Last week was a good week because my brother, who has an intellectual disability, was only going to get punched in the face once.

I consider it a good week because this sort of thing happens on a regular basis simply because my brother, who is now in his thirties, is able bodied, quite a big man, with no outwardly or physical signs of disability.

You see, my 30 something brother loves to play with soldier figures and as a result has a fascination with clean-shaven heads and beards. Because of his intellectual disability, which affects his social cues and communication, he finds no qualms in asking any bold headed Tom, Dick or Harry, whether they use a razor blade or an electric shaver to shave their hair.

If their head is particularly shiny, he will, on occasion, approach them rather boisterously and try to touch the back of their heads. It’s been explained to him over and over that he can’t do that to strangers but it hasn’t completely sunk in yet, so sometimes, he still does it.

Of course, you can’t blame anyone for getting defensive at the sight of a big man with no physical signs of disability, reaching for their head. Thankfully, most of the time people just move away, and sometimes I manage to get to my brother before he gets too close, but we have had quite a few close shaves, if you’ll excuse the pun.

Besides diverting punches, last week I also attended a conference that launched the government’s newly drafted disability policy. The conference was attended by lots of people who work in the field of disability and by many parents.

During the break I got talking with a man whose son, now also in his thirties, used to attend special education with my brother. We started exchanging stories about them and it turned out that this man is struggling with the issue as I am.

Just like my brother, his son also shows no physical signs of disability, so when he stares and scrutinises someone because he likes to observe people in detail, he makes people very uncomfortable. At best they look away, but at worst, he could get himself into lots of trouble.

His dad, who is now in his late sixties, was telling me what happened a couple of weeks ago whilst at a park. “John ran off,” he explained with tears in his eyes. “I could still see him so I wasn’t too worried, but then he approached a couple of kids and asked them to play. Their dad was much closer than I was and upon seeing a grown man speaking to his children, he got to his feet and was about to punch the living daylights out of John. I got to them just in time, breathless and shaking.”

I find that the majority of people are empathetic towards people with disabilities. Most want to help and understand, but if they don’t know, if they can’t see that a person has a disability, their behaviour might come across as odd, rude, arrogant and sometimes even criminal. As much as I am against labelling people, I’ve come to a point where I’d rather have a person like my brother wear something that gives his disability away. First of all there’s nothing to be ashamed of or hide, and secondly, if it avoids a punch in the face, I’m all for it.