Something happened. . . about six months ago. I haven't written about it. In fact, I haven't really written anything at all since that time. The impact of what happened has stunned me into a verbal silence but also propelled me by fueling a violent inner rage. I feel as though I am hosting a dormant volcano of injustice and old school "mean" that will one day boil and erupt. I am afraid that I will blow up and everything in the vicinity will be destroyed. That is the last thing I want.
Last June, my son was texting with his Father in an attempt to determine what he might like for Father's Day. I won't go into the fact that his Father's wife ought to be the one hosting any purchase of Father's Day gifts - not me - the ex-wife. But . . . she doesn't. Never has. I don't understand. Never will.
In any case, my son wanted to do something nice for his Dad and I didn't discourage him. Their relationship has never been a solid or respectful one so in an effort to allow my son to show his care for his Father in any way that he can - I support.
My son, wanted to get his father something that he needed. His Father - instead of graciously accepting any gift and then returning it or whatever solution suited him and might remain in the hemisphere of 'polite'- instead reacted, critically, ungratefully and with a measure of callous that should only be reserved for . . . well nobody.
My ex-husband told my son that he didn't want the gift and not only did he not want it, he wanted my son to stop attempting to get this item for him, "trying to rule my life" and for that matter, stop everything. Stop coming to visit him " . . . ever, I don't need the hassle."
What my ex-husband said to my son in a text was deeply rude, mean, horrible, entirely disrespectful and managed to completely obliterate any salvageable remains of the pathetic relationship that had existed prior into a huge pile of hurt feelings, inadequacy, personal rejection, humiliation and emotional abuse. My son has not visited his Father since the first part of June and has no intention of going.
The kicker is that these days, his Father wonders why he won't come over. He is not so much surprised, he simply doesn't get it.
It's the "I don't need the hassle" sentence that stings so badly. I can barely get myself to put those hurtful words in writing.What type of parent would ever say those words to a child in reference to the relationship between the two or with respect to his or her task and duty as a parent in raising that child?
It's incredulous.
I am still so angry I am practically apoplectic. I am deeply hurt for my son and sad that any child ever has to hear those types of words from a parent. I am embarrassed to write about them - those very painful words.
All this - because my son wanted to get his Dad a Father's Day gift and his Father has NO IDEA how to behave like an adult OR understand his Techie-minded Autistic son.
I have shared this story with a few people - close friends who know the type of man their father is and they type of young man my son is growing up to be. In every case, at the end of the story, the listener will squint his or her eyes, cock his or her head and ask, "What?!" as though they must have missed some critical part of the exchange. Maybe the part where my son is antagonistic or has been so disrespectful to his Father that his Dad had no options left but to end it entirely. None of that happened though. It's not there.
Again, "What?!"
Disbelief.
My son was emotionally crushed even more than he had been up to that day in his life. He remains so to this day. He only speaks to his Father at an arm's length and has lost all respect for him. I cannot blame him. Would it were me, I be planning some sort of homicide, but my son is far more forgiving than I am. He always has been. My son has never expected his Father to behave like an adult the way I do.
The worst part is that according to the courts, there is nothing I can do to keep him from having to go with his Father should his Father decided he wants to see him again. I have no choice. Neither does my son unless he goes to court and tells a judge that he refuses to go. As you might expect, my son is afraid of retaliation from his Father should he do so. Honestly, I am too.
I thought about moving far away from here - from him. How can having any child exposed to that be healthy, right? Again, the court has determined that I have no idea what is best for my children. However, they do. The response was that we cannot move away from here because in the eyes of the court, that would damage my son's relationship with his father. I can move, but I cannot take the boys with me if I were to. They would have to stay with their Father.
What?!
Now do you understand?
Good, because I don't either.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Monday, December 3, 2012
"That's How You Get What You Want"
He has his eye on a target and his tenacity in pursuing achieving or obtaining only that is impressive to say the least.
He didn't want this item yesterday, or last week, or last month. Before today - this minute, he wanted something else. Another item that, (if he could figure out a logistical path to it's retention) at the time, was critical to his continued survival and overall happiness.
Where did this come from?
The truth is . . . he had never so much as mentioned this 'thing' - even in passing before today. My son never mentions anything 'in passing.' There is always a reason. Despite that, his need for this piece of equipment was and is always as immediate and immovable as is his will. We have been through this before and I know the drill. Still, shoring the dam against the sure and massive storm surge of his persuasive attempts will be exhausting. The process is not new. However, the goal is.
Today he has an entirely new agenda and he wants this bad!! He is fixated. He's bargaining. He's managing the logistics (which I am apparently too dull to manage or sort out on my own). All this work must be exhausting for him. I am exhausted and all I have been doing is dodging bullets. My son is the one planning the battle strategy and lobbing all the logical artillery. I am convinced that all this determination is simply a method devised in an effort to keep both his mind and his senses busy with something - to stay focused. I believe he is creating a point to focus on.
Planning a battle that more resembles an international political negotiation to keep from becoming bored. The task is complicated and likely to take up quite a bit of time. This sort of undertaking provides him with something to concentrate on - something to focus on when his thoughts are scattered and jagged. Here . . . embedded in this issue, is a clear, definable agenda and a problem that can or could be solved if he put his mind to it.
As he matures, so do his abilities to formulate and verbalize some very compelling arguments for the items or privileges he wants. Because he thinks so quickly, he can sometimes (quickly) leave me behind grasping for some way to hold on to my position. I know. "Because I am the parent and I said so" is always an option, but he's 17. At this age and despite his or any disability, I feel he deserves more respect than being hurled such a childish, contemptuous and relatively disrespectful statement.
He wears me down like the waters from an enormous storm that cover everything, soak through and flood all the layers leaving only what was always firm and permanent behind. These attempts to make me change my mind leave me feeling like soggy toast. Like if anyone disturbs me any further, I will fall apart entirely and be left a mushy mass of unrecognizable bits.
Something new happened this weekend though. A victory - for me!
Again, as is the case with many weekends, my son was bored and set his sights on something he wanted; an activity this time. Naturally, I resisted and used my full arsenal of experience and factual evidence in my attempt to help him understand why this won't work as he believes it might. It was a long day.
However, at the end of it my son said, "I think I am glad I didn't do that. It would have been a bad idea."
Yay!! (for me)
Yay!! and congratulations to my son who is learning to think ahead and make those complicated decisions that involve more persons than just him and more affect than only he might feel.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Lost . . . again
For all of us, life can get distracting. Some days there is simply SO much to do that managing all the tasks seems practically impossible, totally exhausting and mind-numbingly paralyzing. I hope I have described it correctly because this has been my life for the past six or seven months.
So much has happened that I have wanted to write about - tell someone about or maybe even find someone who has been on this path before me who can empathize. I would even be happy just to have company along this road through Autism - I wouldn't care if neither of us knew if we were on the right road or where that trek might lead. I would be happy to have company along the way. Someone to talk to about the joys and stresses of finding ways to help my child with Aspergers as well as the child without Aspergers. He suffers too - just as much and in entirely different ways. Sometimes I believe life is harder for him. He knows. He understands issues and concerns that my first son does not.
All distraction aside, I am making an attempt to get my life back on track, keep things moving in some direction that resembles forward because time will march on whether or not I choose to try to affect the outcome of events, learning, changes - all meant to be interpreted as 'growing up with Aspergers.'
I will start with the most recent challenges and make my way around to all the other wonderful, frustrating and remarkable occasions to learn acceptance rather than conformity my son provides me with. I have always known that my son 'lives in the moment.' It is just how he his. As is typical, he helps me see both the benefits and the costs that come with this.
My son looses things.
Important things like homework, books, his wallet, all manner of belongings, money and clothing. Typically he finds them again, but not always. The odds decrease if the items have left the house. In other words, if he has had to transport them between school and home - forget it. It's gone. When we travel, I literally have to keep an eye on everything he brings along. With the exception of his electronics. Those he can manage and does, but he has had to work very hard to learn to handle them and still needs help in the form of my ever watchful (yet from his perspective - completely humiliating) eye. He hates that I still try to look after him at his age. I am trying to learn not to, but it is difficult to watch him fail (I have to choose the times when I can allow this - like the ones that aren't too expensive).
I wish I knew why keeping track of these items wasn't important to him. Well, let me state that differently. They are only important when he needs them, if he doesn't need them - they do not matter. Class notes and homework, once completed are finished in his mind and he no longer needs them - so they are forgotten or thrown aside with as little care as he might give a candy wrapper. In fact, less. He would actually put the wrapper in the trash. The homework is simply left unattended until it is left behind in some random location like all the lost socks you see along the street gutters. Just ignored until they are lost.
I live in North Texas. For the most part, our weather has extremes like any part of the globe. However, out extremes live in a higher position on the temperature scale. For us, average temperatures fall between 40F and 115F (40C). We rarely need winter coats, gloves, hats or scarves. Unfortunately, there are usually just a few days or weeks each year that we do - then 'winter' is over and we march back toward triple digits. Therefore, my son has a winter coat - HAD a winter coat. Every year it seems he needs a winter coat.
This year, he will definitely need one because we are travelling to the east coast after Christmas to visit family in Massachusetts. Since I am a planner, I went looking through the closet as soon as the tickets were in hand to make sure we had what we needed. In truth, the boys have grown so much the past year that I needed to make sure what they had still fit even though I knew there was no way it would. A person simply cannot grow six inches and still be able to wear the same clothes. But a coat? - you never know. I thought I might get lucky. Not!!
There were no coats in the closet except the old dark green, "Starter" sweat jacket my brother used to wear that neither of my children would be caught dead in, a light-weight, nylon wind breaker and my coats. Where in the hell did the coats go?
I know for a fact that I bought two wind breakers; one grey and one black, a winter coat for Jack and a mid weight coat for Ben. I swear that closet is like a black hole for coats. Put them in there and they are off to other parts of the universe through some unseen portal!!
Seriously, how can a person loose their clothes? I will never understand - even if was explained in detail, I would never be able to comprehend how this is possible.
I asked my son where is winter coat was and he was immediately defensive - a bad sign. It means he has realized he's lost it and was hoping I would never be the wiser. Poor kid. After the astonishment abated, we went coat shopping. Again. Like we do every year. This trip is as regular as our annual trip to buy a Christmas tree. Every year at the same time of year, we are coat shopping because last year's coat is in some unknown location and the only peace I can gain from this is knowing that all clothing left behind at school at the end of the year is donated to charity. So maybe someone is getting some use out of all those coats.
I know what you're thinking. Why don't I simply choose his coat as the item that I keep track of? Yeah, I wish. It's not that easy. I am a single parent. I have a lot on my plate and some things just outweigh 'coat location' on the priority scale. Managing a household, raising two boys, going back to school, keeping a meaningful adult relationship meaningful, providing meals, keeping a full time job and looking for a new one, and all the rest easily present themselves.
So I ask my son to go coat shopping and of course he doesn't want to. It's boring and it costs money; two things he has a distaste for. As well, it cements the fact that once again, he lost his coat and it embarrasses him. But being the logical child he is, he goes.
At the store he vetoes choices left and right. All but one. I know that the color has to be either blue, black or red. I have learned not to waste my time with any other functional option not available in one of those hues. It's just not going to happen. I hold up hanger after hanger and no words are necessary. The curled up mouth is striking enough that I simply put it back. Until . . . one choice gets a barely discernible nod. Hallelujah!! And . . . it comes in grey - Oh no! Surprisingly, it's okay. Wow!
Basking in my triumph I risk it all and ask, "Can you try it on?"
(Imagine a train wreck here. Crumpled, piled-up, derailed momentum come to a screeching halt.)
"No."
"Please."
"No. It's fine."
"Why not? We should see if it fits before we buy it."
"It's fine."
"Okay. If we buy it and it's not comfortable, you are going to have to keep it." (Stupid me, have I forgotten that in four months it will be in the company of all the other lost coats? How much of a threat is this - really?)
"I will try it on at home."
"If you don't like it at home, I am not bringing it back." (Sticking to my position even though I have realized it's hopeless.)
"Then I won't wear it."
"That is not an option."
"Fine (eye-rolling). I will try one arm to see if I like the fabric."
(Eye-rolling from Mom). "Great."
And we take the coat home. The coat lies on his bed for three days - tags on. Untried.
Then . . . . the weather turns and he needs that coat . . . and it's lost.
I know. I cannot believe it either. This is definitely a lost-coat-speed-record.
After the usual questions, we find it. It has been stowed in the same dresser drawer that he keeps his jeans in. Mashed up, tags still dangling and forgotten. Out of sight and out of mind. Right where he is comfortable with it residing.
The day afterward, he wore it to school. Two days later, he wore it out to the store. He's not sure he likes it. The coat is made of a neoprene-like material that feels "stiff." Fortunately, it's lined with a soft fleece in bright, construction orange! Now you see why I was so surprised to have it approved. This color is completely out of character. But for now he's wearing it - which is all I care about.
I hate the thought of him standing at the bus stop in 38F weather in nothing but his t-shirt. (He won't wear long sleeves, sweaters, sweatshirts, hoodies, etc., but that is another battle entirely.) His hands white and cold and his ears frozen to bright red stubbornly and diligently obeying his preferences despite that they are haltingly uncomfortable.
It is going to be a long few months.
So much has happened that I have wanted to write about - tell someone about or maybe even find someone who has been on this path before me who can empathize. I would even be happy just to have company along this road through Autism - I wouldn't care if neither of us knew if we were on the right road or where that trek might lead. I would be happy to have company along the way. Someone to talk to about the joys and stresses of finding ways to help my child with Aspergers as well as the child without Aspergers. He suffers too - just as much and in entirely different ways. Sometimes I believe life is harder for him. He knows. He understands issues and concerns that my first son does not.
All distraction aside, I am making an attempt to get my life back on track, keep things moving in some direction that resembles forward because time will march on whether or not I choose to try to affect the outcome of events, learning, changes - all meant to be interpreted as 'growing up with Aspergers.'
I will start with the most recent challenges and make my way around to all the other wonderful, frustrating and remarkable occasions to learn acceptance rather than conformity my son provides me with. I have always known that my son 'lives in the moment.' It is just how he his. As is typical, he helps me see both the benefits and the costs that come with this.
My son looses things.
Important things like homework, books, his wallet, all manner of belongings, money and clothing. Typically he finds them again, but not always. The odds decrease if the items have left the house. In other words, if he has had to transport them between school and home - forget it. It's gone. When we travel, I literally have to keep an eye on everything he brings along. With the exception of his electronics. Those he can manage and does, but he has had to work very hard to learn to handle them and still needs help in the form of my ever watchful (yet from his perspective - completely humiliating) eye. He hates that I still try to look after him at his age. I am trying to learn not to, but it is difficult to watch him fail (I have to choose the times when I can allow this - like the ones that aren't too expensive).
I wish I knew why keeping track of these items wasn't important to him. Well, let me state that differently. They are only important when he needs them, if he doesn't need them - they do not matter. Class notes and homework, once completed are finished in his mind and he no longer needs them - so they are forgotten or thrown aside with as little care as he might give a candy wrapper. In fact, less. He would actually put the wrapper in the trash. The homework is simply left unattended until it is left behind in some random location like all the lost socks you see along the street gutters. Just ignored until they are lost.
I live in North Texas. For the most part, our weather has extremes like any part of the globe. However, out extremes live in a higher position on the temperature scale. For us, average temperatures fall between 40F and 115F (40C). We rarely need winter coats, gloves, hats or scarves. Unfortunately, there are usually just a few days or weeks each year that we do - then 'winter' is over and we march back toward triple digits. Therefore, my son has a winter coat - HAD a winter coat. Every year it seems he needs a winter coat.
This year, he will definitely need one because we are travelling to the east coast after Christmas to visit family in Massachusetts. Since I am a planner, I went looking through the closet as soon as the tickets were in hand to make sure we had what we needed. In truth, the boys have grown so much the past year that I needed to make sure what they had still fit even though I knew there was no way it would. A person simply cannot grow six inches and still be able to wear the same clothes. But a coat? - you never know. I thought I might get lucky. Not!!
There were no coats in the closet except the old dark green, "Starter" sweat jacket my brother used to wear that neither of my children would be caught dead in, a light-weight, nylon wind breaker and my coats. Where in the hell did the coats go?
I know for a fact that I bought two wind breakers; one grey and one black, a winter coat for Jack and a mid weight coat for Ben. I swear that closet is like a black hole for coats. Put them in there and they are off to other parts of the universe through some unseen portal!!
Seriously, how can a person loose their clothes? I will never understand - even if was explained in detail, I would never be able to comprehend how this is possible.
I asked my son where is winter coat was and he was immediately defensive - a bad sign. It means he has realized he's lost it and was hoping I would never be the wiser. Poor kid. After the astonishment abated, we went coat shopping. Again. Like we do every year. This trip is as regular as our annual trip to buy a Christmas tree. Every year at the same time of year, we are coat shopping because last year's coat is in some unknown location and the only peace I can gain from this is knowing that all clothing left behind at school at the end of the year is donated to charity. So maybe someone is getting some use out of all those coats.
I know what you're thinking. Why don't I simply choose his coat as the item that I keep track of? Yeah, I wish. It's not that easy. I am a single parent. I have a lot on my plate and some things just outweigh 'coat location' on the priority scale. Managing a household, raising two boys, going back to school, keeping a meaningful adult relationship meaningful, providing meals, keeping a full time job and looking for a new one, and all the rest easily present themselves.
So I ask my son to go coat shopping and of course he doesn't want to. It's boring and it costs money; two things he has a distaste for. As well, it cements the fact that once again, he lost his coat and it embarrasses him. But being the logical child he is, he goes.
At the store he vetoes choices left and right. All but one. I know that the color has to be either blue, black or red. I have learned not to waste my time with any other functional option not available in one of those hues. It's just not going to happen. I hold up hanger after hanger and no words are necessary. The curled up mouth is striking enough that I simply put it back. Until . . . one choice gets a barely discernible nod. Hallelujah!! And . . . it comes in grey - Oh no! Surprisingly, it's okay. Wow!
Basking in my triumph I risk it all and ask, "Can you try it on?"
(Imagine a train wreck here. Crumpled, piled-up, derailed momentum come to a screeching halt.)
"No."
"Please."
"No. It's fine."
"Why not? We should see if it fits before we buy it."
"It's fine."
"Okay. If we buy it and it's not comfortable, you are going to have to keep it." (Stupid me, have I forgotten that in four months it will be in the company of all the other lost coats? How much of a threat is this - really?)
"I will try it on at home."
"If you don't like it at home, I am not bringing it back." (Sticking to my position even though I have realized it's hopeless.)
"Then I won't wear it."
"That is not an option."
"Fine (eye-rolling). I will try one arm to see if I like the fabric."
(Eye-rolling from Mom). "Great."
And we take the coat home. The coat lies on his bed for three days - tags on. Untried.
Then . . . . the weather turns and he needs that coat . . . and it's lost.
I know. I cannot believe it either. This is definitely a lost-coat-speed-record.
After the usual questions, we find it. It has been stowed in the same dresser drawer that he keeps his jeans in. Mashed up, tags still dangling and forgotten. Out of sight and out of mind. Right where he is comfortable with it residing.
The day afterward, he wore it to school. Two days later, he wore it out to the store. He's not sure he likes it. The coat is made of a neoprene-like material that feels "stiff." Fortunately, it's lined with a soft fleece in bright, construction orange! Now you see why I was so surprised to have it approved. This color is completely out of character. But for now he's wearing it - which is all I care about.
I hate the thought of him standing at the bus stop in 38F weather in nothing but his t-shirt. (He won't wear long sleeves, sweaters, sweatshirts, hoodies, etc., but that is another battle entirely.) His hands white and cold and his ears frozen to bright red stubbornly and diligently obeying his preferences despite that they are haltingly uncomfortable.
It is going to be a long few months.
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