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?’