Youth Club

If it’s Friday night, then it’s Youth Club night, one of the highlights of Max’s week. Raffy’s mum Christa and I, have organised with a few other like-minded mums, a regular Youth Club for our teenage children with DS. Just a handful of young people, who are keen to get together, happy to share the hosting in each other’s homes. When it comes to your turn, you and your teenager are in charge, you provide the food and your child enjoys the privilege of being top dog and master of entertainment.

Last Friday was our turn at being host. Max is always thrilled to be centre of attention, and so emotions ran high. From the minute I heard him banging on the front door (yes, we do have a bell!) after being dropped home by the driver and escort, (Carol and Pauline) from his Special Needs School Bus, the party had begun.
Max had given me strict orders not to begin any preparations until he had arrived home from school, and then I met the full wrath of his bossy nature. We cleared the lounge, made sandwiches, microwaved popcorn and organised the music.

Max is big on the electric carpet sweeper, and so enthusiastically bashed his way from room to room, taking out various pot plants and terrifying the cats. For all his zest for domestic order, he can get momentarily waylaid after buttering just one bread roll. His concentration will flit from one exciting task to the next, but all he really wants is for his friends to arrive.
He’s been known to get so carried away with the delights of preparation, that he forgets to change out of his school uniform. When realisation strikes home or his oversight is gently pointed out to him, he’s known to shriek,
“Oh my God!” dashing up the stairs to his room, quickly but methodically selecting his clothes, careful to make sure they pass the “cool” test.
Last Friday was no different, by the time the guests had arrived, Max was at fever pitch and it was a joy to bask in his excitement. I watched with pleasure as all the eager faces greeted each other with wide grins and big hugs.
“Hello Max! My lovely friend, hello!”
“Hello Raffy, hello, hello, come in my friends!”
They are such a delight, Raffy, Annalie, Nikita, Melissa and Hannah, like-minded teenagers all with DS. They benefit from chilling out among friends, seeking the perks of adolescence that perhaps others would take for granted. The flirting and the arguing, the falling in and out of love and the incredible joy of knowing you belong.

After the initial rapturous welcome they all sat down and stared at one another, not quite sure what to do next. It’s a tricky time for the host. As parents, we’re all in agreement that the right move is to stay out of the way with minimal involvement. Thus allowing these young people to organise themselves and learn the skills of socialising. But that can be hard. It can take some time before they gather together and focus on an activity. Painfully slow and unsure of how to behave, it’s sometimes agony to just watch.

Charlie, Max’s fourteen year old younger brother, couldn’t resist checking out proceedings, establishing once and for all that he really was not required. I know he’s rather fond of all Max’s friends and couldn’t help but absorb the enthusiastic and cheery atmosphere. Putting sibling rivalry aside, Charlie seemed genuinely pleased for Max and happy for his brother’s shot at teenage socialising. Once he was convinced that they could survive without his help, he slunk off, back up to his room where he knew he would be left undisturbed.

They all bring very different personalities to the table. In fact the only binding trait they do share, is DS. It was a slightly tense time for me as I sat out of the way in the kitchen, pretending to read the paper. But over the few years that the Youth Club has been running, I’ve seen a vast improvement in their skills. Like any other group of people, they’ve taken time to find their feet. There are leaders and there are followers, there are the loud bossy members (Max!) and there are the quiet withdrawn members. All I could hear from the kitchen was the delightful laughter. For me, and I suspect for them, it’s the sound of pure heaven.