Milestones and Minefields: Jayden’s First Day at School

Autism Raw: Our Unscripted Journey

Let me tell you about Jayden’s first day at school.

Actually—let’s rewind a bit, because this story doesn’t start with shiny new school shoes or a backpack that’s too big for him. It begins months earlier, with Sisca and me sitting over our bakso lunch, trying to figure out if our autistic, non-verbal son would ever get into a school in Jakarta at all.

Here’s the raw truth no one likes to talk about: finding a school for a child like Jayden is a battlefield. And let’s not forget—school fees in Jakarta aren’t exactly pocket change. They’re the kind of figures that could rival a housing mortgage.

We spent months knocking on doors, filling out forms, and enduring polite yet gut-wrenching conversations that went something like this:

“Jayden seems like such a lovely boy. But… we’re so sorry. We don’t have the resources to support him.”

Translation: Your child is too complicated, and we’re terrified we can’t handle him.

Every “no” felt like another slap in the face. Meanwhile, Jayden was at home, working with his therapists day in and day out, blissfully unaware that Sisca and I were quietly panicking about his future.

Then—by what I can only call divine intervention—one school finally said yes.

We applied, held our breath during assessments, answered countless questions from psychologists, and waited for the dreaded call. When the email finally arrived, we were almost afraid to believe it was real.

“Congratulations. Jayden is accepted.”

I’m not ashamed to admit we both shed a tear or two.

The Morning of Truth

Fast forward to the night before his first day. You’d think that after all the battles we’d fought to get here, we’d be purely ecstatic. And we were—but we were also completely terrified.

Reality hit us like a sledgehammer.

Jayden, who had spent years surrounded by therapists who understood every quirk, every trigger, and every silent plea for help, was about to be dropped into a classroom full of bright lights, strangers, unpredictable noises, and who knows what else.

Would he cope? Would he become overwhelmed? Would he bolt out the door the moment we turned our backs?

The mixed feelings only intensified the next morning.

Alarm? Checked.
Food prep? Checked.
Breakfast and bath? Checked.
School bag loaded? Checked.

Off we went.

Here’s the thing about handing your autistic child over to strangers: fear grips you by the throat.

Jayden was calm, enjoying the car ride, staring out the window in the back seat, blissfully unaware that his parents were practically hyperventilating.

Because with Jayden—or any autistic child—nothing is ever “just like other kids.”

Sometimes we feel like we understand exactly what Jayden is feeling. Other times, we’re just as clueless as anyone else. Autism is an unpredictable dance between understanding and total bewilderment.

As a father to an autistic child, I can say this: we hear the phrase all the time—“It takes a village to raise a child.”

But what about raising an autistic child?

Some days, it feels like the village is missing. Or worse, that the village is staring at you like you’re the weird family nobody wants to invite to the block party.

Sometimes, we wish the world would be gentler toward autistic individuals. Unfortunately, the world we live in today is not built for them. And that sucks.

After the Storm

Anyway, class was over. Sisca and I showed up, braced for the worst—and found Jayden calm and cool as a cucumber.

At that moment, we had no idea what was going on inside his head. Was he calm because he saw us? Or was there a hurricane brewing behind those eyes—an unspoken sense of betrayal that we’d dropped him off in some strange place and left him there?

We’ll never fully know. That’s autism: the constant guessing game.

For now, it was good. Jayden seemed okay.

But tomorrow was going to be crucial.

Here’s another raw truth: Jayden has a memory like an elephant. If he remembers the chaos and decides he’s not going back to that school, we’ll be facing a whole new battle.

If he resists, we’ll have to figure out Plan B. And Plan C. Maybe even Plan D.

Because no—we’re not giving up. Never.

This is autism raw.

This is our unscripted journey.