Without words

I am autistic but I am not like Sheldon. For him there are words but for me there are only pictures. It is Dad who opens my world. He is the icebreaker who shatters the belief I cannot live life to the full.

Dad charges ahead, smashing a path through the restrictions of a world without words. Without him I would be less than normal, condemned to an existence of daily babysitting and nights at home, limited by my disability. With Dad I have a life. I have the best life of anyone I know. I wake up laughing and go to bed smiling. I rock and dance with joy. With Dad I am not a disabled person to be pitied but a 26-year-old millennial living her best life.

My dad is a real hero. Like in the movies he fights with swords. I love to watch, especially when he is fighting in tournaments. I laugh and rock, like I am at a concert, and Mum holds my hand, so I don’t go into the ring. But no-one stops me coming to the tournament and everyone laughs with me. They love to watch too, and they are my friends. Because of my dad I have super cool friends.

Once I went to all the way from Australia to America to watch Dad fight. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t talk. My dad knew I loved to travel, and we went together. I had been having a bad time and he knew I needed to be with him and Mum, to be included. Swords are special but being part of a community is even more important.

Then Covid came and we could not go to swords. I was sad. I picked up Dad’s phone and scrolled through to find pictures of tournaments. I showed them to him, and he understood what I meant. He knew I wanted to go.

‘You’re breaking my heart,’ he said to me. ‘I want to go too but we can’t.’

We were both sad. But I understood that he wanted to go too and that made me feel better. When swords started again, we were overjoyed. Here is a picture of the first day back. I am in the front and Dad is the one at the back. Whose smile is bigger?

Dad would like me to learn to fight with swords too, but I prefer to watch. For me, swords are a spectator sport, unless I am on a horse. That is where swords and I belong. Like my dad I am a true knight and could slay dragons.

Sometimes having a disability is like fighting a dragon. My dad has ADHD and I have autism and that makes our bodies tense and angry. It can be hard to think but being on our horse helps us. It makes us happy and calm.

My horse is called Domino and Dad trained him so he dangerous for dragons but safe for me. Domino stays calm even when I make loud noises and shake my body. When I hug and pat him, he licks my hand. He is the best horse.

Swords and horses make Dad a special hero but he is an ordinary dad too. We fix shelves and go for walks. We visit the the beach and the zoo and do normal dad- daughter stuff. Dad doesn’t let my disability define our relationship.

Dad and me fixing a shelf in my room. Is there anything more normal than that?

Dad and me having fun on our walk. When I was two, I was a one-girl ministry of silly walks. I think I thought walking like a normal toddler was boring so I would go on my toes, or my heels or sometimes on the sides of my feet like a boat rocking in the water. I had forgotten about my funny walking, but Dad remembered. Now we do silly walks together.

During Covid we could not go out to eat so we had picnics in the park. I am the cool one with a pink top and sunglasses. Dad is less cool, but I love him anyway. I have watch him though, he’s like a seagull stealing chips. It's good I am generous and don't mind sharing.

During Covid, they closed the pools. For 3 months! This could have been a biting disaster. (I bite myself when I cannot swim). But Mum and Dad and 30km of beachline saved us all. A few other people went to the beach too, but I was the only one whose dad swung a sword while their daughter swam. Perhaps he is a bit cool after all.

Dad and me are looking at dinosaurs at the zoo. The zoo is my special place. We have a membership and Dad takes me every time I have a change in my program, so I visit more often than my friends. Dad makes being special a good thing.

But the best part of my dad is that he can be autistic too. People with autism don't listen to what society says, they make up their own mind. That's what my dad does.

He doesn’t listen to people who tell him non-verbal kids can’t do fun things; he doesn’t listen when studies say autistic people don’t feel normal emotions; he doesn’t listen when people tell him I don’t like hugs. He knows me better than that. He is my hero, and he loves me.

And I love him too.