Telling the stories of children raised by AS parents

What is it like to have Autistic or Aspergers parents?

This blog has been created to give a voice to the children of AS affected families. Readers of the stories to follow will find very clear and significant patterns of family dysfunction emerging. These patterns have slipped under the radar of all society’s institutions yet have profound implications for child welfare, when considered in the light of the high claimed incidence of AS in the community. If only 1% of the 4% of women and 10% of men who are supposed to be on the Autistic spectrum, have children, the inference is clear.

The stories will come from the members of ASpar, a support and advocacy group which began in 1999.

Since its inception, ASpar has had about 150 members, trailblazers and pioneers with new insights about a whole new hidden world of difference, something that had slipped under the radar of the medical establishment and the helping professions.

When prospective new members approach ASpar they are asked to provide an introduction which contains

  • which parents(s) have AS
  • demographic details
  • what makes them think their parent has AS (given that few will have an official diagnosis)
  • the impact on themselves and their family of the AS parents

This blog will feature, with members’ permissions, the answers to these questions, under pseudonyms to protect their privacy.

We do not claim that we are representative of all people with AS parents, as obviously groups like ours will not attract people who are perfectly satisfied with their upbringing. What we ask is that you read the stories. and make up your own minds whether there is a pattern and whether that pattern is consistent with a diagnosis of AS.

We do not advocate any kind of discrimination against people with AS, but we do believe they and their families need support

We will be putting stories up over the next couple of months

Continue reading


Rona’s story: (excerpt)

My mother was from a middle class background and my father was working class. My mother’s savant skills in languages got her a university degree, even though she couldn’t put 2 and 2 together in real life, and was I now realise intellectually disabled in parts!, (problem solving, sequencing, prioritising, no inductive or deductive logic). Yet she was one of the few women of her generation who actually went to University.

My father was so impressed with her intellectual achievements, and guilty too about never being able to give her a better life. Well, he was simply too tired from labouring all day, then coming home to do all the cooking, cleaning, sewing, under a constant rain of recriminations and accusations., for she had a very short fuse He was a battered husband and couldn’t leave.

And she was beautiful. They were a handsome couple.

Before we went out anywhere, my parents would make me rehearse the elaborate lies we would tell to others about our domestic misery. Keeping up the front was all important. We were pretty much social pariahs anyway, because my father’s self-esteem was gutted and he couldnt keep up with successful men of his generation who had wives to nurture their careers. And people couldnt get away from my mother’s monologues fast enough.