The first time I came across the term ‘scaffolding,’ without any further explanation or definition, I was peeved. There is so much jargon and shorthand associated with autism that newbies like me, can have a hard time unscrambling the underlying message. It’s as if all the professionals talk in a secret code that we are all supposed to translate and implement without guidance.

In context, I find I can get the gist of the matter, or my best guess, but broadly speaking ‘my perfect child’ and ‘scaffolding’ don’t appear to be words that fit together naturally. Sometimes the experts use the word ‘props’ instead, which conjures up a picture of a newly staked sapling or stage actor’s cane. I find that ‘prop’ and ‘my perfect child’ don’t fit together either.

So what are these things? A familiar example may help. There’s many a child all over the world that won’t budge an inch until they have their blanket or teddy. Whatever the object of affection might be, the parent knows that without this precious, tatty, smelly thing, the day will be a write off. This security or transitional object, is the key to a smooth and seamless existence. It is also a prop and it is part of that child’s scaffolding, a support that helps them cope with their day.

If you had been brave enough to visit us a few years ago, you would have found a house full of charts, step by step guides, key words emblazoned on neon laminated paper and every other conceivable aid to help our little guys find a route through the maze of the average day. I didn’t know that they were called props nor that they formed a scaffold of support, I just knew that they all helped all of us. If only I had known in advance of the baby showers. Then I would have asked my pals to club together for a laminator, enough paper to supply the average Kindergarten class and a guillotine.

I suspect that in many respects, it is the sterile and clinical terminology that’s the stumbling block for parents like me. It appears artificial and remote.

One thing that helped me hop over this psychological hurdle was the realization that my own life was full of scaffolding too. Back then, my days were full of post-it notes, reminders and lists. To be penless was tantamount to paralyzation. I had calendars and desk diaries before I climbed the technological stairs to a palm pilot, a hand held electronic reminder. When the battery died and the memory crashed, I was left rudderless. Without it’s little beeps to remind me of what I was supposed to be doing and when, I found out what inertia really means.

Some lucky people are able to juggle 6 schedules in their brain without effort. Others, like me, rely upon artificial assistance for my tired old brain. Maybe it’s time for us all to come clean and examine just how many supports we rely upon ourselves? So hand over your Blackberry and I’ll laminate it for you for free.

"Cheers dears"