importance of music, family and remembering the dead. I’ve no shame in admitting to a few tears at the end in the darkness of the cinema. 

1. Toy Story: Let no one attempt to counter the fact that this is the best kids’ movie of all time! An elegant tale of friendship with revolutionary mid-1990s animation and laugh-out-loud dialogue - the blueprint for the genre. Although it’s not been watched for some time now, The Boy and I must have seen it 30 times between his 3rd and 5th birthdays. Woody and Buzz still make the occasional cameo out of our toy cupboard, too. Roll on the fourth in the series, due for release in 2019!

Toy Story: The best kids' movie ever (no arguments)!

Were it not for my self-imposed rule that I had to have seen the film with my son, Back to the Future and Raiders of the Lost Ark would undoubtedly have made the list. And Cars III and Hop deserve a “worst films ever” mention. 

Tell me your top 3 (or 5 or 10) kids’ films below or via Twitter!

So there you have it, and, why not...*

*if born post 1985, ask your parents

Parenting tips from dyspraxic adults

Can we change the future?

[low pitch] da da dun da-dunga-da-dun, da-da da dun da-dunga-da-dun; [high pitch] booooooo-weeeeee! booooo-weeeee...

That was, of course, the unmistakable opening bars of the Doctor Who theme tune. While many were debating the implications of a female Doctor (answer: the bit you find unbelievable about someone travelling through time in a police phone box is that she’s a woman?) the dyspraxia community was understandably excited about her sidekick, Ryan. 

Ryan - dyspraxic time-travelling companion from Doctor Who, played by Tosin Cole ... not really that much to do with this blog! Perhaps I'm reading too much into it, but I really like the fact he's only using his fork in this photo - I hope that's deliberate attention to detail.

Yes! What a start to Dyspraxia Awareness Week.

I will shamelessly do anything to link this blog to popular culture, so I’m going to do some time travelling and try to improve The Boy’s future. A while back, some wonderful adults with dyspraxia responded to my request to share what their parents did well and what they wish they’d done more of during their childhood and youth. Some were public in their response, others sent private messages. I’ll keep all anonymous but I’m incredibly grateful to them.

Here are my parenting tips based on what they told me ... in no particular order:

Encourage independence as much as possible 

Allow the child to find their own way of doing the things that they find difficult and only intervene when they’re overwhelmed. Gradually, relinquish more control to them and don’t rush them. 

Fight their corner

Whether it’s school, CAMHS, whoever, get them all the support you can whilst not contravening the independence rule. 

Encourage what they’re good at...

If they show a natural flair for something and / or really enjoy it, find ways to get them to pursue it. A subject enjoyed at school could become a career, for example. Create the environment in which they can thrive. 

...but don’t force things on them

Ok, here I think some perspective is needed. Yes, don’t force (eg) football or skipping or A-level maths, but do ensure they remain active (swimming and Junior Park Run for The Boy) and do aim for at least decent numeracy. As adults they’d be far more annoyed with us if they were physically unfit or diddled out of money. 

Treat them the same as siblings 

This is a tough one for balance. The joy of teaching my 4yo to ride a bike was tempered by his 7yo big brother still with stabilisers (thank you, Ryan, for your getbackupability). The impact on both parties needs to be catered for. But the dyspraxic child shouldn’t be excluded. 

Be prepared on the mental health front

Judging by what people told me and the Dyspraxia Foundation’s survey results this week, bouts of mental health difficulties - especially anxiety - border on the inevitable. Here I have some work to do. It’s easy to say “do all you can to prevent” and “provide them with the resilience for when” and “early intervention” and “watch for the signs”, but what does that mean in practice? Perhaps some research and a future blog. 

Be open...

Don’t try to hide what they struggle with or get them to ignore their condition. But equally, don’t let them become ruled by their condition. This might sound like a paradox but their identity is theirs; dyspraxia is just part of it. It’s not the other way around. 

As parents we’ll never get it completely right, but hopefully we can get it less wrong and provide our children with their best future possible. 

This is just a summary of people’s sometimes extensive responses. I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to my future-travelling companions. I hope the fact that they’ve helped so much provides some recompense for their candour. 

Let’s play out with the theme tune:

[low pitch] da da dun da-dunga-da-dun, da-da da dun da-dunga-da-dun; [high pitch] booooooo-weeeeee! Booooo-weeneee...

Calling all inspirational people living with dyspraxia: your help wanted!

When I started this blog I was hoping I could reach other fathers who, like me, witnessed the birth of their sons with expectations of non-stop kickabouts down the park and bike rides around the block. But our reality turned out to be different. In many ways better and more rewarding, but undoubtedly different. 

I already knew of some of the influencers: There are some great parents: Gill Dixon immediately springs to mind (thanks for the timely seatbelt advice in particular!) with her unrivalled experience of supporting a dyspraxic family. Then there’s the Dyspraxic Copper with his experiences in what must sometimes be the most physical of vocations or MikeysWish, championing the cause for verbal dyspraxia. Plus, Professionals like Dr Sally Payne and the superb Dyspraxic Doctor. What’s more, phenomenal professional writers like Jenny Hollander and Maxine Frances Roper, using their skills to provide firsthand experience of living with dyspraxia as an adult. 

But what’s new is that a whole community has opened up. Everyday people facing many of the challenges we all face - like finding fulfilment in our family, personal and professional lives - but living it all with the added difficulties of dyspraxia. Those sharing experiences of growing up with the condition are particularly useful to me as a parent. Among many great examples is Alice Hewson’s recent blog on her school days. It was so enlightening for me as a parent who wants to do what’s best for his son and a reminder that there are always consequences, intended or otherwise. 

The other day, I witnessed these tweets from Alice and Maxine, discouraging use of the label “inspirational” when coupled with disability and encouraging a focus on acceptance that people find certain things difficult. This is undoubtedly important, but I’m not sorry to say that the entire dyspraxia community I’ve come across is an inspiration for me whether they like it or not! Inspiration to know that I’m human, I’m fallible and I have made many mistakes (and will make many more). Inspiration to know that - whilst dyspraxia challenges are constant - people adjust, adapt, gain Masters degrees, swing golf clubs, pass driving tests. Inspiration to do my best as a father. Inspiration to keep going and doing everything possible to support the development of another fine dyspraxic adult. 

So, I have two questions for all dyspraxic adults to answer:

1. Is there one thing your parent(s) / carer(s) did particularly well in supporting you growing up as a child with dyspraxia?
2. Is there one thing they didn’t do but you wish they had done (or did just a little/ occasionally but wish they’d done more of)?

Irrespective of whether you received a diagnosis in adulthood or childhood, please tell me your answers via this blog’s comments section, Twitter (@dyspraxiadad) or a personal message via Twitter (with anonymity assured). If I get enough, I’ll report back on my findings. I promise I’ll find your response insightful and, dare I say, inspirational!

Including SEN as an Ofsted category would be truly outstanding

My mummy says I'm a miracle.

My daddy says I'm his special little guy.

For those unfamiliar, this is from Matilda the Musical. All the [astonishingly talented] kids sing this song and the message is simple: they’re all miracles according to their parents and thus that’s not the case and they’re actually far from unique. The one who is outstanding is the title character and her parents can’t abide her (Roald Dahl’s exceptional storytelling, complement by Tim Minchin’s witty lyrics). 

Many parents, and society in general, can often be blinkered to what stands out. With the pressures of creating an exaggerated idyllic family life on social media, this confuses the picture further. Of course, we all want our children to perform well academically, but is this truly the only measure?

I ask because the school The Boy attends maintained a “good” rating from its recent Ofsted visit. Perhaps a reflection of our relative privilege is that that’s the “worst” rating in our catchment. The other schools are one notch higher with their “outstanding” label. 

Let’s be clear here, Ofsted doesn’t just rate a school’s academic performance, there are other important categories, like child safety and how well children are protected from bullying. But in the parent questionnaire and the subsequent report, there wasn’t a mention of the school’s special educational needs (SEN) approach. Apparently, they do assess it but there was no evidence of this having any bearing on the rating. Actually, there was no evidence it was included whatsoever. 

Like us, prior to their kids starting education, I’d imagine most parents of dyspraxic children either didn’t have a clue or a confirmed diagnosis. So for us, SEN wasn’t a consideration when applying for schools. 

But how lucky we are to get only the “good” school! It’s the best for SEN in the area to the point that it lends support to pupils from those aforementioned outstanding schools. They’ve even sent teachers on courses to learn about dyspraxia and provide The Boy with the additional support he needs. This year’s teacher has perhaps not grasped it as well as last year’s, but the progress he’s made is beyond doubt. 

Ofsted felt the fact that an older class was reviewing a Shakespeare text worthy of two mentions in their report. I don’t criticise this individually but two mentions? (Yes, the Bard is impressive but many plays I’ve seen end up with characters discovering clandestine information through wearing blatantly obvious disguises! Let’s be honest, Hannibal Lecter brought the “use a disguise to get out of a tricky situation” storyline to far greater heights some 400 years later).

So much emphasis on the academic means that we see a child’s most important years from a narrow viewpoint and most children’s mummies will no doubt say their child is the miracle. 

Surely one factor of many that makes a school exceed is how well they integrate children like ours who need additional support? How well they help them to achieve their potential? How well they ensure the other children see “different” as “ordinary” (perhaps even extraordinary)?

A game of crab football

After my son’s recent sports day - during which, I’m proud to say, he did his best and smiled frequently - I walked past a game of crab football. A young boy with a more visible disability (he needs a chair for most of his mobility) was in goal. He made a super save and his teammates were screaming his name for him to throw the ball their way - the personification of integration. 

“Now that, Ofsted,” I thought to myself, “is outstanding!”

How a long-haul flight didn’t save Christmas

It’s July and it’s intensely hot, so when’s better to write about Christmas? Well, not Christmas exactly, but about sleep, sensory issues and dyspraxia.

Every Christmas Eve my son gets an average of 3-4 hours’ sleep - about 30% of what he needs. We don’t do ourselves any favours in the run up: “tidy your room or Father Christmas won’t come!”; “don’t strangle your brother because Santa will tear up that letter we made you rewrite three times and you’ll be present-less!”

Unsurprisingly, he can’t sleep for anticipation and then wakes up in a state of ecstasy at 3am, the moment his foot touches the filled stocking.

The Boy, his mother and I have had an arduous battle with his sleep. On his first ever day at home more than seven years ago, he slept for eight hours solid and a calm but firm midwife, when we phoned to ask what to do, told us: “wake him up and feed him. NOW!” That was pretty much the last time he slept continuously for three whole years.

We consulted a sleep specialist and we tried method upon method, but ultimately it was to no avail. The only way we could get him to sleep solidly was to do what everyone told us not to and take him to bed with us. We did that a lot.

Then, when he was three, he moved from a cot into a “Big Boy Bed” and - for a time at least - he started sleeping well. But he still struggles to sleep on many nights, especially at this time of year while it’s light.

When I asked him why he struggles, he explained the conflicting problems of how it was too bright and that he didn’t want the door shut. I’d just returned from a long-haul business trip so I asked him if he wanted to wear my “magic” eye mask. It works perfectly and only fails when he removes it for a secret read - which is most nights.

One of The Boy's array of eye masks

It makes more sense now. My theory is that, before the “Big Boy Bed”, the cot’s bars, shadows and other sensory stimulation sent his developing mind into overload. Coming into bed with us was the safest place to be. In retrospect I feel so guilty at the times we screamed “just sleep!” and no doubt added to an already a frightening situation.

I’m beginning to understand just how much things can stimulate his senses: the shocking noise of a hand dryer (James Dyson, you’re not that clever), the tilt of his bicycle on a kerb, the abject fear when he first attended swimming lessons, the angry ravages of hunger. He shuffles from foot-to-foot constantly to get “feedback”, and many who don’t understand call out his “fidgeting”.

I try so hard - sometimes failing dismally - to see the world through his eyes. I wonder whether it’s sometimes scary or sometimes vividly beautiful - hence his love of movies.

Occasionally, he even enjoys sleeps. And by my reckoning he’s got 165.3 of them before Christmas. 

The opener

Here’s my first confession: when we named The Boy, I made sure his initials would look right on a cricket scorecard when coupled with his last name. A career as England’s opening batsman was inevitable. And when he said his first word at nine months, correctly naming a stethoscope before 18 months, the whole thing was a done deal: “I’ve sired a prodigy!”

So when the professor paediatrician told me to “see how immature his movement is” when diagnosing The Boy with dyspraxia just before he turned 5, I was dumbfounded. I couldn’t see it - I only saw the prodigy. The warning signs to which we were oblivious - bum-shuffling straight to walking, weak muscle tone, the difficulty sleeping... my god, The. Difficulty. Sleeping - gradually started to make sense. 

Me (left) and The Boy, drawn by The Boy

Dyspraxia, aka developmental co-ordination disorder (DCD), affects the fine and gross motor capabilities of about one child per classroom and it’s more likely they’re a he. Essentially their world is a bit muddled physically, a bit clumsy and the kids can end up very anxious or sad the more they notice how much more difficult they find things than their peers. Dyspraxia is in the same family as dyslexia, ADHD and autism, and it’s not uncommon for these conditions to co-exist. The Boy only has one of these labels and we’re apparently lucky to identify it so young. 

He’s a wonderfully talented child, immersed in his own world of imagination, mainly based around movies and books. He creates many scripts for film or theatre, the promotional posters, the characters and the plot. Such creativity brings us such pleasure. 

Now that The Boy is seven, thanks to the wonderful occupational therapy profession, a good school and his hard work, his previously illegible writing improves by the day, he’s growing in confidence as a swimmer, he can pedal a bike, (despite the stabilisers remaining steadfastly attached) and he even cuts the occasional roast potato under duress with his specialist knife and fork. 

But an opening batsman? Well, let’s state the obvious: that was merely a dream for myself and I was totally incapable of fulfilling it. 

Now my dreams for The Boy are simpler: That he has a handful of very good friends throughout his life. That he brings energy and passion to the things that make him happy. That he invents his own way to do the things he finds tricky. That he remains physically and mentally healthy, yet finds the necessary resilience during the times that that’s not possible. That the inimitable smile remains on his face as he navigates the difficult path ahead.

Oh, and that he wins the Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay. OK, I’ll settle for a BAFTA.