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.