As I hear the car door close heavily behind me, I take a deep breath and steel myself as I walk down the path to the after school facility where my 8 year old son spends his afternoons. I hold my breath as I enter the building and hope I won’t be approached by any of the staff reporting an ‘incident’. I see my boy, and I smile expectantly, the triumph of hope over experience, that today my smile will be returned and he will tell me cheerfully that he has had a good day. More often than not this does not happen. Generally he is angry, frustrated, upset or just plain cranky. Sometimes my smile persists, sometimes my shoulders sink to meet his, and we slink back to the car in sullen silence.