Jigsaw
Jazzer watched the muscular Moussa Dembele pirouette like a ballet dancer
and flip the ball over his own head with deft precision. The startled
Manchester City goalkeeper was totally caught out and as 60,000 fans held their
breath, the ball, a white blur under the lights, flashed past him and into the
net. James ‘Jazzer’ McDonald felt a familiar
surge of energy rip through him as he leapt from his seat in the packed Jock
Stein stand. His brother, Tam, was already shrieking in his face and embracing
him as Celtic Park erupted. A tsunami of noise and joy spilled from the stands and
onto the field as this incredible football match totally entranced those
watching. When the seething mass of humanity behind the Manchester City goal
calmed a little, Tam pointed to Jazzer’s phone lying on the concrete step at
his feet. ‘Best not lose that tonight, bro,’ he said, his grin as wide as the
Clyde. As the songs boomed around the stadium, Jazzer picked up his phone and
glanced at the screen. There were thankfully no cracks but his faced changed
when he saw the notifications saying he had 8 missed calls and 7 unread
messages.
As play raged from one end of the field to the other, he quickly scanned
his messages before saying to his brother, ‘Clare’s in labour. I need to go.’
Tam shook his head, ’och, talk aboot bad timing.’ He handed his brother the
keys of his car. ‘I’ll let you know the final score. Off ye go and good luck.’
The walkway under the stand was almost deserted and a group of yellow coated
stewards stood under a TV watching the game. ‘I hate tae bother you guys,’
Jazzer said, ‘but need tae get oot; family emergency.’ One of the stewards
tutted and exhaled in an exasperated manner. ‘Right, follow me.’ He unbolted
the big metal exit door and Jazzer slipped out of the noisy stadium and walked
quickly along a deserted Janefield Street. He turned onto Holywell Street and
headed towards the Forge retail park, where his brother’s car was parked. The
streets were eerily quiet, although the low rumbling from the stadium drifted
into the dark sky like distant artillery fire. Most folk were likely watching
the football on tv, he thought to himself. He located the car quickly and was
soon driving towards the Royal Infirmary, the radio blaring out commentary from
Celtic Park.
Paul Magnus McDonald took his first breath at 11.03 pm on the 28th
day of September 2016. Jazzer had made it to the delivery room on time and only
realised he still had his Celtic scarf on when the midwife handed him his son. He
and his wife Clare had just stared at their son for the longest time as if they
couldn’t believe that they had brought this little miracle into being. His
phone was buzzing with people asking about the baby or talking about the match
with Manchester City, but he ignored it. His universe had shrunk to the small
room occupied by him, Clare and their beautiful boy.
Wee Paul was a joy to his parents in that first year. While Clare liked
nothing better than to dress him up and take him out in his pram, Jazzer was
already thinking long term and placed his son’s name on the Celtic season
ticket waiting list. It was around Paul’s first birthday that they both noticed
some odd behaviours. He stopped making eye contact with them and didn’t respond
to his name. He never smiled and was unresponsive to the games they tried to
play with him. They would sing to him, tickle him and wave soft toys in front
of him, but his responses were minimal. Clare had looked at Jazzer one day and
said, ‘I think we should take him to the doctor. Maybe his eyes need checked?’
‘Autism?’ said Jazzer. ‘What the hell is autism?’ The doctor smiled, ‘Mr
McDonald. You have a beautiful, healthy boy but he is not what we call
neuro-typical. He’ll see the world differently from others but he’ll still need
your love and support.’ Jazzer looked at his wife. ‘No fears there, doc. We
both love the bones of that wee guy. Can you tell us what tae expect in the
years ahead and what we can do tae help him.’ The doctor nodded, ‘the first
thing you can do is to be prepared for the ignorance of others. Your son is
different; not worse, not better than other children, but different. Some
people with no experience of autism will assume any unusual behaviour they see
is down to poor parenting or lack of discipline. You’ll need to develop a thick
skin as you guide your son through the years ahead. Time will tell how profound
or not his autism is, but you will face a lot of challenges.’ The doctor spoke
to them for twenty minutes on what was likely to happen as Paul developed. They
listened avidly, determined to learn and determined do their very best for
their son.
Over the next few years, Jazzer read books, articles and even took part
in workshops on autism as he and Clare learned how best to understand their son
and to help him deal with an unpredictable world. He met other parents with
children on the spectrum and soon learned that despite their similarities in
some ways, every child was a unique individual. Paul’s sensitivity to noise
meant that there was no chance he could join his father at the football. Jazzer
would watch him line up his toy cars every day as if he was trying to bring
order to the chaos of the world. Repetitive play was one feature of autism
Jazzer had learned to accept. He soon learned that James would also flap his
hands when he was becoming stressed and Jazzer took this as his cue to find the
cause and remedy the situation. There were occasional meltdowns in shops and the
odd broken nights’ sleep, but there were also times when Paul was gentle and
loving. He’d sit on his dad’s lap while Jazzer read stories to him or played
with his sensory toys.
Jazzer could see the occasional accusatory looks from people when Paul
was overstimulated in a public place and expressed his stress by acting out. He’d
hear the occasions mutters from those with no idea why Paul was upset. Once,
when Paul was having something of a meltdown in a big shopping centre, he saw a
man wearing a small coloured badge in the shape of a jigsaw on his lapel,
approach. He smiled and said quietly, ‘it could be the lights here but more
likely the noise. You can get good ear defenders in the tool store. They’ll
help.’ Jazzer didn’t catch his name but it was good to meet someone who
understood. He also took his advice. Paul wore his ear defenders any time they
headed out and it helped him cope in noisy environments.
In was in the spring of 2023 that Paul first showed any awareness of
football. He had seen his dad head out to the match most weekends for just
about all of his life but seldom took any notice. Jazzer and his brother sat on
the couch watching the cup final between Celtic and Inverness Caledonian
Thistle. Paul had been out in the garden enjoying the bright sunshine with his
mum, but came wandering in to see what the noise was after Kyogo Furuhashi put
Celtic ahead. He gazed at his father and uncle who looked very happy, and much to
Jazzer’s surprise squeezed onto the couch beside him and gazed at the tv. Jazzer
turned the volume down slightly but his son seemed happy enough just to watch
the movement on the screen. When Leil Abada scored to make it 2-0 for Celtic,
Jazzer’s celebration was more subdued as he didn’t want to startle Paul. He sat
quite happily until the game finished and Celtic had won 3-1. As the cup was
being hoisted into the air, Paul looked at his father and said simply, ‘outside.’
He got up and wandered back into the garden, leaving his father and uncle to
enjoy the celebrations.
It was at the start of the following season when Jazzer was in the pub
with Tam discussing their team’s prospects for the year ahead, when a chance
remark got Jazzer thinking. One of their friends, a bearded plumber by the name
of Eddie, was taking his daughter to her first ever game. He had chosen the
upcoming testimonial match for James Forrest as tickets were freely available. ‘Should
be a good match for the wee yin tae start her Celtic watching career,’ he said,
sipping his beer. ‘You ever think of taking Paul tae the game?’ Jazzer shook
his head. ’He has a sensitivity tae noise, even with his ear protectors on, he
might not handle it.’ Eddie looked at
him, ‘Jazzer,’ he said, ‘have ye not heard Celtic have a soundproof sensory room
now for kids on the spectrum tae watch the matches? My cousin takes her wee
one, she tells me it’s great.’ Jazzer shook his head, ‘I had no idea mate. You
think I could take Paul?’ His friend nodded, ‘haud oan, I’ll phone my cousin
and get the details.’ Jazzer looked at his brother Tam, who smiled
encouragingly. Tam knew how much it would mean to his big brother to take his
son to Celtic Park. He hoped it could be made to happen.
Tuesday, August 1st 2023 was the day that Athletic Club from
Spain came calling to play in James Forrest’s testimonial. When Jazzer got home
from his work, he saw that Paul was already wearing his Celtic shirt. Clare
looked at him, ‘if he not managing, bring him home. OK?’ Jazzer nodded, ‘but it’s
a proper sensory room like the one at school. The only difference is it’s in a
football stadium. He’ll be fine.’ They set of early with Paul strapped into his
booster seat in the car and headed to Celtic Park. The streets were still quiet
around the stadium, though the flag and scarf sellers were in position as
Jazzer and Paul made their way to the Lisbon Lions stand.
As he stood gazing up at the huge stand, Jazzer felt a little emotional.
His great grandfather, a navvy from Donegal, had watched McGrory and John
Thompson here. His grandad had seen Tully, Evans and Stein play the game. His
father had grown up watching the Lisbon Lions sweep all before them. Jazzer had
enjoyed watching Larsson, Sutton and Lubo strut their stuff. Now, Paul, would
be the fifth generation of his family to enter Celtic Park. Whether he watched
any of the football remained to be seen, but that might come in time.
The sensory room was called the Lions’ View and was tastefully decorated
in green and white stripes. There were sensory toys, lights and bean bags strategically
placed and the whole room gave the impression of being very well thought out. A
row of soft chairs sat by the double-glazed window and Jazzer lifted Paul up to
get his first glimpse of the stadium. ‘Look, Paul,’ he smiled, adjusting his
son’s ear protectors, ‘Celtic Park.’ Paul seemed more interested in the autumn
leaves being projected onto the floor and squirmed free of his father. He lay
on the floor with several other children, entranced by the lights and the feel
of the screen, Jazzer let him be. It was his first time here and he was
entitled to just getting to know the place.
Jazzer strategically placed himself by the side of the window as the
muffled sounds of the crowd told him the game was underway. Despite keeping a
close eye on his son, he did see Reo Hatate score for Celtic in an exciting first
half which ended with Athletic club 2-1 ahead. The second half saw Celtic pile
on the pressure and Bernabei equalised. The roar from David Turnbull’s winning
goal was just about audible through the glass. To Jazzer’s surprise, Paul
climbed into one of the high, soft chairs and gazed out at the celebrating
Celtic players. He pointed out towards the pitch and said in a low voice, ‘Celtic.’
It was only one word, but Jazzer felt a wave of emotion sweep though him. ‘Aye,
son, it bloody is,’ he said. He knew then that Paul would not be a stranger to
Celtic Park. A watching mother slipped him a handkerchief. ‘You too?’ she
smiled. Jazzer nodded, ‘what are we like, eh?’
.webp)
