Years of therapy - speech therapy, occupational therapy,
behavior therapy, and social skills. My 5 year old has worked his butt off to
learn how to understand and relate to the typical world. What a smile means,
what a frown means, what sarcasm is and why people don’t say what they mean and
mean what they say. Don’t hug, don’t touch, don’t stand too close because it
makes the typicals uncomfortable. We still haven’t got that down. Typical kids
jump away like they’ve never had affection at home. Sometimes I feel sorry for
them.
He. Tries. SO. Hard. He doesn’t get it right. The kids are
mean. He wants to give up. He echoes lines from his superhero cartoons “That
kid is NOT my bro.” He sobs in my lap for a half hour because I won’t let him
quit soccer this time.
And I think, it’s not fair really. He was born behind the
curve in understanding an illogical world. Meanwhile those for whom learning
comes easy breeze through with a scorn and a laugh, some flippant remarks,
adults who think we all “take it too seriously” when every day that we go out
in public is a war. A war to keep my child from sinking into self-hatred and
killing himself. Too dramatic again? Uh oh, better run back to your pintrest
and desperate housewives, because today I’m keeping it real.
See, words and attitudes do hurt, even for a child who might not have the
finest grasp on words. What he understands less is why he’s an automatic
outcast. He takes it out on himself, not knowing how he’s messing it up, but
knowing that he is.
My five year old said he hates himself and wants to kill
himself. Several times.
At first I reacted by saying I hate Autism. But I don’t. I
hate typical. Typical, self-important, entitled yahoos to whom life hands
apples and they make quips about what to do when you get lemons.
The week I was dealing with a suicidal five year old,
rejection on the playground, new soccer kids in new soccer team who scorn and
push and play better, meltdowns in public and sobfests in my arms; that same
week I am confronted by an internet post that mocked parents who have screaming
kids in target. Bring on the inevitable tidal wave of public opinion and
vicious posts about bad parents and rotten kids. I wasn’t mad, yet. I know
people are ignorant (though it’s 2012 and the information age, for God’s sake.) I'm always more hurt for Jaden than offended for me, because people think of him that way. Kids do pick up on those attitudes, yes even kids with disabilities. I insert a small PSA about special needs kids and thinking before you bitch,
and get the slap down because life is rainbows and I should learn to laugh
about it more. “We all have problems.” Yep, I can remember the time I had to
choose which coffee to make in the morning and trying to make it home from work
in time to watch my favorite show. God, life was rough.
I do laugh at myself, my problems, my issues and my
screw-ups. I make jokes about it all the time. Humor and finding the joy in my
life, or at least the sarcasm, is part of what holds me together. My husband
left me? I have jokes for that. Don’t have a job because I’m caring for my son?
Sure, poor humor is rich. You put down my son (or incite others to do the
same)? I will tear your fucking eyes out. Fair enough? Some things. Aren’t.
Funny.
Jaden is about to complete his 3rd year of
therapy. All that to relate to the typical world, and because that’s what he wants
to do, not because I give a damn about him looking like a “real boy.” And he’s
doing amazing, just absolutely amazing and I’m proud of him and the hard work
he’s done. He’s doing great until he’s around typical kids who see different a
mile away no matter how much therapy it’s had.
How much time have you invested in your kids, or even
yourself, to be able to relate to children/people/families with special needs?
If a child with special needs is behind already, and your honor roll kids are
so smart, why is it so hard for them to learn how to meet a child with
Autism half way instead of making that kid do all the work to get up to their
standards? Instead of handing out donations at the supermarket and thinking you
did something special, why don’t you spend some time teaching your kids what
special really is, why different doesn’t mean bad, and how to be a friend? We’ve invested 3 years and counting. You can
match that with at least a few days.
A child having a meltdown at the supermarket doesn’t offend
me, by the way, but a mean-spirited child sure does. I blame the parents.
