There are things you do as a parent that you never, ever imagined yourself doing.
For me, one of those things was learning to play Fortnite.
Now, if you’d told me years ago that I’d be sitting on the sofa with a controller in my hand, genuinely trying to figure out how to build a wall while someone was shooting at me from behind a tree… I’d have laughed in your face. I was a grown woman. A payroll accountant. Someone who considered herself reasonably intelligent. And yet there I was, being absolutely destroyed by a cartoon character in a storm circle, completely baffled about what I was supposed to be doing… while Blake sat next to me, patiently (and occasionally not so patiently) trying to explain it.
Again, Mum. You press that button. No — that one.
But I kept going back.
Why I Did It
Blake loved Fortnite. Not in a casual, “I play it now and again” kind of way… in a this is my world kind of way. For about six years, it was his thing. His absolute passion. And when your child has something that lights them up like that, you have two choices. You can stand at the side-lines, vaguely nodding when they try to tell you about it, or you can actually try to understand it.
I wanted to understand it.
I also wanted in. Because I’d watched Blake play and seen how much joy it brought him… the focus, the strategy, the excitement when he got a good result. And I thought… I want to be part of that. Even if I’m terrible. Even if I hold him back completely. I want to be the person he’s doing this with.
So I picked up the controller.
What Actually Happened
Reader, I was absolutely hopeless.
The learning curve was… steep. There was building, and shooting, and managing your inventory, and the whole map was shrinking around you the entire time, and I never… not once… understood the logic of where people were coming from. Blake would tell me to “rotate” and I’d spin my character in a circle wondering if that was right.
(It was not right.)
But what I remember most isn’t the chaos of the game. It’s Blake. His patience when I kept pressing the wrong button. The way he’d burst out laughing when I did something spectacularly wrong. The fact that he was, suddenly, the expert… and I was the one looking to him for help.
That felt important. Still does.
The Bit That Really Mattered
We played team games. All of us. And honestly? Some of my favourite memories from those years are sitting in his bedroom, controllers in hand, completely immersed in this ridiculous game together.
We laughed so much… (And Blake sometimes ragged so much…!)
But that’s the bit I want to hold onto. Not the kills or the victories or the moments I actually figured out what I was doing. Just the laughing. Just the two of us, in our own wee world, having the absolute best time.
If you’re a parent of an autistic child, you’ll know that connection isn’t always easy to find. It doesn’t always look the way you expected it to. Sometimes it doesn’t look like a trip to the park or a cosy family board game night. Sometimes it looks like a cartoon storm circle and a controller you don’t know how to use.
And that’s okay. That’s more than okay.
Would I Do It Again?
Without a single hesitation.
Because learning Fortnite wasn’t really about Fortnite. It was about saying to Blake: your world matters to me. It was about stepping into his interests rather than waiting for him to step into mine. It was about showing up… even when I was completely out of my depth.
Blake has moved on since then… He’s been into Siege for the past couple of years now, and I’ll be honest, I’ve watched him play it and thought… no. That one’s beyond me. But I’m so glad I showed up when I did. When it was Fortnite. When he was younger. When those hours in his room or on the sofa together meant everything.
I’m currently doing something similar with Matthew… learning every capital city in the world because he’s obsessed with countries, flags, and geography. Every time he tests me, he throws in a fascinating fact about whichever country I get wrong. It’s become our thing. Our little ritual.
Because that’s what you do. You learn what they love. You show up in their world. And you discover that their world… however unexpected… is actually a pretty wonderful place to be.
The controller has gathered dust for a while now. But I’m so glad I picked it up when I did.
Every button I pressed wrong. Every time I got eliminated in the first thirty seconds. Every moment I had absolutely no idea what was happening.
Worth it. Every single second.
Are you a parent who’s ever learned something completely new just to connect with your child? I’d love to hear about it in the comments… because I know I’m not the only one who’s done something slightly ridiculous in the name of love.
