Out and about

Operating in society

When Isaac was younger, the persistent undercurrent for any outing was an almost-crippling anxiety honed by bitter experience: would he dart off? would he smack a playmate for no reason (that we could discern)? would he eat all the cheese puffs?

After we moved to London, exasperation layered onto the anxiety. Would he refuse to walk after a few blocks? Would he kick a pigeon? Would he deliberately zoom past people and then swerve in front of them?

Taking him on public transport was painful. Getting him up and down the upper level of a double-decker bus. His excruciating hesitation in getting on, and sometimes off, the tube station escalators. His leisurely use of public toilets while a queue of people waited outside. It felt as if he would never match the pace of urban life.

And it felt as if we would never feel remotely relaxed about being out in public with him.

Isaac and I went to the Brentford v Manchester United match last week. (Spectacularly entertaining game, btw.) We walked from Chiswick to the G-Tech stadium, and as we got closer, we joined a buzzing throng of other punters. Spirits were high, the weather gorgeous.

We followed the herd into the stadium and up to our seats. He sang along to the football chants, to my astonishment. During half-time, I went to the loo, while Isaac casually nursed his Sprite Zero. We watched all the way through injury time into the end, savouring the jubilant mood. Then we shuffled with the crowd out of the stadium, past the blaring megaphones directing traffic, past the lads chanting at full volume.

And it was fun. It was carefree.

It felt . . . normal. I went to the football with my son. We came, we watched, we cheered, we took the bus home.

To be fair, it’s still touch and go sometimes (don’t ask my father-in-law about the poop incident on the Jubilee line earlier this year), and Isaac still hollers insults at bad drivers, but the pervasive anxiety has dissipated, like morning mist in the sunlight. One moment, we observe it’s foggy; and then the next, it’s become a lovely, clear day.