At first glance, Serge might seem like any other eight-year-old with big interests and even bigger plans. But spend a little time with him, and it quickly becomes clear that he experiences the world in a way that is entirely his own—vivid, detailed, and full of passion. His story is not just about difference; it’s about perspective, resilience, and the quiet question many families find themselves asking: where does a child like this truly belong?
Serge is eight years old. He loves Shakira, water slides on YouTube, RTÉ idents, Morrissey and The Smiths. His favourite place in the world is London, drawn by the magic of live West End shows, and he already has firm plans to visit Euro Disney, Kenya, and the Pyramids. He has an extraordinary memory, an eye for detail that puts most adults to shame, and a music taste that is, to say the least, eclectic. He also has autism, arising from a rare chromosomal condition called 22q deletion syndrome, and he is, in every sense, one of a kind.
We are Serge’s parents, Suzanne and Michael. We are not experts. We are simply two people learning as we go, trying to understand what our son needs and how best to support him. What we offer is not a blueprint, but a glimpse into what this journey looks like from the inside.
From the beginning, our experience has been shaped as much by the gaps in the system as by Serge himself. Securing a school place for him was not straightforward—it was a battle. After being turned away from multiple settings, he was eventually offered a place in a newly opened special school, not because he was the most profoundly affected child, but because he had nowhere else to go. That underlying tension has never fully gone away.
Serge sits in an in-between space that systems often struggle to accommodate. Because he is less profoundly affected than many of his classmates, there is a real risk he is overlooked. The curriculum does not always challenge him in the way it should. At the same time, suggestions of moving him into an ASD unit within a mainstream school—while logical on paper—bring their own concerns. Serge masks at school, holding everything together during the day and releasing it at home. In a mainstream environment, that raises real questions about safety, understanding, and support.
So where does a child like Serge belong?
It is a question that sits at the heart of our experience, and one that extends far beyond our family. As parents of a child with additional needs in Ireland, there is a constant sense of vulnerability. Policies shift, and access to supports—whether for ENT care or specialist equipment—can be inconsistent and difficult. Progress is rarely straightforward; it is often something that must be fought for, step by step. And so we keep going, because no one else will advocate for Serge the way we will.
Yet alongside every challenge, there are moments of extraordinary progress. When Serge was younger, we were told he might never speak. He remained non-verbal until the age of six. Today, he talks, he sings, and he tells you exactly what he thinks—sometimes without pause. Each day, we see him becoming more independent, more curious, more himself.
And that is the thread running through all of this. Not the diagnosis, not the system, not even the uncertainty, but Serge himself—a boy who continues to surprise us, who follows his interests without apology, and who has quietly transformed how we see the world.
He may not fit neatly into the spaces designed for him. But perhaps that’s because Serge doesn’t belong to just one place.
He belongs everywhere.
By Suzanne and Michael, parents of Serge, age 8
We are very grateful to Suzanne and Michael for so generously sharing their experiences, both in this blog and in their presentation to students on the MA and PG Diploma in Inclusive and Special Education ( a collaborative programme with Hibernia College).