It's August 8th. I can hardly believe it, but summer is almost over. School begins in just over two weeks.
I need to prepare!
Where does the time go? Does it feel as though it passes very fast to everyone? Or is it just me? Is it magnified from my perspective?
The days of summer go by at the same speed as do all the other work days of the year. For some reason the days that I do not go to work seem to fly by more quickly than those I spend with my colleagues . . . watching the clock . . . counting the minutes left . . . knowing that I will surely die before the hands move the necessary inches around the dial to free me from servitude.
For my sons, my bored young men, I believe time passes more slowly, with less consequence and with far less remarkability than it does for me.
I think they are bored.
I think they have been bored for weeks.
It's summer and they are teenagers; too young to work and too old to be sent to sports camp at the YMCA dragging a swimsuit and a sack lunch.
Their friends are on vacation or hold up inside their respective air-conditioned homes. In their defense, it has been over one hundred degrees outside for weeks. They cannot exactly spend afternoons outside without risking heat exhaustion, heat stroke or something similar.
Their Mother is at work.
They are left to their own devices - boy devices - which means staying up late Facetime-ing with friends, sleeping until two in the afternoon the next day and not having to get dressed until a parent arrives home from work and calls them to the dinner table.
There are Pop-Tart wrappers and empty orange juice cups mounted on bedroom furniture surfaces, clean laundry piled on dressers aching to be worn or just noticed, damp towels piled on bathroom floors and laptops teetering on the edge of meltdown because they haven't been turned off for weeks. Their batteries are toying with molten stage. YouTube is bookmarked and evidence of texting volumes are gaining on the heights comparing to Mt. Everest; somewhere near twelve hundred. One more zero and it would come close to a record. This month, it's just a 'personal best.'
The boys are happy, content, quiet, occupied - albeit with Internet monotony and they are teenagers who need to begin finding their own way through their days and through the forced, alone, togetherness that this summer has provided them.
School starts soon.
Th
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Sunday, June 10, 2012
TAKS time
My son took TAKS (Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills) tests this spring - four of them!! hey were coming. They are required and his performance either sends him on to Senior High School or holds him stagnant where his is to repeat 9th grade. All ninth graders take Social Studies, Mathematics, Science and English TAKS.
However, all ninth graders are not completely distracted by the way the paper feels under his or her hand. All ninth graders are not consumed with trying to place ambiguity where none exists. All ninth graders do not find the bell schedule - and the fact that it is 30 seconds off - far more interesting. All ninth graders are probably better able to block out the tactile consequences of 'ugly pencils' (anything but a Ticonderoga No. 2) scraping on 'spongy paper' (newsprint). Other ninth graders can get past all this input, ignore all the other noises around them like the girl biting her nails and the boys scratching his jeans and the teacher's breathing and concentrate on the questions or better yet, what is happening in the world economy. Is the Euro in trouble? What is Spain's debt rating? Will the storm in the Atlantic turn into a hurricane as it enters the Gulf? There are so many places where life is more interesting than in that room - where he has to undergo TAKS testing.
This year my son's and my collective stress levels were no different than any other year. In fact, they might have been greater. More tests = more stress and anxiety. Jackson's High School future depended on him passing these tests.
In Plano, high school isn't the same 4-year program at a single school that it is in most places around the country. High School in Plano, Texas means ninth and tenth graders go to one school. Senior High School students go to a different campus to complete eleventh and twelfth grades. It's weird. I know. But that's how they do it here.
He took the tests at the end of May. Yesterday - his results arrived in the mail. Immediately he told me not to open the envelope. if course, I ignored that request and tore it open. He made a dash to the other end of the house only to come sneaking back out - one pensive footfall at a time.Shy. Afraid. Bracing for the look on my face that let him know he would be attending summer school. (I don't know why. This hasn't happened since he was eight but I suppose that one occurrence is enough evidence that summer school remains a possibility.)
Let me just say . . . . "Commended!!"
This means that his scores were not only passing, not only average, not just above average, but above they typical high score as it relates to his peers and other students in the state.
YAY!!!
I am so proud of him! And do you know what? He is too. He said as much. After taking his time examining the results, he said, "I didn't think I did that well. I am kind of surprised." He worked so hard this year and has done really well. All those years of test-taking training and strategies to help him enhance his ability to concentrate have finally paid off for him.
He has done a fabulous job and can look forward to relaxing this summer and beginning Senior High School next August at the school of his choice. Plano East Senior High.
Yes, he had a choice. But that will have to be the subject of another post.
However, all ninth graders are not completely distracted by the way the paper feels under his or her hand. All ninth graders are not consumed with trying to place ambiguity where none exists. All ninth graders do not find the bell schedule - and the fact that it is 30 seconds off - far more interesting. All ninth graders are probably better able to block out the tactile consequences of 'ugly pencils' (anything but a Ticonderoga No. 2) scraping on 'spongy paper' (newsprint). Other ninth graders can get past all this input, ignore all the other noises around them like the girl biting her nails and the boys scratching his jeans and the teacher's breathing and concentrate on the questions or better yet, what is happening in the world economy. Is the Euro in trouble? What is Spain's debt rating? Will the storm in the Atlantic turn into a hurricane as it enters the Gulf? There are so many places where life is more interesting than in that room - where he has to undergo TAKS testing.
This year my son's and my collective stress levels were no different than any other year. In fact, they might have been greater. More tests = more stress and anxiety. Jackson's High School future depended on him passing these tests.
In Plano, high school isn't the same 4-year program at a single school that it is in most places around the country. High School in Plano, Texas means ninth and tenth graders go to one school. Senior High School students go to a different campus to complete eleventh and twelfth grades. It's weird. I know. But that's how they do it here.
He took the tests at the end of May. Yesterday - his results arrived in the mail. Immediately he told me not to open the envelope. if course, I ignored that request and tore it open. He made a dash to the other end of the house only to come sneaking back out - one pensive footfall at a time.Shy. Afraid. Bracing for the look on my face that let him know he would be attending summer school. (I don't know why. This hasn't happened since he was eight but I suppose that one occurrence is enough evidence that summer school remains a possibility.)
Let me just say . . . . "Commended!!"
This means that his scores were not only passing, not only average, not just above average, but above they typical high score as it relates to his peers and other students in the state.
YAY!!!
I am so proud of him! And do you know what? He is too. He said as much. After taking his time examining the results, he said, "I didn't think I did that well. I am kind of surprised." He worked so hard this year and has done really well. All those years of test-taking training and strategies to help him enhance his ability to concentrate have finally paid off for him.
He has done a fabulous job and can look forward to relaxing this summer and beginning Senior High School next August at the school of his choice. Plano East Senior High.
Yes, he had a choice. But that will have to be the subject of another post.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Joy to the World
My son's favorite song is "Joy to the World."
Can you believe it? What a wonderful song (and sentiment) to enlist as a favorite!!
Joy to the World!!!
What a wonderful wish!
This is truly what he wants; the world and it's inhabitants to be peaceful and joyous. He wants harmony, joy and 'world peace.' He wants people to get along. He wants people to try.
He likes negotiation and hates yelling.
He wants diplomacy and abhors fights.
He wants mutual respect and hates irrationality.
He wants informed communication and doesn't understand assumptions.
Only Julie Andrews' pure voice will do for such a simple song.
He is SO VERY reasonable. And so indefatigueably logical.
Even when and if he is not sure why, he will err on the side of caution and respect. He knows where the line is even when I do not (or refuse to) see it.
He is joyous!
What a wonderful idea!! Christmastime is not a requisite because it doesn't have to be Christmastime to wish good will or happiness. He's right. That behavior is only the result of our poor habits.
Here is a link - just in case.
http://www.amazon.com/Greatest-Christmas-Songs-Julie-Andrews/dp/B00004XR5U
You are going to love it.
Just listen. Really listen - not just to the words you have memorized, but to their intent and meaning.
It's a wonderful song for any season.
Can you believe it? What a wonderful song (and sentiment) to enlist as a favorite!!
Joy to the World!!!
This is truly what he wants; the world and it's inhabitants to be peaceful and joyous. He wants harmony, joy and 'world peace.' He wants people to get along. He wants people to try.
He likes negotiation and hates yelling.
He wants diplomacy and abhors fights.
He wants mutual respect and hates irrationality.
He wants informed communication and doesn't understand assumptions.
Only Julie Andrews' pure voice will do for such a simple song.
He is SO VERY reasonable. And so indefatigueably logical.
Even when and if he is not sure why, he will err on the side of caution and respect. He knows where the line is even when I do not (or refuse to) see it.
He is joyous!
What a wonderful idea!! Christmastime is not a requisite because it doesn't have to be Christmastime to wish good will or happiness. He's right. That behavior is only the result of our poor habits.
Here is a link - just in case.
http://www.amazon.com/Greatest-Christmas-Songs-Julie-Andrews/dp/B00004XR5U
You are going to love it.
Just listen. Really listen - not just to the words you have memorized, but to their intent and meaning.
It's a wonderful song for any season.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Sweet and Sour
As a single Mom with two kids, going out to eat (only once in a bit because I cannot afford it most days) seems like a welcome relief from just a few of the days' chores. The tease is; I won't have to wash dishes or wipe the table OR sweep the floor. I won't have to load the dishwasher or put away any leftovers. Ugh! just the thought of it makes me want to run screaming. I love the cooking. I absolutely HATE the clean up part.
But because I love the cooking part, I also love the 'surprise' aspect of trying new restaurants. Those I had heard of by a friend or those that I had read about in the latest local "Best Places In . . ." column. Who doesn't love to try new foods? What cook worth her salt doesn't admire and respect another cook's interpretation? It's fun! However, not everyone believes that unknown can ever be equated with 'fun.'
My son intensely dislikes 'unknown' Food is one area where he is least likely to be adventurous.
Feeding Jackson as an infant was easy. He ate pretty much the same thing almost every day. All babies begin this way. As new parents I was instructed to introduce foods into their immature constitutions gradually never veering too far from the bland and familiar. But Jackson seemed to accept quite a few foods - well . . . until around the age of three. At that point, with a younger brother who was just beginning his introduction to solid foods, Jackson found renewed comfort in those foods that he knew. My foods. My cooking - EXACTLY the way I made it. No funny stuff, no variations, no creative ideas, please.
When Jackson was younger, going out to eat was not an option because unless you have been to a restaurant before and you know without any doubt that items are available that will not cause stress, meal time just isn't the stress-free experience that it really needs to be as a parent.
As an adult, meal time is the one place where you want just 20 to 30 minutes to relax, enjoy your children and admire your work and your day. For Jackson, meal time could be nothing short of a culinary mine field.
To this day, both my children have peculiar tastes. Neither really enjoys uncertain gastronamy. They like what they know - which means, what I cook.
They don't like Pop-Tarts. "They're crap!" They would prefer a steaming (and home made) plate of French Toast.
They have never finished even the smallest glass of chocolate milk. (Why ruin it?)
They don't consider Jell-O edible. (It's like plastic, isn't it?)
They have never had Lasagna. (Too many textures all in one mouthful - boycott!)
And their reaction the first time I made them a casserole . . . eye rolling and "When did you come up with this bright idea?!"
As a toddler, Jackson didn't even like fast food. At McDonald's he would tear the ends off the french fries because the texture on the ends was different from that in the middle and it made his mouth feel funny. At some restaurants, chefs had the audacity to put garnishes of food items that could irreparably tarnish meals and make certain that there was no way in hell he was eating what was presented. And what is the point of writing out an entree description for the menu if it is not meant to be followed?!?! (I cannot tell you how many times I tried picking out parsley.) Why are there still surprises?
Just because Jackson liked broccoli, cheese, rice and chicken did NOT mean that he liked or yet likes Broccoli/chicken/cheese casserole. He still won't touch it, regardless that he enjoys all the ingredients separately and if they are cooked the way his Mother makes them. Broccoli on his dinner plate at home is not the same as the broccoli that the Italian restaurant prepares. They put 'stuff' on it. To you and I 'stuff' is seasoning. To Jackson 'stuff' is a contaminant.
This weekend we learned for the five hundredth time that the Sweet and Sour Chicken from First Chinese BBQ is not the same as the Sweet and Sour Chicken prepared at Jade Palace. Jade Palace is the one he likes.
We went out to dinner last weekend. Jackson likes Chinese food so we chose a place in the town we were visiting. Jackson ordered Sweet and Sour Chicken. This dish is typically his favorite and only choice at the Jade Palace. The chefs make it for him the same way every single time he orders it. The preparation never varies. He can count on it. Figuring it would be a safe bet, he ordered it again, using the same words and descriptors when placing his order.
Before his plate even arrived at the table - in fact, as it left the kitchen and I watched it's inevitable arrival at his side - I knew there was no way he was ever going to eat it just as surely as I knew that asking him to be flexible, sit quietly and eat it would get me no where. What does pineapple and or corn have to do with chicken anyway?
There was no way he was going to eat that dish - ever.
The waiter hadn't listened. He wasn't familiar with my son. The sauce was not on the side. The vegetables were mised in - touching the chicken. The menu description in Chinese characters didn't reveal that it would be made with dark meat - at least not to someone who doesn't read Mandarin. Jackson "doesn't prefer" dark meat.
He is not going to eat it in a box.
He is not going to eat it with a fox.
He is not going to eat it in a ship.
He is not going to eat it on a trip.
He is not going to eat it - anyplace.
He is Jackson.
He is.
Except in Jackson's story, he did try it. As he held back his gag at the tenuous texture of the dark meat and the sweet, sticky sauce - he tried so hard to behave politely, to sit at the dinner table with other and consume a food item that he really, really just did not like in any way, shape or form.
As I sat there watching my son struggle with an entree that he didn't care for I had to wonder; would most non-Aspergians try so hard to be polite? Would they try to consume something they didn't care for or would they send it back, order a different dish or stop at a fast food place on the way home after pushing their food around on their plate for 30 minutes?
What would they do?
Why did Jackson (and the rest of the family for that matter) assume that the problem with the food was laid solely and singularly at his feet and not with the dish? Who is to say what accounts for individual taste? And why is does he consider it bad it he doesn't care for something? I don't particularly care for oysters. That doesn't mean that chefs prepare them poorly - but that also doesn't mean they didn't.
I like sandwiches and I hate the way my Mother makes them. That's okay!!
I did not make Jackson eat his dinner that evening. How could I? Why would anyone want to eat something that tasted 'ugly.'?
He tried so hard. He was so polite. He took a few bites grimacing all the while beforehand; Like someone who is about to eat rotten fish heads, or boneless duck feet (yes ,that was on the menu) but knowing he should at minimum try one bite before he is allowed to abstain - he did.
He held is breath, held his gag in and swallowed. The politely said, "I don't care for this dish the way they make it here." He had rice for dinner that night.
And I did not order the boneless duck feet. I ordered pork with eggplant. The dish was salty and mushy. I did not care for it, but I ate it - some of it. Just enough so that I wasn't hungry.
My son knows his limits and I have accepted them as hard limits. I have been raised to ignore mine. My 'limit's have always been 'preferences' as opposed to limits. The waste or monitary loss was always the hard limit - not my preference. An inanimate cost was far more important than I ever could dream of becoming. Who's the honest, healthy one in this picture?
But because I love the cooking part, I also love the 'surprise' aspect of trying new restaurants. Those I had heard of by a friend or those that I had read about in the latest local "Best Places In . . ." column. Who doesn't love to try new foods? What cook worth her salt doesn't admire and respect another cook's interpretation? It's fun! However, not everyone believes that unknown can ever be equated with 'fun.'
My son intensely dislikes 'unknown' Food is one area where he is least likely to be adventurous.
Feeding Jackson as an infant was easy. He ate pretty much the same thing almost every day. All babies begin this way. As new parents I was instructed to introduce foods into their immature constitutions gradually never veering too far from the bland and familiar. But Jackson seemed to accept quite a few foods - well . . . until around the age of three. At that point, with a younger brother who was just beginning his introduction to solid foods, Jackson found renewed comfort in those foods that he knew. My foods. My cooking - EXACTLY the way I made it. No funny stuff, no variations, no creative ideas, please.
When Jackson was younger, going out to eat was not an option because unless you have been to a restaurant before and you know without any doubt that items are available that will not cause stress, meal time just isn't the stress-free experience that it really needs to be as a parent.
As an adult, meal time is the one place where you want just 20 to 30 minutes to relax, enjoy your children and admire your work and your day. For Jackson, meal time could be nothing short of a culinary mine field.
To this day, both my children have peculiar tastes. Neither really enjoys uncertain gastronamy. They like what they know - which means, what I cook.
They have never finished even the smallest glass of chocolate milk. (Why ruin it?)
They don't consider Jell-O edible. (It's like plastic, isn't it?)
They have never had Lasagna. (Too many textures all in one mouthful - boycott!)
And their reaction the first time I made them a casserole . . . eye rolling and "When did you come up with this bright idea?!"
As a toddler, Jackson didn't even like fast food. At McDonald's he would tear the ends off the french fries because the texture on the ends was different from that in the middle and it made his mouth feel funny. At some restaurants, chefs had the audacity to put garnishes of food items that could irreparably tarnish meals and make certain that there was no way in hell he was eating what was presented. And what is the point of writing out an entree description for the menu if it is not meant to be followed?!?! (I cannot tell you how many times I tried picking out parsley.) Why are there still surprises?
Just because Jackson liked broccoli, cheese, rice and chicken did NOT mean that he liked or yet likes Broccoli/chicken/cheese casserole. He still won't touch it, regardless that he enjoys all the ingredients separately and if they are cooked the way his Mother makes them. Broccoli on his dinner plate at home is not the same as the broccoli that the Italian restaurant prepares. They put 'stuff' on it. To you and I 'stuff' is seasoning. To Jackson 'stuff' is a contaminant.
This weekend we learned for the five hundredth time that the Sweet and Sour Chicken from First Chinese BBQ is not the same as the Sweet and Sour Chicken prepared at Jade Palace. Jade Palace is the one he likes.
We went out to dinner last weekend. Jackson likes Chinese food so we chose a place in the town we were visiting. Jackson ordered Sweet and Sour Chicken. This dish is typically his favorite and only choice at the Jade Palace. The chefs make it for him the same way every single time he orders it. The preparation never varies. He can count on it. Figuring it would be a safe bet, he ordered it again, using the same words and descriptors when placing his order.
There was no way he was going to eat that dish - ever.
The waiter hadn't listened. He wasn't familiar with my son. The sauce was not on the side. The vegetables were mised in - touching the chicken. The menu description in Chinese characters didn't reveal that it would be made with dark meat - at least not to someone who doesn't read Mandarin. Jackson "doesn't prefer" dark meat.
He is not going to eat it in a box.
He is not going to eat it with a fox.
He is not going to eat it in a ship.
He is not going to eat it on a trip.
He is not going to eat it - anyplace.
He is Jackson.
He is.
Except in Jackson's story, he did try it. As he held back his gag at the tenuous texture of the dark meat and the sweet, sticky sauce - he tried so hard to behave politely, to sit at the dinner table with other and consume a food item that he really, really just did not like in any way, shape or form.
As I sat there watching my son struggle with an entree that he didn't care for I had to wonder; would most non-Aspergians try so hard to be polite? Would they try to consume something they didn't care for or would they send it back, order a different dish or stop at a fast food place on the way home after pushing their food around on their plate for 30 minutes?
What would they do?
Why did Jackson (and the rest of the family for that matter) assume that the problem with the food was laid solely and singularly at his feet and not with the dish? Who is to say what accounts for individual taste? And why is does he consider it bad it he doesn't care for something? I don't particularly care for oysters. That doesn't mean that chefs prepare them poorly - but that also doesn't mean they didn't.
I like sandwiches and I hate the way my Mother makes them. That's okay!!
I did not make Jackson eat his dinner that evening. How could I? Why would anyone want to eat something that tasted 'ugly.'?
He tried so hard. He was so polite. He took a few bites grimacing all the while beforehand; Like someone who is about to eat rotten fish heads, or boneless duck feet (yes ,that was on the menu) but knowing he should at minimum try one bite before he is allowed to abstain - he did.
He held is breath, held his gag in and swallowed. The politely said, "I don't care for this dish the way they make it here." He had rice for dinner that night.
And I did not order the boneless duck feet. I ordered pork with eggplant. The dish was salty and mushy. I did not care for it, but I ate it - some of it. Just enough so that I wasn't hungry.
My son knows his limits and I have accepted them as hard limits. I have been raised to ignore mine. My 'limit's have always been 'preferences' as opposed to limits. The waste or monitary loss was always the hard limit - not my preference. An inanimate cost was far more important than I ever could dream of becoming. Who's the honest, healthy one in this picture?
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Check out some of my son's website links
Hi, I am Jackson Cymerman, Beth's son; these are the website's that I administer and am active with daily::
www.facebook.com/StormWatchDallas
www.facebook.com/WeatherCrew
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Hurricane-Hunters/383880451664048
www.stormwatchdallas.com (My Website)(Jackson)
weathercrew.weebly.com (Run by me and a team of 5)
And Finally, https://www.facebook.com/pages/DFW-Stormwatch/171745422880570
If you have time, please check them out and let me know what you think.
Thanks.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Brotherly Love
It must be hard to be the younger brother.
I know only a very little about occupying this position; the younger. I was a younger sister - but I had a younger brother too which meant that I almost literally got lost amid the oldest child and the boy child who also happened to be the baby. Despite that I was virtually invisible between my siblings and life was sometimes, painful and lonely, I am still willing to bet that life must be especially difficult if you happen to be the younger brother of a boy with Asperger's - or any form of Autism.
There are so many special rules for a child with Asperger's. How is a toddler or small child without Asperger's supposed to tell which are for the sibling and which are for him? In addition, not all children with Autism Spectrum Disorder's require the same rules. In a house where Autism lives all rules are child-specific. This is very different from what both brothers will discover for themselves in the real world.
As a parents, we know to well that constructing and consistently enforcing rules is difficult. Finding the stamina to enforce one set is hard - let alone two. Two is takes a mind-numbing amount of concentration and is completely exhausting. Because there are multiple sets of rules there are at least two sets of expectations; one for the child with Asperger's and one for the child without. The only condition that binds both is a moral foundation to do what's best, kindest, and thoughtful, to behave well and respectfully. As adults most of us struggle with identifying firm, stable moral ground. As kids, the fact that we expect them to grapple, learn and apply these guidelines borders on insanity.
As a society we believe we have learned what or how much to expect and in turn demand two sets of behavioral expectations as opposed to one moral expectation where children with Asperger's interact with others who are not affected. As educator's we cope with two sets of expectations and attempt to make both simultaneously saleable yet mutually exclusive and independent. These parameters are practically and widely necessary and at the same time they are socially cruel at the smallest level. Yet, we expect that the youngest among us, the younger siblings, those with the least experience, or with the fewest behavioral tools and least developed intellect should learn, understand, support and actively participate in this required and duplicitous system of behaviors. If the child without Asperger's happens to be the younger, it must be like trying to separate the seas. Trying to grasp that there are two sets of rules at the tender age of two or three and be mindful that this situation exists not because of parental preference, but out of necessity for the older child's handicap is ridiculous. At such a young age these very small children must accept that the rules for them are different, less lenient, more demanding and it's not because they are not the older (favorite) child.
I had a younger brother. However, I am not a boy so my relationship with my brother was completely different than that between my sons. Most important, the fact that we were different genders made most competition irrelevant. For the most part we got along. We could talk or play or at least pretend that we shared some common interests because we could communicate. What it we couldn't? Worse, what if we were talking and communicating - at least technically - but we had no idea what the other was thinking or didn't really care very much? What if we didn't understand that we should be interested in normal play? What if we had a younger brother who looked up to us who was constantly shut out through no fault of amyone's and that small boy was simply too young to understand why?
Can you image how all the appearances of privilege and preference that naturally and always accompany the role of 'oldest' are magnified when the oldest has clear and definable needs for another set of special rules? Can you imagine trying to identify those rules and properly compartmentalize them while you are in the midst of attempting to grow up and understand social order and the world in general yourself?
It must be very hard to be the younger brother of someone with Asperger's. The rest of the playing field is even enough - but for the brother of an Aspergian, that same playing field must seem at times a very lonely place.
It's true. Not only the child with Asperger's is affected when this disorder appears. We all are, in ways that we cannot possibly understand yet must somehow learn to cope with.
I know only a very little about occupying this position; the younger. I was a younger sister - but I had a younger brother too which meant that I almost literally got lost amid the oldest child and the boy child who also happened to be the baby. Despite that I was virtually invisible between my siblings and life was sometimes, painful and lonely, I am still willing to bet that life must be especially difficult if you happen to be the younger brother of a boy with Asperger's - or any form of Autism.
There are so many special rules for a child with Asperger's. How is a toddler or small child without Asperger's supposed to tell which are for the sibling and which are for him? In addition, not all children with Autism Spectrum Disorder's require the same rules. In a house where Autism lives all rules are child-specific. This is very different from what both brothers will discover for themselves in the real world.
As a parents, we know to well that constructing and consistently enforcing rules is difficult. Finding the stamina to enforce one set is hard - let alone two. Two is takes a mind-numbing amount of concentration and is completely exhausting. Because there are multiple sets of rules there are at least two sets of expectations; one for the child with Asperger's and one for the child without. The only condition that binds both is a moral foundation to do what's best, kindest, and thoughtful, to behave well and respectfully. As adults most of us struggle with identifying firm, stable moral ground. As kids, the fact that we expect them to grapple, learn and apply these guidelines borders on insanity.
As a society we believe we have learned what or how much to expect and in turn demand two sets of behavioral expectations as opposed to one moral expectation where children with Asperger's interact with others who are not affected. As educator's we cope with two sets of expectations and attempt to make both simultaneously saleable yet mutually exclusive and independent. These parameters are practically and widely necessary and at the same time they are socially cruel at the smallest level. Yet, we expect that the youngest among us, the younger siblings, those with the least experience, or with the fewest behavioral tools and least developed intellect should learn, understand, support and actively participate in this required and duplicitous system of behaviors. If the child without Asperger's happens to be the younger, it must be like trying to separate the seas. Trying to grasp that there are two sets of rules at the tender age of two or three and be mindful that this situation exists not because of parental preference, but out of necessity for the older child's handicap is ridiculous. At such a young age these very small children must accept that the rules for them are different, less lenient, more demanding and it's not because they are not the older (favorite) child.
I had a younger brother. However, I am not a boy so my relationship with my brother was completely different than that between my sons. Most important, the fact that we were different genders made most competition irrelevant. For the most part we got along. We could talk or play or at least pretend that we shared some common interests because we could communicate. What it we couldn't? Worse, what if we were talking and communicating - at least technically - but we had no idea what the other was thinking or didn't really care very much? What if we didn't understand that we should be interested in normal play? What if we had a younger brother who looked up to us who was constantly shut out through no fault of amyone's and that small boy was simply too young to understand why?
Can you image how all the appearances of privilege and preference that naturally and always accompany the role of 'oldest' are magnified when the oldest has clear and definable needs for another set of special rules? Can you imagine trying to identify those rules and properly compartmentalize them while you are in the midst of attempting to grow up and understand social order and the world in general yourself?
It must be very hard to be the younger brother of someone with Asperger's. The rest of the playing field is even enough - but for the brother of an Aspergian, that same playing field must seem at times a very lonely place.
It's true. Not only the child with Asperger's is affected when this disorder appears. We all are, in ways that we cannot possibly understand yet must somehow learn to cope with.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Storms
Panic. . . . Anxiety. . . . Uncertainty. . . . Hurricane Season. It's all the same.
Storms make my son nervous. He doesn't delight in the strength of nature - in the absoluteness of weather the way I do. He doesn't like drama. I don't either, but I do like definitive; statements of clarity. To me, storms are like nature's most definitive behavior. For my son, they represent potential chaos, destruction and personal harm. He's right. I'm probably the one who should be more wary than I am.
He's right to be nervous about storms that boil up in the middle of the night fueled by the build-up of heat throughout the day and the clash of cooler air that the evening brings.
His way to deal with this type of uncertainty is to gather all the information he can and make his own determination. He needs to know; to find certainty where there isn't going to be any. This aspect of his personality hasn't changed since he was a toddler. He has always realized the extreme subjectiveness of opinion as well as the muddy disguise of opinion testified as facts within most media avenues.
Unfortunately, storms are simply not something that will ever be 100% predictable; and he really needs them to be.
Hurricane Season is a dated time of the year. In other words, it has a specific term. There is a time when it's over and it's on a calendar. That's definitive. When storms erupt outside of these quoted dates, he needs to know why.This is what he respects about this time of the year.
"The Gulf has been pretty quiet this year" is all he will say so far. He knows the water temperatures in the Gulf are up but there's no moist cool air this year to fuel a storm. He's waiting in his quiet, pensive yet very alert sort of way.
Now that the cooler weather has arrived, he is less provoked by anxiety concerning storms. Where he once would close all the curtains in an "If I can't see it - it's less there" attempt, put his earphones on and surf weather channels, and bombard the local meteorologist with email questions concerning weather patterns, storm tracks and "upper-level lows," he now consoles himself by posting weather updates on Face Book for all his North Texas "Friends."
We had a storm last night. His last FB post was at 1:32am (complete with radar links and volatility forecasts). While I'm not crazy about him staying up well past midnight on Facebook - I have to admire is ingenuity in dealing with his anxiety in a way that is both helpful to himself as well as potentially to others. And by posting these storm warnings, he is able to gain an immediate barometric reading of how others are feeling about an impending storm. If he gets quite a few comments, he knows that it's not only he who is watching, waiting, maybe even concerned just a bit. If nobody else really cares (comments), then it might be okay if he didn't become quite so anxious either. In a way, his posts are a self-designed method of calibrating his anxiety level in accordance with a much larger population without actually asking everyone he knows why they aren't more worried about the storm heading our way.
I am amazed that he is trying to hard to define 'normal' and fit himself into it. I am amazed that he is so inwardly conscious of the fact that he doesn't fit 'normal' in such absolutely subtle ways. I'm sad that he feels he needs to change to be better accepted by his Facebook generation.
Never in a million years would I have come up with this strategy.
But I am so much more confined by my personality than he is.
Storms make my son nervous. He doesn't delight in the strength of nature - in the absoluteness of weather the way I do. He doesn't like drama. I don't either, but I do like definitive; statements of clarity. To me, storms are like nature's most definitive behavior. For my son, they represent potential chaos, destruction and personal harm. He's right. I'm probably the one who should be more wary than I am.
He's right to be nervous about storms that boil up in the middle of the night fueled by the build-up of heat throughout the day and the clash of cooler air that the evening brings.
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| listverse.com |
Unfortunately, storms are simply not something that will ever be 100% predictable; and he really needs them to be.
Hurricane Season is a dated time of the year. In other words, it has a specific term. There is a time when it's over and it's on a calendar. That's definitive. When storms erupt outside of these quoted dates, he needs to know why.This is what he respects about this time of the year.
"The Gulf has been pretty quiet this year" is all he will say so far. He knows the water temperatures in the Gulf are up but there's no moist cool air this year to fuel a storm. He's waiting in his quiet, pensive yet very alert sort of way.
Now that the cooler weather has arrived, he is less provoked by anxiety concerning storms. Where he once would close all the curtains in an "If I can't see it - it's less there" attempt, put his earphones on and surf weather channels, and bombard the local meteorologist with email questions concerning weather patterns, storm tracks and "upper-level lows," he now consoles himself by posting weather updates on Face Book for all his North Texas "Friends."
We had a storm last night. His last FB post was at 1:32am (complete with radar links and volatility forecasts). While I'm not crazy about him staying up well past midnight on Facebook - I have to admire is ingenuity in dealing with his anxiety in a way that is both helpful to himself as well as potentially to others. And by posting these storm warnings, he is able to gain an immediate barometric reading of how others are feeling about an impending storm. If he gets quite a few comments, he knows that it's not only he who is watching, waiting, maybe even concerned just a bit. If nobody else really cares (comments), then it might be okay if he didn't become quite so anxious either. In a way, his posts are a self-designed method of calibrating his anxiety level in accordance with a much larger population without actually asking everyone he knows why they aren't more worried about the storm heading our way.
I am amazed that he is trying to hard to define 'normal' and fit himself into it. I am amazed that he is so inwardly conscious of the fact that he doesn't fit 'normal' in such absolutely subtle ways. I'm sad that he feels he needs to change to be better accepted by his Facebook generation.
Never in a million years would I have come up with this strategy.
But I am so much more confined by my personality than he is.
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