Sacrificed To A Greater Good

The chimes sing a discordant song orchestrated by the wind. The birds sing their own song in glorious refrain. Looking out on the waters of the bayou, sparkling with wind and sunlight, I'm filled with the life of the world. But I was never here. 

I don't know if the things you've done, good and bad, tip more one way or the other on the scales. I don't know how mine tilt either. How we contribute to the world, even the world doesn't know. The people around us can internalize one thing or another that we've said and done, and be better or worse for it. They may never know the weight of it themselves. 

In a dream I was sacrificed for The Greater Good. I and my child. I tried to define Greater Good first, to make that decision, but that decision wasn't asked or allowed of me. Only my sacrifice was demanded. 

Our Christian history is full of martyrs. Martyrs for God's Good and Glory are of a different story. The World's leaders don't get to decide for me, and especially for my son, what The Greater Good is, and demand my sacrifice. There is no Great Good if it's gotten there on a road paved with human bones. 

Continued in "This and the Moral Line"

This and the Moral Line

Before we answer “Why is this happening?” or “Should this be allowed?” should the whole question be defined first, or the question of what is “this”? 

If we separate and define what “this” is, examine it by itself and question whether it be good or bad and should ever be allowed, we come up with a line, a rule to judge the second. 

 

If, instead, we define the whole question, outlining a situation that may at the moment seem dire and urgent in its own way, we can ask “is basically anything allowable now that we’ve determined that the situation is a thing that really must be stopped?” 

 

In defining the problem first, with no moral line placed on whatever the solution may be (or the determiners may say the solution is,) then there is no line that couldn’t be crossed. 

That is part of the fight over the Constitution and the Amendments, which defined “this” for several things and said for no reason should “this” be infringed: not even a good and urgent reason. 

If we define “this” as never permissible, we don’t force no solution but better solutions. 

 

If anything is permissible under the right circumstances, then the right circumstances will certainly arrive, and we as a race concede that morality may be erased at any moment if it is For the Greater Good. The Greater Good of whom or what entities can be fuzzy. Lines that can be moved were not lines. A humanity that occasionally gives up its humanity for fear or convenience of uncreative solutions has given up on defining anything - up to and including their own sacrifice - as a line that can’t be crossed. 

A whole world view looks at no one in the face, cares about and remembers no one. It makes everyone into part of a chart of statistics. If those statistics are basically trending good, it will be called good, and your particular harms will be defined as an “acceptable casualty.” 

We must never give up looking at humans as individuals with their own humanity, their own choices and God-given rights to choices. If you would not be okay being an acceptable casualty, or your children, neither should you be okay with someone else or their faceless children being an acceptable casualty for your Greater Good. That, ultimately, is human sacrifice; a practice that never seems to go out of style. 

Therefore, we must define “this” and the acceptability of “this” before we define any pressing circumstances that may infringe upon it. When it does, we hold the line.

How To Take Action Against Injustice

 

We live in a world where injustice (or perceptions of it) is always in front of our faces, 24/7, flooding our veins with the adrenaline of a fighter with nothing to fight. Even before the internet (oh shush, you young whippersnappers) one of my pet peeves was the well-laid-out and long articles detailing a major problem, that ended with no way for me to contribute to a solution. Today we have our social media accounts to go gripe to, and the amount of shares and likes we receive count as the amount of difference we make in the world. But deep down, we know better.

There’s very little, it seems, that we can do about so many things, while so many things seem to be piling up. Yes, I see that injustice! What can I do? Tell me where to go. I’m ready. But no, we’re little peons with pocketknives for swords.

 

It may surprise you to know that Jesus’ times were full of injustices, too. I mean, slightly surprising. Because Jesus didn’t really talk about it, per say. But where humans exist, atrocities abound, and 33 A.D. was no different. There was sex-trafficking, rape, murder, and infanticide, and the unjustly accused dying. Jesus lived in an occupied country. And while those around him tried to trap him into talking politics on several occasions, He didn’t go for it. He did, however, address it.

 

Blessed are you who are poor, for the Kingdom of God is yours.

Blessed are you who are now hungry, for you will be satisfied.

Blessed are you who are now weeping, for you will laugh.

Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you and insult you, and denounce your name as evil on account of the Son of Man.

…

Luke 6:20-22 (read also 23-26)

 

Jesus came to change hearts, not minds. We should do likewise. Starting with ourselves.

 

But to you who hear I say, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you… Luke 6:27-28 (read also the rest of the chapter)

 

“Oh, clickbait!” you say. “I wanted a way to take action!” I know. I’m telling you, be patient.

 

Why do you call me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ but do not do what I command? Luke 6:46

 

Jesus came to change hearts, not minds. Arguing on the internet or across the Thanksgiving table with Uncle Joe may be a favorite pastime for some people, but it’s spinning on a hamster wheel, even if you score a few points or some likes. What does it do? Change the heart, and the rest will follow. We have to start with our heart to make it ready, malleable, presentable. That can only be done through constant prayer and connection with our Lord and Savior.

 

Then, “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.” Ecclesiastes 9:10

 

We see all the big out there, and want to do big and change big, and stomp all over the small things that are front of us to do. Take care of your family, be kind, pray, get involved with local things.

 

You see, we are coming apart at the seams because we’re the seams. For some of us, whatever little thing in front of us doesn’t seem big enough, and it can get ignored for the desire of a nobler cause. Something falls apart that wasn’t supposed to.

 

So yes, that’s it. I know it seems unsatisfying to some. Read, pray, love, do what’s in front of you, this day, to do. Turn off the internet more often. Goodnight.

 

 

Don't miss: I Cordially Invite You To Sin Against Me

 

A Beautiful Wedding And Tough Conversations Part 2

I've hesitated for a long time about updating this blog anymore with personal information. It was mostly about Jaden and his journey, and he's fine now, and if he wants anyone to know anything else, he can say it himself. And believe me, he's about to. Wisdom is his superpower, and he writes like a college-educated adult. It's about to get fun. 

But about us. My ex-husband is no longer my ex. Jaden got his wish, and we were remarried in 2018.

And again this December, but I'll get to that. Covid did us one favor and allowed my husband to work from home, so we moved to da Louisiana bayou. Then God did an interesting thing to my ever-searching-but-never-finding heart. He led me home to the Catholic church. We went through 6 wonderful months of spiritual education, my first marriage was annulled (I was twice-divorced,) and my husband and I were married up again with a good and proper Catholic wedding. 

A week before Christmas we were all confirmed in the Church. It's been a beautiful month. For anyone who is tempted to save me from myself, stop. I've been Protestant most of my life and have read, thought, searched, prayed. I also used to know everything. Arguments are funny when they're one-sided and the accusations not true at all. 

But my soul has found rest and I'm home now and that is that. It was a very unexpected turn of events all around, for sure. 

So about us. I have thought for a long time, "Nobody cares what I have to say." That may be true but I guess it's time to say things again and let other people decide. This time my wonderful autistic kiddo will also be chiming in with his own posts. Do look back at my old posts, because it wasn't vanity that drove me to share our life, but the hope of helping others who may be drowning. 

So stick around, keep following. Jaden and I have a lot to say.

Don't miss: I Cordially Invite You To Sin Against Me

I Cordially Invite You to Sin Against Me

It seemed to begin in earnest with reality shows. Oh sure, it was a thing already there, always lurking, hiding in the world’s oldest professions and creeping out like the snake it is to infect all parts of our lives. When you’re invited to sin with open arms, the temptation you face is made stronger by the fact that sometimes a person is tempting you with all their actions. It begins to feel like a victimless crime if the victim asked for it.

 

Why reality shows? Because those people signed on for the cameras, for the scrutiny, and ultimately for the ridicule. And if you ridicule someone who asked for it, in the privacy of your own home, who does it hurt, really? So you did, and you do. You judged their hairstyles, their walk, the way they laughed, their five extra pounds, the way they related to the world. Anything you could ridicule, you grabbed onto with both hands. You called it a “guilty pleasure.” It was a sin.

 

Eventually your scornful nature stopped feeling bad about it, stopped listening to that check in your spirit. Everyone does it, and you find like-minded scorners to show yourself that you’re in good company and everyone does it. You were, after all, invited. The monster fed is a monster that grows, and your scorn spills over to anyone that opportunes themselves. “Hey, if they didn’t want to be ridiculed, they shouldn’t have ---.” Guffaw.

 

If they asked for it, what’s wrong with that? For that matter, what’s wrong with sleeping with a hooker, or looking at porn, or taking up a willing one-night-stand? You always think a sin of this nature is to fight against Satan’s attacks on you, and that it’s about… you. If the person wanted it, it’s you who is the tempted, therefore it’s you who is the victim.

 

You were cordially invited to sin against someone, and you cordially accepted the invitation. Why a certain person may feel inclined to put themselves in a position to be victimized is varied and complex. It usually comes from places of previous victimization, deceptions, possessions. In other words, they have had a breakdown of their identity. Somewhere who they are has been decimated or twisted, and they are now acting out a part handed to them. Every sin invited and sin accepted against them is an affirmation that this twisted picture of identity is an accurate one.

 

The sins of scorn, sex, and porn are related, because it accepts a rotten and objectifying view of a human being. It makes the person less human, to become a toy for your pleasure and amusement.

 

How can this affect anyone if you’re at home alone? Well, it never ends that way and that’s that, but that’s the ending. There are spiritual laws (Luke 6:36-38) and let’s say: you are certainly not praying for that person and, in a way, praying against them. “For of the abundance of heart his mouth speaketh,” Luke 6:45. In spite of your beginning intentions, it starts to come across towards people in your own close circle. They notice.

 

“What I say on the internet is the internet.” There are people behind those memes, those 80s hairstyles, the “retarded” memes, the people you communicate with that you think are idiots. Humans whom God loves, and in spite of what they say, have soft and breakable hearts.

 

If God singled one person out and thundered loudly “I love her, do not sin against her,” would you ever dare make fun of her or look at her naked, even if she by her actions invited you to do so? I would hope you’d be too afraid to touch that, and move on to the next. But God feels that way about all of his lost children. He called us to be a witness, not one of the rabble tearing people to shreds and body parts. The world laughs at us for this reason. They know our hypocrisy and crack it open. To take the Lord’s name, that he gave you, in vain is a terrible witness.

 

Christians argue ad nauseam about theology, but when asked what was the most important commandment to follow, Jesus made it clear. “’Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’ and ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ ‘You have answered correctly,’ Jesus replied. ‘Do this and you will live.’” Luke 10:27-28 (NIV) Jesus made it simple, in the most difficult commands ever.

 

Broken people will invite you to sin against them. An engraved invitation to sin is still sin. Whatever a person says or thinks about themselves, or how they present themselves, is not an excuse to go against God’s laws and His desires for that person. Every one is one whom God puts forth, and Jesus uttered through his actions on the cross, “I love them.” He has an identity for them. We should all be more reverent to others in light of this knowledge. 

 

Does God Honor Evil?

 Many people are only now starting to look up terms like HEK293 and perhaps finding that it's in and used for so many things, the list could feel overwhelming. What do we do with this information? Some would say, honor the sacrifice for the Greater Good. What man meant for evil, God meant for good. I mean, yeah, I know that scripture, but let's not get out of hand. 

What is HEK293? They took a baby who had been aborted, took cells from it's parts, and made a cell line, tissue cultures that are experimented on. HEK = Human Embryonic Kidney.

Does God honor the acts of Great Evil? That's the real question isn't it? If we say "yes," then any evil could be excused into perpetuity as long as it's for the Greater Good. And before you cry "hyperbole!", perpetuity is what we're looking at.

 

A vast amount of medical science and knowledge was gleaned from the horrors of human experimentation. I'm sorry if you didn't know that, but it's true, and it would be dishonest to have this discussion without bringing it up. So many people blink and eventually say something like "so many lives have been saved." True, in a way, but so many have been lost. Human experimentation (of the horrific kind) never died, it just went underground, and the little bits of knowledge tossed out from the government about what the government "used to do" is enough to make a sane person sick. 

 

Aside from that and back to "so many lives have been saved." Medical errors are the third leading cause of death in the US. THIRD seems like a lot. This, of course, does not account for all the recalls in medical equipment and medicines, because ten years later it seems some these medicines are killing people. Oops. So we're all being experimented on, and these medicines aren't always that great. 

 

Who can count up the total of lives lost to lives saved? What's the balance, in the end? 

 

Let's say, for the sake of argument, that it's true. Many lives saved to lives lost (lives we try not to think about.) What are we saying? That extended life is what we were meant for, by whatever means? That saving our own lives until we eek out every last drop from it, taking more than giving, is not only the point, but worth the human sacrifices along the way? At what point could you muster the courage to say that your life is more worthy than to extend it through honoring evil, less worth than torturing another soul for to gain a few years? 

 

No, not all medical advances were built on torturous human experimentation. Some of it was. Is it honored?

 

Let's look at the here and now. Human brain cells are being grown in mice. Aborted baby parts are being sold at a high price, and we know it's not for nothing. Aborted baby cells are being kept alive to grow medicines, to test medicines, to test your food for flavorfulness. Does God honor these things for the Greater Good, or does He see them as the High Places that need to be torn down? 

 

We have no right to condemn the ancient tribes for practicing human sacrifice. They were trying to save the many with the few, for the Greater Good. One death for a crop, one child. How could we judge? But God did. He pulled down whole nations for it. 

 

What you do with the information you gleaned is between you and God. There are no easy fixes. My life was also saved once through medical science. But we must be sure not to assuage our own sense of complacency and call it The Lord. He has always demanded that we tear down the High Places. Only One human sacrifice was pleasing to Him; the One He sent Himself. WE have no right to demand that anyone give up, be tortured for, or risk their life for ours. We have no right to take evil and say it is good.

 

May God have mercy on our souls, we have turned a blind eye to medical science and whatever it is doing at the moment, as long as the outcome is to our benefit. 

Read If Any Drug Tested On HEK293 Is Immoral, Goodbye Modern Medicine whose argument is that that we can't escape being touched by evil. The author is not wrong on that account, so make up your own minds. There is also quite a list of things that HEK293 is used for, so I won't go into here, and description of so many ways that we all have blood on our hands. 

Research Synomyx

Read A Comprehensive List of Food Companies and Products That Use Senomyx (Used Aborted Babies)

Read LIST OF COMPANIES USING FETAL CELLS FROM ABORTED BABIES TO FLAVOUR PRODUCTS

Read about Project MK Ultra  

Read Nazi Medical Experimentation: The Ethics Of Using Medical Data From Nazi Experiments
by Baruch C. Cohen 

I Could Walk Away

"I could walk away now," I told someone in January. And until the words were out of my mouth, I had never even thought them. Not once considered them. But they echoed in my head for days into weeks, weeks into months. And with every passing day I took another step away.

I've been writing, blogging, admining, researching everything autism and special needs from the moment we got my son's diagnosis. Before that time I had already been writing, researching, etc. attachment parenting, and long before that studying child psychology. I'd say "It's just what I do," but really it's for the kids. It's always for the kids. Children aren't resilient (that's why so many grownups need therapy and are dx'd with personality disorders) and childhood can be a nightmare for some people, and if I can be that one little light in the dark for one person, then its worth it. But it starts with the parents, and parenting, because ultimately they hold the most influence.

Then I got thrown into my biggest challenge yet - parenting my own wonderfully stubborn (I'm serious, I dig that about him) child with a plethora of personal obstacles he had to overcome. Every moment meant something important and I wore myself out making sure it meant something important and all forward progress; to being the most confident, caring, self-reliant version of himself that he can be. It was hard work for both of us. I'd love to tell everyone how we did it, so I wrote more articles and counseled more people and, and, and... I'm tired. He's doing pretty good now. We continue to make forward progress, but on autopilot. Meaning, all the stuff is now second nature and we just do it.

So I went to school and got my English degree and made myself more tired but happy, and put up a website that I mentally gave myself a year to start making enough money to pay for itself. I was a single mom, I didn't have that much. Then I said the words and thought the thoughts. "We're doing really good. I could walk away now." From all of it. From a world I didn't volunteer for. Its a chance I know a lot of people don't have. I wasn't getting a lot of feedback. As far as I know, my voice is swallowed up in the wind of a million other voices and maybe doesn't make it past my face. I don't even know anymore. Was I helping anybody?

I didn't make a decision out of the blue. I just stopped. Rested. Thought. Stopped using Facebook. Stopped listening to the screaming fray. Stopped trying to yell over them. Just took a step back, and then another. Did a lot of thinking about what I wanted to write. About what I would have been doing if this parenting-special-needs gig hadn't swallowed me whole.

I decided to be selfish.

Then I got a text and drove 9 hours to Louisiana to help someone with a very difficult, stressful thing and did that for a month.

When I put the two together I said "God is laughing at me." Jaden said "It just proves you are who you are." Because he is wiser than I am, and less apt to jump to the conclusion that I'm the constant punchline of a cosmic joke. I'll still wonder.

So I guess the conclusion is that I did walk away, deciding to work on different types of projects. Still avoiding the world of online, preferring instead the company of bumblebees and the breeze blowing in the trees while I sit with a pen poised over paper. But I'm always on call.

Should You Tell Your Child About Their Diagnosis?

“When should I tell my child about their diagnosis?” 

“Should I even tell him?”
“I haven't had the heart to bring it up yet.”

Once upon a time, children who were adopted were rarely told that they were adopted until they were adults. This would be a devastating revelation because by that time, they felt that their whole life had been built on a lie.

Keeping a child’s diagnosis from them is the identity lie of the 21st century. 

We would only commit the lie of omission because the thing we hesitate to reveal is bad, right?

As much as you may not understand it, a mental health diagnosis is part of who your child is. Even a diagnosis we learn to overcome, such as anxiety or OCD, leaves grooves and scars, and shapes us in ways that a neurotypical person will never understand. If someone you love has a diagnosable condition, you may feel and even hope that if you ignore it, they can ignore it also. Life doesn't work that way.

Any health condition, and any mental health condition, is something that is going to make life more difficult in some way for the individual. If the atmosphere in your house is that “we don’t talk about this,” then the individual will probably feel that they shouldn’t talk about their difficulties. They should try harder to be normal, or at least look and act normal. The fact that this is a struggle when it seems to be so easy for everyone else is a cause for depression, heightened anxiety, mood disorders, self-harm, and even suicide. This isn’t hyperbole or a scare tactic. Children who commit suicide overwhelmingly deal with the struggle of trying and failing to fit in.

Ignoring the issue won't make it go away. It makes it worse.

No matter what you do or don’t do, your child will know that they are different. 

On the other hand, knowing that it’s not all in their head, or that there are others like them with the same struggles, and that it isn’t their fault for not trying hard enough, can be a bittersweet relief. In our desire to fit in, even finding a seat with your name on it in the Island of Misfit toys brings the comfort of community. And there is a community with your name on it.

So when should you tell your child about their diagnosis? Right now!  

How should I tell my child about their diagnosis?

The diagnosis should be revealed in a positive way. Parenting isn’t about you, it’s about them. You can have your cries in the dark corner of the Target parking lot, or get drunk and compare parenting notes at the next Moms' Night Out. And if you haven’t found your local special needs parenting community, that should be your next mission. They’re out there. But when you talk to your child about themselves, it’s about them, and your struggles parenting them shouldn’t have a voice in the conversation. Their identity shouldn’t be tangled up in improving your life.

My son was quite young when I started talking to him about his autism for the first time, and his receptive language skills (the ability to comprehend what’s being said to him) was low, so I kept it simple.

“Your brain works different than a lot of other people. That’s a good thing! The world needs people who think different. My brain works different too.” 

As he and his comprehension grew, so did his questions. I got books that we read together. He spent a lot of time among non-typical peers, and among our special needs community. We could both relax around other families who don’t blink an eye at odd behaviors; the ones that make everyone uncomfortable in neurotypical groups.

And like that, autism has always been a word in his life. There are no bombshells, no feeling isolated because he’s not like anyone else, and he doesn’t feel any negativity about his diagnosis or himself. He’s actually rather proud of his differences, while still understanding the extra struggles that it's brought him.

Talk to your child about their diagnosis, keep it on a level they understand, grow the conversation as they grow, and keep it positive. Find your community of non-typical peers and parents who laugh in the face of a meltdown.  

Why You Absolutely Should Be Friends With Your Child

“Am I scary?” I asked my son.

He wrinkled his brow. “Only when you mean to be,” he answered.

That seemed appropriate.

It was random question inspired by a somewhat disturbing novel I was reading, but I do like to check in with him from time to time. I like to get his take on how I’m doing at this parenting thing. Even if I were to disagree with some of the finer points of his perspective, it’s good that he feels safe enough to be honest. And sometimes he has a valid point. I’m not perfect. There’s still room for improvement.

The art of raising a child is in keeping the end goal in mind – while cherishing every moment of the present. The end goal is that we are raising them to be adults. In every act of discipline, teaching, admonishing, there has to be that question: how will this best shape their future selves?

Like every one else I’ve seen the parenting advice making the rounds on social media; the ones that say you should absolutely not be friends with your child. I say that’s absolutely wrong. That’s a terrible way to approach parenting; to keep your child at arm’s length, practically insuring that that distance will widen to an irreparable gap. Who will they turn to if they can’t trust you, or feel that you don’t trust them? They will either turn inwards, to their own inexperienced council and lies bred on insecure identity, or peers who are equally inexperienced and of questionable loyalties, or both.

Why not you?

The advice seems to grow from an erroneous belief that to give your child the gift of friendship will erode our position of authority. And I suppose if your goal is not to raise stable adults but raise fearful subjects, that will be true. If you want to keep yourself on a pedestal as long as possible, if your desire is for your children to bow in submission to your god status, then continue shutting them out. But really, you’re not that special. And really, your kids should know that. Otherwise, every parenting mistake you make, every insulting slip of the tongue, roll of the eyes, or temper tantrum you have, they will turn inward on themselves.

That’s why therapists get paid $150 an hour.

Because we’re all human and make mistakes, insult, roll our eyes, and have temper tantrums, the least we can do is save our kids twenty years of ‘self-discovery’ and tell them upfront that we’re idiots, we’re sorry, and it’s not their fault. We were idiots even before they were born. Humility is not a thing that will knock you down. When you show your child that level of respect, your god-like status may crumble but you will earn so much more of something real.

And, really dude, this parenting thing isn’t about you. It’s not about us. If you need it to be about you, you might want to try the therapy thing.

I am, however, reaping the most amazing benefits from deliberate parenting. I have the coolest kid. He’s bright, articulate, kind, and polite. He still likes me better than chocolate cake. We respect each other. When discipline is needed it’s like a quickly passing cloud on a sunny day. We never let it last long, never let things fester, because we’re friends.

Untitled is still a title

I started this blog so, so many years ago shortly before Jaden got his autism diagnosis. I’m actually a fairly private person (no, really) and even more, I try to stay respectful of my son’s privacy. I don’t post things about him that I wouldn’t have wanted posted about me growing up. Which means I didn’t write about a great many things, even if they could help others. Mistakes and issues and various quirks are part of the growing. I’ll leave full(er) disclosure for when he’s old enough to consent.

But – and especially at the time Jaden was diagnosed – autism fears, misconceptions, and ‘woe is me’ parenting attitudes dominated the headlines. Perhaps sometimes they still do, but my eyes have turned elsewhere. So this blog became about him, and really how awesome he is, and me trying to figure out my own part in his world.  Guess what? Being a parent is hard, and parenting a child with special needs is even harder. Mostly because we don’t want to screw it up. Because raising a child right is so very important. The most important thing.

I’m still completely dedicated to special needs advocacy and parental education and this isn’t a goodbye post. But I have to tell you why things might not be the same. Well, obviously things aren’t going to stay the same. Jaden isn’t 3 anymore and I’m not still lost and desperate. We got this. We climbed the *bleeping* mountain. I forged paths that others could follow, if they want to.

And when I got him to stable ground, it was time to do the same for myself. So I went back to college and instead of writing blog posts I’m writing papers. Actually, I’m still writing blog posts for my college because I work there as well. So we’re both in school, and I’ve joined the American ranks of the way-too-busy to sleep. Which is… really not much different than too stressed to sleep.

But we’re happy. And that’s different.

Jaden gets a birthday surprise! (It's a puppy!)

Jaden has been asking for a dog for a long time. We had to save up for one that we can train as a service dog for him.  
I took him to visit a friend while his dad went to "fetch" the puppy. Watch his reaction! It's priceless.

I'm a PG-13 Parent

I started cursing when Jaden’s dad left. I’m not saying I never cursed before, but the divorce proceedings brought out an unrestrained, almost talented stream of cursing and epithets. I don’t know about you, but I’m reminded of Clark W. Griswold’s epic Christmas speech.

I am not that talented.

Most often I would save this angst for the trips to and from my son’s therapies. Nashville traffic, after all, is the perfect sounding board for projecting anger. Instead of taking it out on him or anything in our personal lives, I saved it for the asshole who cut me off and made me slam on the breaks.

Sometimes Jaden would say, with awesome autistic logic, “You know they can’t hear you, right?”

Well duh. That’s kind of what makes it perfect. Not that I’ve never told off someone in person who needed the telling. I am, after all, an autism parent.

Some time ago I read one mother’s account of her “worst parenting moment ever.” It was a cute little story where she had accidently blurted out “read ‘em and weep, bitches!” while her angels looked on in open-mouthed horror.

“That’s your worst parenting moment?!” I yelled at the computer screen. Because this was part of my therapeutic M.O..

Keep up.

Either she was lying or she’s the holy mother’s twin. Either way, she thought her “worst” parenting moment so soul-cringing that she posted it for all the world to see and have some lolz.

My worst parenting moments I’m not likely to write up and glorify, but instead crawl cringing on my knees to beg my son’s forgiveness.

“It’s okay,” he’d tell me in soothing tones. “We all make mistakes. Remember when I said I hated you because I was mad? But you know I didn’t mean it. We all say stuff we don’t mean when we’re mad. I know that.”

Because he has the wisdom of Buddha, and the temper of Zeus.

I think of raising a child as one big experiment. The difference, I think, between raising a down-to-earth human or causing a personality complex is admitting your mistakes, your humanity, and asking for forgiveness. And offering a just amount of understanding and forgiveness in return. Some parents never say they’re sorry. To them it would be weakness to admit they fucked up as a parent. It would undermine their authority.

I can be human and a parent at the same time. To me, that’s the only way. My son needs no delusions of me as a God figure.

“What about God?” someone might ask. Oh right, the whole nary takingeth the Lord’s nameth in vain clause.

I doubt you want to hear my theological musings at this point because that would take us well into the night, and require a copious amount of coffee and personal trust.

But I find it funny that my “god dammit” would offend people who wrap themselves up in the name Christian while, I don’t know, cutting off a mother and her child in traffic (Honk if you love Jesus!) Or calling someone “retarded”. Or telling their kids that they are lucky they’re healthy and whole and not like them. Or slurring people who want to live differently in peace, or gossiping, or malice of any kind, all while wearing the name of Christ.

I’m pretty sure that’s the real definition of taking the Lord’s name in vain.

But hey, none of us are perfect. I forgive you.

My own little angel has a potty mouth too. I tell him to reserve it for my company only, but he slips up sometimes. I don’t really give a damn. I’m raising him to be a man, not a perpetual child.

His mouth better run though, if I hear the “r” word, a racial slur, or malicious gossiping or insults come out of it. I do have standards.

9th Anniversary of Hurricane Katrina

New Orleans wasn't the only area hit by Hurricane Katrina. 70 miles south, at the mouth of the Mississippi River and just a few miles from "the end of the road" (literally) is where I grew up. The eye of the storm made a direct landing here. To give you some context, New Orleans did not get the eye. 

Seeing the aftermath of total destruction in the town you were raised in is indescribable. I'll always be homesick for a place that no longer exists. 

The stores my grandma took me to when I was a toddler, 

the house she used to live in, 

the house we used to live in, 

the tree I climbed every day for years to see over the levee, 

the place my dad took us on picnics, 

the restaurant I helped my grandma in and had special family dinners, 

the auditorium where I bravely belted out lines from Our Town, 

the library where I devoured every worthwhile book, 

the place where I had my first date, 

the piece of ground we were standing on when my dad's eyes twinkled as he said "Let's make a memory," 

our favorite fishing spot, 

the church where I last saw my grandma and spent the night on the pew refusing to leave, 

the, the...

A childhood devoured. 

I rarely mention it. I lost little compared to everyone else in my family. But to think of the loss is like standing before a void that shouldn't be, and still not comprehending it. 

I only meant to post the photos on this post. It's difficult to look at them and not get nostalgic.

"After" pictures are not as effective without the "before" pictures, but I don't have those right now, except in my memories. 

This was the football field at Fort Jackson.
Only the very tops of the bleachers and press
box can be seen here.  

The line of land is the levee. To the right, the lane
of water was the road. 

Boats washed onto the levees.

Buras High School, where my dad went to school
and played football. 

I'm not sure where this is with it completely
covered with water. 

The bottom of the Empire Bridge.

Another view of Buras, Buras High School is
on the right.

My school, K-12, built on strong stilts for exactly
this scenario. I used to think it vaguely amusing. 

Letting yourself drown

and learning how to breathe. 

Some time back I wrote how getting the diagnosis and learning to live in this altered universe was like

drowning. 

Maybe I should take you into my own (strange) head because I want to explain. 

In the movie Abyss there was a scene (which was also about where I stopped watching it) where they had to fill their helmets and breath in this amniotic fluid stuff to go out into the deep. Obviously, their bodies fought the unnaturalness of it at first. 

This was the analogy I was really thinking of when I wrote those words. This is what goes on in my head. 

Or (and a more lovely thought) that we have gills, the inherit ability to breath in the deep, we just have to learn how to use them. Either way, living with or parenting special needs is a different level. This isn't the white picket fences, all-American Brady Bunch or Leave it to Beaver. This is no level of perceived normal. This is our strange Atlantis. 

When I read about struggles where it seems to turn the darkest, the grimmest - I can see many of these parents still trying to find the surface. They're still gasping for air. They're still trying to find normal instead of breathing in that this is their normal. 

They still care about what people think when they get "the look" or (don't ever) read the comments. They care too much what the neighbors think. Or their family. They haven't got a community around them of people who live

and breath

under the surface of normal. 

I'm going to tell you something - 

Trying to pull a struggling, drowning man to surface will get you killed. 

I was the unfortunate non-volunteer that this was demonstrated on as a child in swim class at the YMCA. It was etched into me that day. Every drop of drowning water. 

I see people struggling, striving to swim with one arm flailing on the surface and the other tugging their child's collar trying to get his head to the surface. And they drown. 

What do you do then, when your child is down there, in the depths? 

You take a deep breath. 

And let yourself sink.

Take their hand.

And learn to breathe in their world. 

Breathe

Their world. 

Because what does it matter 

what the Jones' think, how June Cleaver is keeping her house sparkly with one judgmental eye slanted your way, that they're praising Jesus in the church (that their kids are "normal") while you run out with a child who's screaming or praising Jesus too loudly, that the old lady in the mall remarked in your hearing that misbehaving kids should be spanked, that your uncle or brother or cousin or all of them give you a lecture when you feed chicken nuggets to your child at Thanksgiving, that your child isn't keeping up in school, that you have to drive to your child because he gets bullied on the bus, that your husband walked out the door because he couldn't handle the stress, that that that

it doesn't matter. 

What does it matter when that's your child standing in front of you? 

When it's your child that's distressed. 

When it's your child waiting, hoping, screaming for you to "fix it" and you DO whatever tiny, little anything you can to make it as better as you can even

if it just means

Taking them out of the crowd. Sitting with them in the dark. Pulling them out of school. Holding them as they fall asleep. Hugging them when they rage. Crying with them when they melt. Learning to understand them. 

Drowning with them. 

And if you're lucky they will teach you how to swim in it. 

And search for treasure. 

And nothing, nothing, nothing up there is worth breathing 

more than breathing your child

's world.