Yesterday it snowed, and we made the most of it. Eddie went tobogganing, swooping down the hill alarmingly fast with no control whatsoever; his elder brother Joe repeatedly rugby-tackled boy and toboggan inches from disaster. Snowballs were thrown and snowmen made, the dog frolicked and skipped as if she were young again, and the frigid air was filled with laughter. Wherever there was snow in the country yesterday, there were families and plastic toboggans and snowballs and dogs and laughter: we were just four among many.

Eddie is 7. He has Down’s syndrome. Here’s a shocking fact: your life does not end when you have a child with Down’s, any more than it ends when you have any sort of child. It just changes. And you do what all parents do: you get on with it.

Oh, I was in a state of terrible funk when we were told that Eddie had a 50-50 chance of being born with Down’s; but then I was in a funk before Joe was born more than 14 years back. It’s daunting, having children; it’s supposed to be. But then they’re born, and it’s as if it had always been like this.

Eddie goes to the local school a couple of villages away, and it’s great. The other parents, the other children are all on Eddie’s side. The head teacher says his presence has been a benefit to the whole school. When Eddie’s not at school, we do thrilling things like going out for pizzas, or lunching in local pubs. It never occurs to us that Eddie shouldn’t be there.

Everywhere we go, we find at worst an acceptance, at best a welcome to a child who is cherished rather than institutionalised. There is no question, these days, that I should keep my child locked up, away from the sensibilities of “normal” people. It’s something I – almost – take for granted.

I won’t generalise, though. I’ll just tell you that living with Eddie is great. Sometimes it’s difficult, but all kinds of parenthood are difficult. I’m not a candidate for beatification, either; though it must be said that Eddie is blessed with the mother he chose.

But there is one thing I can say with certainty, and I will do so under the principle that spades should be called spades. The fact is that all parenthood begins and ends with love. Loving Eddie has never been the slightest problem or embarrassment. I am privileged to live in a time in which it is not only possible to say that, but to go out for a pizza as well. Society has changed: if that’s what Political Correctness means, it’s all right by me.

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