tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15155012880305113972024-02-20T19:45:43.126-06:00Confessions of a Tourettic MindObservations from a "special child" raising a "special child". Stories and perspectives from a adult "On the Spectrum" and Tourette's raising an Asperger's/Tourette's teen.
Tourette's/Autism/OCD/Sensory Integration Disorder as viewed from the inside out.BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.comBlogger127125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-22882541859401683262016-01-22T12:24:00.002-06:002016-01-22T12:24:38.720-06:00Summer Lessons<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Each of the last few summers has been a brief glimpse to what the next chapter in Nathan's life will look like. His graduation in May won't be a mere chapter closing. It will be the closing of an entire book of his life. Like mine, I believe Nathan's life will resemble Tolkien's great tome "The Lord of the Rings". There will be chapters, but there will also be entire books in his story's telling.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This book closes at the end of a long quest with a great victory in it's closing chapter. Unfortunately, most of the relationships that Nathan has will end with it. His solitary existence over the last 3 summers have been a foreshadowing of how the new book's beginning. Most who profess their love and friendship, even those who have shown him the most kindness will quickly and quietly fade from the story. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Just like a new book, Nathan's journey will continue, but with the newly introduced story arcs and cast. Much like Tolkien, the protagonist in this story ends this book in great joy and celebration. His journey's guide, the aged, yet still "incomplete" wizard knows where the next book begins and looks toward it with great trepidation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For now, we look forward to a long coming victory whose arrival is now easily measured in weeks. We will celebrate and revel in the joy it brings. Still, I can not shake my trepidation the next book's opening brings.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This book's closing also marks this blogs closing. This is the final entry. Should the passion to write our story return, I will open a new blog once the second book of our journey has opened. Then again, I may choose silence. I am finding greater solace there with each passing year. I know far less about what the opening of the new book means for me than for Nathan. Time will tell.</span>BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-71612379108677200442015-12-01T14:26:00.002-06:002015-12-01T14:26:11.858-06:00Little Black Slippers<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Those of you following along will have noticed that 2015 has been a difficult year in "Bateyland". Significant change has invaded every aspect of our family's life. At the same time, there have been moments that left me in slack-jawed wonder and deep appreciation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My lack of "mountains to climb" and "adventures to pursue" has been a recurrent theme, at least in my head, for most of my 40's. I've felt "adrift", particularly in the last couple of years. Answering "Ok...what now?" has been impossible.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Enter a pair of little black slippers, the stretchy, satin looking kind that seem very popular with ladies from cradle to grave. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This particular pair was adorning the feet of a rather quiet, much younger coworker. Everything "ankles up" was standard dress code (slacks, etc.). Most would never have noticed that they weren't flats, but we all know I'm not most. To my hyper-observant mind, they may as well have been chartreuse rather than black. My sense of humor generally takes over from here. I made some passing, good-natured jab about her "dress code violation". She responded that she was "tired of her heels". I considered this a completely valid reason for wearing them then and every other day for that matter. I don't know how you ladies don't end up crippled by those things in the first place.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">While "Black Slipper Girl" (which we'll abbreviate as "BSG") and I didn't become "friends", we were henceforth "friendly acquaintances". Hellos in the hall, brief small talk on occasion, and that was that. At least that's what we thought.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A few weeks ago, BSG and I encountered each other in the cafeteria. This time she requested a brief, private conversation. One of her "little ones", her youngest has been diagnosed with Autism. They've caught it at the perfect age to make the greatest impact. Coincidentally, they caught it in her at the same time we caught it in Nathan. We talked a bit. She received the same offer of support that all "newly diagnosed parents" get from us and my cel number. We chatted a bit that day via instant message as well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A little later, an unexpected text from an unknown number arrived. There she was, a very close copy of her mommy in miniature, with big, deep, soulful eyes. Even in a picture, those eyes give a glimpse of the "high-octane" intellect Autism is thinly veiling. The picture made it impossible not to fall in love with its subject instantaneously. Her tribe had found her. No matter what life may bring her, she is not alone. She is "of my tribe", Nathan's tribe, Josh's tribe, Blake's tribe, the tribal roster is long. She has her loving, supporting family, and now she has her tribe.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In our original "private talk" BSG and I firmly agreed that neither of us believe in coincidence. We share a common belief in God's Providence. A seemingly chance encounter between a pair of little black slippers and an old Autistic guy with a strange sense of humor placed us on a collision course that will benefit both families.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">All I have learned growing up "undiagnosable", but unquestionably different, all I've learned from the brilliant health and mental health professionals in our journey with Nathan, all the techniques designed for and taught to us by brilliant educators in two states, our whole body of experience, and our hearts themselves are open and available to BSG, her husband, her relatives, and later her children. In my quest for accomplishments and adventures, I'd completely overlooked something far more crucial. Purpose.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Purpose is the only thing that can give any meaning to life's difficulties and pain. It makes the suffering in both Nathan's and my journey valuable and useful. Purpose is the bond that makes us a tribe. Purpose ensures that those dealing with the brutal impact of a new diagnosis know they aren't "alone in the cold". Goals, accomplishments, and adventures can do none of this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Purpose changes everything. Purpose brings my life's real value into focus. Purpose makes a random encounter with a young mom in little black slippers tangible proof of God's Providence</span><br />
<br />BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-16698636398062772582015-11-12T09:46:00.000-06:002015-11-12T09:46:11.800-06:00InescapableMy writing process is extremely unpredictable. My readers are not. Victorious, happy entries get copious likes and glowing comments. Those entries that "pull back the curtain" get crickets. I'm OK with it. Everybody likes a "happy ending". Few lack the stomach for the details that created it, or worse, the chapters that end in unmet goals, unanswered questions, or hazy, unknown outcomes. Those are the "real confessions". They are the reason I write. Those fated to face them need them far more than the rest need to feel pride, joy, or get a good, old fashioned "warm fuzzy".<br />
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Never fear dear ones. I have a glorious "happy victory story" processing in my head. I just can't write it yet. For now, you get another raw, gut-level confession. I won't hold your reaction, or lack thereof against you.<br />
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<i>“The opposite of depression is not happiness, but vitality and my life, as I write this, is vital even when sad." -- Andrew Solomon</i><br />
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I've previously written about my new "heavily medicated" state and its benefits. With time, I've learned the boundaries my medications possess. What my psychiatrist and I have done is medicate away "the darkness". When depressed, I virtually never experience the deep feelings of isolation, failure, and worthlessness. Make no mistake. This is an immense blessing. Removing the darkness has exposed facets of Severe Depressive Disorder that I'd learned are there, but had never been able to directly examine.<br />
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Andrew Solomon is absolutely right. The opposite of depression is vitality. The lack of happiness and the dark feelings and thoughts hide an equally insidious symptom. Depression suppresses my "ability to live". Removing the darkness has left me with an almost persistent, "smoldering depression". The debilitating darkness is all but gone. In its place remains a passionless existence.<br />
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Only my passion for my family and closest friends withstands it. Cooking, shooting, musical study, astronomy, astrophysics, all of my most passionate activities hold no allure. My "group aversion" goes into high gear. If there's a group and you want to put me in it, even if my dearest friends are a part, I ain't gonna. Social interaction drops to very small groups of my "inner circle", one-on-one, or not at all. A large part of me just ceases to live. <br />
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Thankfully, the meds keep my head clear enough to work and significantly dial down my irritability. The meds do nothing for the often intense physical pain that accompanies depressive episodes. My doctors say they have nothing to offer for that.<br />
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The strange dichotomy for the "medicated me" is that I always knew the darkness was temporary. I knew it would pass like a storm. I still believe that depressive episodes are just that, episodes. This passionless existence feels permanent. It's strength varies at seemingly random intervals, but feels quite permanent. <br />
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It's like standing under an overcast sky. You know the beautiful blue is up there, but can't currently see it. You know that the clouds always pass, but there's always a nagging fear that maybe this time they won't. Until they do, I put one foot in front of the other and live for each moment when a little blue peeks through. <br />
<br />BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-78674558949543047732015-10-22T12:10:00.000-05:002015-10-22T12:17:17.277-05:00Bravado<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Bravado" has been one of my favorite Rush songs for years. It's been an anthem that aptly describes our family's commitment to walking the path before us, living life according to "our calling", and withholding nothing in raising our boys. I used to tell Amanda "Nathan will get the therapy/meds/etc. he needs if it bankrupts us." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If we burn our wings</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Flying to close to the sun</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If the moment of glory</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Is over before it's begun</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If the dream is won</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Though everything is lost</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We will pay the price</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But we will not count the cost</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When Nay was first diagnosed, it was paralyzing for me. It didn't change my behavior toward him nor my love for him, but hopes/dreams/expectations were obscured in a thick cloud of uncertainty and unanswered questions when we attempted to look forward. With a little time and a lot therapy, the true strength of Nathan's intellect showed through. It was all we needed to see. I say we. Amanda was probably there the whole time. Our task was clear, keep him on grade level academically and help him "catch up" socially and in his verbal learning and communication skills as quickly as possible. Our hope was to have him ready for college by the time he graduates high school. It presented a lofty summit, a wide river to swim for us all. Refusing the challenge was unconscionable. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When the dust has cleared</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And victory denied</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A summit too lofty</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">River a little too wide</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If we keep our pride</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Though paradise is lost</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We will pay the price</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But we will not count the cost</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The summit proved too lofty, the river too wide, at least for our abilities and resources. I'm willing to concede that it may be too lofty/wide for anyone with any level of resources. It's a small consolation, a thin blanket against cold reality. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Still, we're proud, insanely proud. Only those who have known Nathan since our "Texas life" can truly grasp how far he's come. Those who saw him very early here have some idea. The only real consolation is in looking back and seeing the tiny speck far below that was our starting point 16 years ago. We may not have made the summit, but we've climbed far higher than I ever dreamed when we stood in that tiny spot. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Again in life our path diverges from most of our peer group. As they work on choosing universities, pursuing scholarships, completing military applications, etc., we are working on SSI, ARCO, and other disability services applications. We may not have succeeded in what we'd hoped, but we will not stop climbing. We will continue to swim with all our might. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Unlike one phrase in "Bravado", we consider nothing in vain. Love does remain. We will climb until our dying breath. We will swim until the shore is reached, or until time pulls us under. We will continue to pay the price. Even at our final moment, we will not count the cost.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And if the music stops</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There's only the sound of the rain</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All the hope and glory</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All the sacrifice in vain</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And if love remains</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Though everything is lost</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We will pay the price</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But we will not count the cost. </span></div>
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BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-12222597259024590642015-09-08T12:29:00.000-05:002015-09-08T12:35:09.893-05:00Irrelevant<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In my last entry, I posed a question. It reflected a profound, undeniable, existential anxiety. In short, I asked "Am I a fool for living my Quixotic life? Am I tilting against windmills that will batter me as they did Cervantes' Don Quixote, remain standing, and carry on their existence unblemished?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The question remains unanswered. Events since my posting and the epiphany they brought have changed the playing field. Answered or unanswered, the question is irrelevant.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Why irrelevant? Because, in my own way, I AM Don Quixote. The outcome of the war is irrelevant. The effect of each battle is irrelevant. Whether I am actually making much of a difference is irrelevant. Those things that drive me to mount my steed and take up my lance to live the life of a Knight Errant are not choices I make. They are who I am. Somewhere in the twisted wiring of my brain lies the inability to turn a blind eye to suffering, leave ignorance as I found it, or see the windmills in front of me as anything less than monsters. I haven't chosen this life. I was built for it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Unlike Cervantes' Don Quixote, my path was not set by reading old chivalry texts until "his brain dried up and he went completely out of his mind." My path was set by the "miswiring of my brain" combined with the faith that I refuse to merely espouse. To live differently is to deny meaning and purpose to what has made me who I am, where I am. Denying my very nature and seeking to be what I am not yields my on path rife with pointless suffering and lessonless hardships. I can think of few things more tragic than a life lived in desperate struggle to be what one is not. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Should I be doing what I do? Am I making any real difference? Is it the world that's insane, or just me? All are valid questions. I can leave them unanswered because their validity is outweighed because who I am weighs far heavier than what I do in existential dilemmas. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-55661341184845301022015-08-31T09:00:00.001-05:002015-08-31T09:00:43.171-05:00Pointless?Yes dear readers, it's time for cognitive dissonance to again rear it's ugly head. The "forecast" would seem to indicate that Nathan's senior year will be rife with it. It's becoming harder and harder to avoid wondering if all my efforts to promote awareness, acceptance, and understanding are making any real headway, or are they just a cute novelty that lets people feel good about themselves each April while doing so with unchanged thoughts, feelings, and beliefs toward Autistic people.<br />
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I've long identified with "Don Quixote" in his quest to prove his merits as a knight errant by righting wrongs, defending the defenseless, and demanding honor for the downtrodden. The only problem with the "dear Don" is that he is patently insane. I've long accepted that when one undertakes Quixotic quests, either he, by definition, or the world around him is also "patently insane". Herein lies my dilemma.<br />
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My foes are somewhat difficult to describe, much less name. Ignorance is the most obvious, but there are other, equally insidious windmills to be jousted. If I can not name them, I will at least do my best to describe them.<br />
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This past Friday's game was Nathan's first appearance as an on-field sports trainer. At West Monroe High School earning such a position requires high grades in Sports Medicine classes and large amounts of "clinical" time learning the skills required. Taping doesn't come as easily for him, so he largely handles "hydration duty". He's a highly trained "water boy", but is also trained to help with any number of other tasks if called upon. The job isn't glamorous, but in the Louisiana heat, is absolutely vital to keeping the players healthy. Nathan is the proudest "water boy" on earth. He performs his tasks with great diligence. The joy on his face when he is on the job is unmistakable. <br />
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During the game, a friend asked me the dreaded "what's after high school" question. Being that this is someone I value and trust, I gave an honest answer of utilizing social services to get him a part time job and that he would continue his education, first at the local community college. His next question struck me like a shovel to the face. "Are you preparing him to live in a group home?" I was stunned almost beyond words. My answer was of course "no". Nathan will finish high school with above a 3.0 cumulative GPA. He is actually more prepared to live on his own than most kids preparing to leave for college next fall.<br />
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Here's where the cognitive dissonance comes in. If I can't adequately show Nathan's abilities, intellect, and potential to someone who has been in our lives for years now, what chance do I have getting it done on behalf of kids I can't defend to an audience I'll never meet?<br />
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Social media was again filled with his classmates and "friends" taking selfies after the game and celebrating the win. Many in his class participated in a community improvement project on Saturday (painting the town's flood wall with self-styled artistic images). Lots of pictures. No Nathan. We had no idea folks from his graduating class were involved. Probably the only thing worse than underestimated is forgotten, non-extant.<br />
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It all leaves me wondering "what the hell am I actually" doing here? Am I jousting windmills or fighting real monsters? Am I changing the world in some small way, or am I just providing people with a yearly "low-cost, warm, fuzzy feeling". Are the images on my arms inspiring reminders to think differently, or scars from a war I never had a chance of winning?<br />
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Most importantly, do I pound the dents out of my armor, craft a new lance, and prepare for the next battle, or do I place my splintered lance on the pile of those from other failed adventures, and hang my breastplate above the mantle as a reminder of battles that my heart demanded, but my head should have quashed before the first charge was made.BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-18321074001649810032015-08-24T10:12:00.000-05:002015-08-24T10:33:03.310-05:00The Itch<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We've all had it, that itch, the one that won't quit, the one you can't scratch "in polite company", the one on your foot while you're driving. Maddening, ain't it. Welcome to having Asperger's, OCD, or any of the forms of Autism that cause obsessions. Welcome to "the itch".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It seems all of my tribesmen have their own itches. Make no mistake. You can't have just one. Our "standard options package" comes with one for every occasion. If it can be pondered, it can be obsessed over. Entertainment, hobbies, peoples' body parts (noses, eyes, ears, hands, feet, stay with me here folks. It's a "family show".) The objects of obsession are limitless. If we love you, bet everything you own, we obsess over you or something about you. If you dislike us, we may even obsess over the "why" and "what did I do". Personally, I've found that declaring those in the latter category as "just an asshole" tends to give me a scratch that is perpetually effective. Accurate or not, it works and "gets me through the day" when those folk are encountered. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Scratching it? Wish it were that simple. I can't reach far enough up my nose to get to my brain. These can be "scratched", but here's where the real trouble starts. Scratching these requires mentioning, touching, staring at, or some other socially awkward behavior toward the object "in the crosshairs" to get a fleeting moment's relief. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We fight incessant battles between a runaway mind and our will. We don't want to "scratch". Try telling someone at work or school "you have such unique, interesting ears". The momentary horror on their face can be rather entertaining, but there are definite "long term costs" to such behavior. None of us suggest indulging in "a good scratch" on a regular basis. I don't care how much awareness and acceptance there is out there. The average neurotypical isn't aware enough for that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Those who love us most find things they value more than "the itch". We can even reach an acceptance level with our closest where our itches are "out in the open" with them. Sometimes, we can even share a laugh.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Welcome to our war. The first shots are fired when our eyes open in the morning, but may not stop when they close in sleep. We even itch in our dreams. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Outnumbered and out gunned by an enemy that never sleeps, this is one of our wars. We resist, evade, medicate, and most importantly, cling dearly to those to whom our itches don't matter.</span></div>
BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-80462196649590411872015-08-17T09:15:00.000-05:002015-08-17T09:15:45.876-05:00A Tale of Two Families<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My die-hard readers will very quickly recognize this entry hearkening back to "No Country for Old Autistics". I've recently been pondering the strange dichotomy between those families who value both Nathan and me both in spite of, and because our differences, and those families who have members, generally the children, Nathan's peers, who value Nathan, but find me completely unacceptable. I've gone to equal lengths to know and show tangible appreciation for both families. The polar reception I've gotten has left me perplexed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As usual dear readers, when I'm perplexed, I drag you all "along for the ride".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This topic would scarcely pass muster for a blog entry had I not invested as much thought into it over the years we've know these two families. Their reception of Nathan only differs due to the personality differences in the individuals involved. There is little if any quantifiable difference in their acceptance of Nathan. My experience could scarcely be more different. All examples I'll use are primarily actions-based. I place very little stock in words, though some examples will be of things said that reflect the opinions of the speaker.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'll start with the kids, Nathan's peers. Both are real, loyal friends. They each involve them in their lives in unique, but equally valuable, valid ways. Both feel very protective over him and have no tolerance for any form of mistreatment that "lesser humans" may wish to attempt. Both have proven their loyalty behaviorally. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For anonymity's sake, I'll refer to these families as Family A and Family B. Children from Family A value me equally with Nathan. I receive full acceptance and feel very loved by the whole group. I consider the parents my friends and the children as lovely blessings who pour into my heart in ways they can't yet understand.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Family B continues to perplex me. The older children place great value in Nathan. Their level of acceptance and value toward him are indistinguishable from Family A. The parents are benevolent toward him, though not as involved with him as Family A. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Things get strange when I enter the picture. Family B's kids are unpredictable. They can be engaged, respectful, and almost accepting at times. At other times, their indifference and almost palpable disdain borders on dismissive and rude. The adults in the family don't perplex me at all. In their eyes, there is something very wrong and unacceptable with me. I won't give quotes of things they've said to my face. Doing this would identify them to my "inner circle". Suffice it to say, these are some of the most insensitive, rude, and demeaning things anyone has said to me in my adult life. I've learned the hard way to avoid the adults in Family B whenever possible.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The solution should seem easy enough. Avoid all of Family B. Allow Nathan his relationship with the Family B kids and move along. It's not that easy. I can't help but love those who love my children. I've wanted desperately to turn it off, but can't find the switch. It's a disconcerting position at best. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm left with few options. Family A is golden, and are treated as such. They enrich our lives in more ways than I can list and allow us to do the same for them. I won't interfere with Family B's relationship with Nathan. He enjoys and gets great benefit from it. For his sake, I will accept my debased humanity in their world. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Let me close with a disclaimer. There are several candidates for both Family A and Family B's position in this entry. Abstraction is used to protect both the golden and the guilty.</span><br />
<br />BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-86711110016292105312015-08-10T11:28:00.000-05:002015-08-10T16:24:42.231-05:00Allies<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I've been on a bit of a tear this week. It's the last week before Nathan's senior year. Apparently, senior classes here declare this "Senior Week" and hold all forms of private gatherings, etc. Those of you raising special kids already know where this is going. We knew nothing about it. Nathan wasn't made aware of anything.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I freely confess. I "went Chernobyl". My Facebook status read "Apparently being autistic trumps being a senior." I was wildly angry with a rage fueled both by my anger for Nathan's being "forgotten" yet again, and by again being forced to watch my own early years replayed before my eyes with my child as the "protagonist". </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Fortunately, both Nathan and I have allies. In this case it was a dear friend who LOVES Nathan. Actually, whether she or her daughter love Nathan more would make for an interesting mother/daughter blowout. The bonus of the deal is that daughter's boyfriend is quite fond of Nathan, and more importantly, respects him for who he is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I contacted this dear friend via chat and WENT OFF. As all real friends do, she filtered all the shrapnel from the blast and saw what I was saying. One sentence and everything changed. She told her daughter. Daughter and boyfriend immediately volunteered to pick Nathan up and take him to the next party.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have some great friends, but some go that extra step that defines an ally. Friends listen. Allies act. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nathan had an amazing time at the party. It's his first, official "senior year memory". He got to make the same kind of memory that "everybody else does". His friends came in for a visit upon bringing him home. Apparently he was greeted by the crowd in a fashion that those my age remember as the "Norm at Cheers greeting". He walked up and a rather unified "NATHAN!!!" rang out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Three people, that's all it took to change the ending of the "rerun" I was watching. Like military allies, our "life allies" saw us under attack from reality and came to our aid. The pictures from the party show my boy "with his people" and loving it. His smile and demeanor delivered an undeniable message. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The 800lb gorilla in the room at this juncture is my point of view. Do I choose to remain angry that he was forgotten by many who regularly profess their affinity for Nathan? No. I choose a different view. I won't "prosecute them as adults". These are kids. I refuse to believe that Nathan was "purposefully forgotten". Seventeen and eighteen year olds just don't have the maturity and life experience to be held to such a standard.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I choose to view Nathan's peers in light of his reception and treatment when at the party. Make note dear readers. For one brief moment, I'm setting aside my jaded cynicism and feeling very happy for my boy and proud of his peers, in spite of their "forgetfulness".</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was quite tempted to just keep this entry to myself and find some other topic. My self-imposed transparency standard wins again. My allies, though unidentified, deserve more than a simple "thank you". Their simple, but effective actions changed everything.</span></div>
BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-28832292916957117112015-08-03T10:22:00.000-05:002015-08-03T16:26:15.555-05:00Superpowers<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We all have them, at least all of us on the spectrum do. At least this is what I believe. I've met far to many of my tribe to believe that "savant abilities" are the rarity they were once thought to be. Recent experience has definitely supported this position.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was watching The Food Network back in January, just a day or two before Amanda's mom passed. It was just Nathan and me in the house. He came out and explained to me that he could do something interesting. I paused the TV. Culinary idea theft is a passion of mine. The boy telling me he can do something extremely unique was worth a pause.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He presented me some easy examples, so I decided to put his claim to the test. The results were impressive. I continued to push the limits of his newly declared ability. It became very obvious that Nathan has a Superpower.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A Superpower? Yes. That's what I choose to call them. I dislike the stigma carried on the word "savant". It conjures up images of people with one incredible mental ability but with crippling deficits in all others. That definitely doesn't describe Nathan, nor does it describe me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At first, Nathan didn't believe what he could do was real. I assured him it was and used the "Superpower" analog to help him accept it and enjoy his special ability. I assured him that I'd talked to our "shrink", and that she fully believes it and is impressed beyond words with what he can do. I've seen him using it to connect with people recently and as an "ice breaker" with people he meets. He's leveraging his far earlier than I did mine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The more astute readers have noticed that I haven't disclosed the details of Nathan's "Superpower". I'm not going to. Some would use him for entertainment as though he were some trained monkey. Not interested. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nathan's ability has been demonstrated for trusted family and friends. Those he chooses to show are his choice and his business. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've known numerous other people "of my tribe" who have Superpowers of their own. Yes, even I have one or more. Unlike my approach with Nathan, I will disclose my own. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am hyper-observant. My brain unconsciously records massive amounts of data about people I encounter. Once a set of norms has been identified, I can recognize people from great distances by their gait, stance, and several other characteristics. I can determine a person's emotional state by those same measures, as well as the two syllables of "hello" when they answer the phone. I can even read "tone" into text messages. I have NO IDEA how, though I suspect my brain has a "norm" identified profiling the person's normal word choices and immediately pics up on deviations. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's taken most of my life for me to learn to utilize this rather strange mental ability. It comes in very handy in technology work and in the corporate world. Lying to me is VERY difficult. Folks may try, but it usually sets off alarms in my head. In technical designs, I see the big picture and minute detail simultaneously and with equal understanding. I once thought everyone could do that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My left arm bears a tattoo that speaks to both the Superpowers autism gives and the things it takes away. It has become the symbol of my message to the world. Imagine what we'd be if we had all that autism gives, but lacked nothing it takes. The missing piece is much smaller than what remains. See us in terms of what is there and not what is missing.<br /></span>
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BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-13082021700457963502015-07-23T10:32:00.002-05:002015-07-23T10:32:32.311-05:00The Bill<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>NOTE: </b>This one is a bit "off topic". It's definitely "a confession", just one of a different sort. I've learned that I have to write some things as part of processing through them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's happened. The
bill has come due. Like a direct draft
from the depths of my being, it has been taken from me. No ignoring this invoice. Late payments are not accepted. Funds are withdrawn without possibility of
negotiation. Even if it causes
overdraft, the charge always clears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What bill have I paid? The cost of love and of being
loved came due. Let me explain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The lady known as "my sister" was brutally
mauled by a pit bull terrier that outweighed her by almost 20% (she's
tiny). As tooth and claw rent her skin,
my heart was quietly, painlessly mauled as through some unseen "quantum
entanglement". Her pain was
immediate. Mine was yet to come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Surgeons cleaned and closed her ghastly wounds.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Opiates eased her suffering.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> While her pain was being remedied and reduced, mine arrived. At present, neither of us are "pain free". Hers will be a long recovery. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Bourbon, tears, and prayer are still working
on mine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I received a call yesterday from a dear friend in a past life few
know I had.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">His dad is in the final
hours of his earthly journey.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We
talked.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We prayed.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Another line item in the invoice. I pay it with a sense of honor and pride. He could have reached out to anyone. Serving him was worth the cost and then some.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My best friend Mark's mother-in-law finished her journey
today. It wasn't unexpected, but another of my dearest is suffering. They suffer, I suffer. The total grows higher.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Our church organist's father made the same
transition. Again, not unexpected, but another dear one in distress. She's a darling woman. A princess among organists and the queen of
my "fan club". Bassists and
organists have been at war for decades.
She doesn't play pedals when I'm on bass. There is no greater compliment from organist
to bassist. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Social media reminded me that it's the one year
anniversary of a benefit "my pickup band" played for a coworker and
college friend who finished his battle with cancer late last year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Facebook declared that it was my high school friend
Teresa's 48th birthday. She died
suddenly a few weeks back from an unknown heart condition. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">These are the line item charges that have been deducted
from my meager heart and threadbare soul this week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They are charges I never saw coming due, yet pay without
regret. This is the bill I've
incurred, not through mistake, misdeed, misfortune, or greed. This is the cost of loving and being
loved. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The expense is not small.
At times it takes me dangerously close to complete insolvency. Still I pay without regret. I don't begrudge the universe its due. Through the pain of the withdrawal there is a
joy in the incurrence of the debt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I fear "the bill coming due", and I don't. I fear a
life devoid the cost of loving and being loved far more.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-65957394151601053382015-07-13T13:01:00.000-05:002015-07-13T13:01:32.174-05:00Embracing the Silence<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As my confessions go, this is a big one. I've spent most of my life afraid of silence. I found no solace in solitude. In my early life, I'm not sure I ever experienced silence as most people do. Far from a place of rest, silence and solitude for me were a house of horrors.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the silence, there was nothing to push back "the voices". Please note these were not voices I heard that "weren't me", or were from the outside, like schizophrenics experience. This was the "self talk" and repetitive thoughts that are all to common to autistic and Tourettic people. The accusations flew. "You're crazy. If you weren't you could stop the thoughts." "You'll never marry. Who'd want you." "You'll never please God. How can you when profanity flies through your head uncontrollably?" "You'll never amount to anything musically." "You'll never have real, loyal friends." The list was long.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My college roommate was once blown away that I'd spent 9 hours by myself one Saturday when he was out of town. I managed to get through it without major emotional turmoil. He was impressed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Through the years, I've undergone a shift. Through my 20's, and well into my 30's, my life was dominated by Tourettes and the obsessive/compulsive drives that undiagnosed Autism provided. With the return to medication in my 30's, the driving forces moved from those to varying levels of clinical depression. As I slowly learned to just ignore Tourette's and accept the OCD for what it brings, both positive and negative, the primary adversary became depression. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Depression wasn't new to me. It had just been further down the list of adversaries than the rest. Having those largely "mitigated", the underlying depression that had provided a "noise floor" for my existence came into clearer view. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm going to indulge myself a quick aside here. I don't take medication for Tourette's Syndrome. I scarcely know I have it until some individual with sub-par social skills chooses to bring it up. I realize that it makes people wonder and even makes some people uncomfortable. I haven't given two hoots in hell about that since somewhere in my late 20's. If my Tourettic behavior bugs you to the point where you believe I should medicate for it, get yourself some pills. I ain't gonna.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'll say this about clinical depression. It's an amazing teacher. The longer I've struggled with it, the more I've come to value solitude, even solitude to the point of partial sensory deprivation. A dark, quiet, chilly room, with a comfortable bed, covers, and a nice pillow has become my "fortress of solitude". </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The struggles of the last two years have taken this even further. My new-found comfort in silence and solitude has completely rewired my interaction with the human race. Amanda has noticed this one. I've spent most of my life engaging with people, building relationships, hoping to add to the short list of real, "body-mover" friends. This drove me to be very "servant-hearted" and welcoming toward people. I was always doing. Amanda has a heart bigger than Texas and never says "no" when it comes to my desire to improve someone else's temporal state. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My finally receiving an accurate diagnosis and better medication for my condition and some difficult times in our immediate family came together as a "perfect storm" of change in my relationship to humanity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">During our difficult days, those on the "body mover" list made themselves glaringly obvious. Others issued standard platitudes. When given the standard "let me know if I can do ANYTHING" line, Amanda responded with "We REALLY need someone to do (specific task) for us". The person acted as if we'd asked them to dig and lay a new sewer line for the house. It was almost predictable and a bit surreal.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The last few years of keeping depression in focus and a targeted, honed pharmaceutical regimen, have yielded new coping strategies and new found freedoms. Failed relationships no longer haunt me. Perpetually failing relationships that I can not extricate myself from don't trouble and weigh on me as they once did. They are what they are. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Silence and solitude have become my allies. If I'm not in the company of Amanda, the boys, or at least one "body mover", silence and solitude are now my preferred companions. I never saw this day coming, but am exceedingly grateful it has.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-57407410210137498622015-06-30T11:52:00.000-05:002015-07-07T14:17:52.234-05:00Howlin' at the Moon<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">April came and went in a whirlwind. Paint 'em Blue for Autism went truly world-wide this year. We had participants from 21 countries that we know of. The web media had quite a frenzy. It began with our local newspaper, and within a week, I'd communicated or spoken with SheKnows.com, NBC, ABC, CNN, Huffington Post, both US and UK, and CafeMom.com. Our local TV station did an interview. Other TV stations around the US and the world used the story on the wire. Millions were made aware of the autistic people around them, if only for a moment. It was an exciting, electric time. Putting it simply, it was wild.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the weeks since, I've done a lot of thinking, pondering, analyzing, rethinking, re-pondering, reanalyzing. I'm on the Spectrum. It's what we do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Folks painted. They cheered. They encouraged. A couple of really dear friends even got awareness tattoos, which was moving beyond words to me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All my pondering, etc. led me to a place best described by a favorite Kansas lyric:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13.3999996185303px; line-height: 19.1428565979004px; text-align: center;">I'm woven in a fantasy.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13.3999996185303px; line-height: 19.1428565979004px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13.3999996185303px; line-height: 19.1428565979004px; text-align: center;">I can't believe the things I see.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13.3999996185303px; line-height: 19.1428565979004px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13.3999996185303px; line-height: 19.1428565979004px; text-align: center;">The path that I have chosen now has led me to a wall,</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13.3999996185303px; line-height: 19.1428565979004px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13.3999996185303px; line-height: 19.1428565979004px; text-align: center;">And with each passing day I feel a little more like something dear was lost.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Did we really accomplish anything? Did I accomplish anything? I've invested time, creativity, effort, and even modified my body. Nathan still sits home with his family, living a solitary life, seldom if ever sought out by friends, or invited to participate in their lives. We, his parents are still forced to witness his exile. This is his senior year. I fear that once he graduates, he will be forgotten as his peers continue on at a pace he can not match.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is "my wall". This is the barrier in my mind that I cannot get past. I freely admit, my motivation for beginning this was not saintly, nor selfless. I want to improve Nathan's life. The whole point is awareness, acceptance, integration. We seem to have made some progress on the first two, but integration continues to elude. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here I stand. Facing "my wall". I see no ready hand holds for climbing. It stretches from horizon to horizon in my conscious mind. There it stands, unmoving, unmovable, representing the question stuck like a splinter in my mind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Am I effecting real change, or just howlin' at the moon?</span>BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-52743377336158919462015-05-18T12:27:00.000-05:002015-05-18T12:27:16.029-05:00Love/Hate (No Country At All)<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It would seem that Nathan, Amanda, and I have "love/hate" relationships with both the school year and the summer break as well. Each brings its own set of challenges and benefits, struggles and blessings.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The school year is always an odyssey. The late nights, frustrations, and demands of Nathan's education are hard on us all. It can be downright demoralizing at times. It pushes us all past limits we didn't know we had. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the midst of all this, Nathan is surrounded by his peers. He is forced into people's lives. Most seem to enjoy his presence. Everyone we meet tells us how much they love him and has a "Nathan story" to tell. He loves this. He feels he has a place and people. During this time, a portion of his life resembles, in some way, that of his peers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then comes the summer. Our tired family counts the days. We rejoice in Nathan's success in completing another year with solid grades. Our excitement is easily eclipsed by Nathan's. He gets weeks of free days and evenings, with only his few chores to demand his time and effort. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Summer is "The Silent Time". When his colossal frame leaves their site, the rest of him leaves their minds. Summer presents a desolate passage. With the almost crushing demands of the school year, so go his peers. He spends countless hours alone in his room just passing the time. We interject entertainment and social interaction as much as we can, but are a paltry substitute for the school year illusion that he has a place with his peers. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Amanda and I enjoy the break and do our best to push back the creeping bitterness that witnessing his solitary state invariably brings. We've exhausted every civilized means to change this part of his yearly journey, but to no avail. I prepare myself to battle back the anger, angst, and mordancy of watching this part of my own experience reenacted on my son like some perverse birthright. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I recently posited that there is "no country for old autistics". I think I was wrong. I suspect there is no country for any of us, no country at all.</span>BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-81594338836173974702015-03-09T11:26:00.002-05:002015-03-09T11:26:46.614-05:00No Country for Old Autistics<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There seems to be a definable gap in the acceptance level that is offered to "Spectrum Folk" these days. Awareness efforts and early diagnosis have done wonders for those born after Asperger's/High Functioning Autism/etc. were added to the DSM IV. People of all ages offer an unprecedented level of acceptance and kindness to those my children's age and younger. Those of us who are older, and received correct diagnoses later in life are viewed quite differently. Acceptance, and tolerance for our differences lag far behind what younger non-neurotypicals experience.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I began to notice this gap several years ago. It has become unavoidable in the last few years. My finally receiving a correct diagnosis at age 46 has made it impossible to ignore. Some of those who love, value, and support Nathan in spite of and even because of his differences view me with a jaded "can't you just get your shit together" perspective. Though our diagnoses are virtually identical, our experience, even current experience, could not be more different. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Let me be clear. I do not begrudge Nathan his "easier path" in this particular area. I'm greatly relieved that he is not "reliving my life". I struggle not to resent those who are so benevolent toward him yet simultaneously so jaded toward me. I see the difference in their faces and hear it in their words. Once, after telling a group of ladies I'd just met about Nathan, the one lady in the group who knew me looked at the group and said "yes......we love Brian because of his son." I was almost rendered speechless. Almost.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It seems that for those of us who got where we are without the benefits of modern medicines, therapy, and awareness/acceptance campaigns are expected, at least by some, to keep clawing our way out and to someday become neurotypical. The expectation is mind-bendingly paradoxical. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Honestly, I don't expect "the guilty parties" to ever get it. Apparently, offering understanding, kindness, and a little deference to younger spectrum folk is all they can manage. They will continue to expect me to "be less weird" or "just get my shit together". I will keep doing my very best not to hate them for it.</span>BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-80148788277722121952015-03-04T12:26:00.000-06:002015-08-03T16:32:44.752-05:00My Days as Nathan<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It happened. Nathan was bullied again this week. It's such a rarity these days that it even catches me off guard. This time it was of the "cyber" variety. That's a first for all of us. It didn't exist when I was his age. The pattern of abuse was all too familiar. Only the proximity between persons and the transmission media were different.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sitting in the assistant principle's office, I was taken back to a scene buried in a dusty corner of my memory some 32 years ago. It reminded me that I was "Nathan" at one time. It stopped me cold. I had to apologize as the contents of a long forgotten bottle intermingled with fresh liquid from my "proxy pain" for Nathan drained down my cheeks. I remembered it all, the faces, the names, the confusion, the disappointment. With the pain came a useful clarity. Our diagnoses are the same. I don't just understand Nathan. I "am Nathan". </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The deficits that exist in his ability to read and correctly interpret social situations were once my own. I could see how he'd been lured into a trap he never saw coming, only to realize it beyond the point where self-extrication was possible. His developmental delays had been used to his detriment and other's entertainment just like my own, with one critical difference. Me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The past 32 years have "caught me up and then some". I'm not only aware of who and what I am now, but also of who and what I was then. The school administrators were quite receptive to my telling of the "first person" view of what Nathan had been through, the gaps in his development that made him an easy target, and how those were manipulated to get him to a place that a neurotypical person would have spotted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I prayed for many years that my children would not experience life as I have. That ship has sailed. I can't change the path they must walk. I can, however, change one thing. They don't walk it alone.</span>BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-61609850761838283462013-10-07T09:48:00.004-05:002013-10-07T09:48:33.929-05:0017<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nathan turned 17 on Saturday. He did so surrounded by family and friends. The house was packed. Fourty people dined "at my table". I'm grateful for each and every one. Nay made out like a bandit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The entertainment again this year was our demanding that he read each card to the crowd. He HATES doing it, but his commentary on the cards and the experience itself are hilarious. It does him good. Earlier in life, being the center of attention once rendered him all but inert. Now he takes it in stride and "performs" for his audience. Just another "daily miracle" in our world</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The collection of people in our home are a treasure we could never hope to earn. The stories of their kindness toward Nathan and the rest of his family are too numerous to tell. They strengthen us all in our journey. Though they'd never accept credit, they "lighten the load".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Realizing that Nay is now seventeen has been very sobering for me. It's brought with it a litany of hopes that haven't yet been fulfilled. Contrary to my claims that "hope and I aren't on speaking terms", hopes are a hard thing to shake. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In spite of Nathan's miraculous growth and social development, I find myself hoping for more. Each passing year brings the differences between his social abilities and his peers' abilities into more stark relief. Hope is a cruel delusion.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Each birthday reminds me that while many are invited to his celebration, he receives precious few invitations in return. Celebration pictures in social media remove any doubt that little has changed or will on that front. I see the faces of the constant parade of girls over the years who have told us how much they "love Nathan". I hold no hope that any of them are fantasizing about him as their prom date. I can't allow myself to think on these things often. Doing so feeds a bitterness that I don't think I'm strong enough to defeat. My only hope is starving it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have to confess. These are my hopes and dreams, not his. Nathan is a happy kid. He always has been. I'm more thankful for this than I can express. Nathan always has and continues to be my "running buddy". No matter where I'm going, Nathan is always game to tag along. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nathan's dream is to go to college. He wants to go to Tech. We're working hard to prepare him. It's been the goal since day one. We tell each new set of teachers "we haven't ruled out college for Nathan. We believe he can do it." It's Nathan's dream that makes seventeen so sobering.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There is much left to be done. Seventeen tells me that the sunlight of his childhood is waning. We need more time. He's come so far, but hope has again betrayed me. Where hope fails me, Nathan never does. He has consistently burst through every limitation I thought he had. He continues to amaze. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My fears and disappointments are mine. He seldom seems bothered by any of it. He is stalwart and strong. I have no doubt he'll find his own path and accomplish what he chooses. He always has.</span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-25814688203207053172013-09-23T08:45:00.000-05:002013-09-23T08:45:00.193-05:00Waking the Dead<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Just as Nay and I were taking the exit to West Monroe High School this morning, he presented me with an interesting question. The conversation went something like this:</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nay: "What if I had the power to bring back the dead?"</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Me: "That'd be kinda nasty Nay."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nay: "What if i could bring them back and they weren't....."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Me: "Gross?"</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nay: "Yea."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Me: "You'd be the richest man alive bud."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nay: "I'd bring back Mr. Kevin. You remember Mr. Kevin dad?"</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's hard to drive and try not to cry. It seems I get plenty of practice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Kevin made quite an impact on Nathan. He didn't do it purposefully. He was just being Kevin. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Kevin went to church with us for a time and lead a ministry that fed the homeless one Saturday every month under an overpass. It's important to note that Kevin wasn't rich. He may have squeaked in just above the middle class line. It didn't matter. He partnered with churches and got people fed and clothed from donations. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nathan LOVED feeding the homeless. He didn't mind helping set up and tear down, but he wasn't happy unless he was involved in physically giving something from his hand to theirs. He wasn't satisfied unless he had direct, personal contact with those he was serving. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My ego would like me to think that I somehow taught him this. In truth, I think it was Kevin. He changed my son in a way he'll never know.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Kevin was taken from us in a motorcycle accident two years ago. He left behind a teen daughter and an amazing wife. His passing hurt. It still does. He showed the power of one guy doing what he believed was right. He changed my son for the better. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here's the thing. Kevin never set out to change my son's world. He was living out his faith and just being Kevin. In doing so, he left a legacy that he will never know about. May we all have such impact.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nay still misses him. So does Nay's dad.</span></div>
BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-51072227401777147942013-09-17T17:09:00.000-05:002013-09-23T13:57:51.243-05:00Goodbye<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Hi. My name is Brian, and I have abandonment issues.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's much harder to admit than it would seem. It doesn't fit the image of the strong male, provider, husband, and father that every guy worth his salt wants to live up to. It has no part in who I want to be, but is unbelievably hard to shake. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Empirically, I know that I don't experience relationship failure or any of the other experiences that constitute abandonment any more than anyone else does. The real issue isn't even the failure of the friendship. It's the expectation of abandonment as an eventual outcome that is so insidious. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Boiling it down to its elemental parts yields a nasty mix of paranoia and self-doubt. It stems from two beliefs. The first of these is the deeply held belief that at some point I will screw this up. Something in my behavior will be too unpalatable, and the person will "move along". The second, and by far worst of the pair is the belief that at some point, the person will find me unworthy of their time, attention, company, loyalty, etc. This one tells me that those things I value in myself will be insufficient to outweigh my flaws. I will have, again, earned the absence of someone I hold dear.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Potentially worse than the actual abandonment itself is the expectation of impending abandonment. Cicero wrote of Damocles, a courtesan to Dionysious II. Damocles lusted after the wealth and power of the king, and made it obvious with his obsequious praise. Wise Dionysius offered to switch places with Damocles and allowed him to sit on the throne. Once Damocles was seated, Dionysius ordered a sword suspended above the throne by a single horse's hair. Damocles then begged the king to restore him to his previous station and take back his throne.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Living with abandonment issues is to be Damocles. It is to either live poor and wish for the treasure of rewarding friendships, or to have them and live in constant fear of their doom. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Every distance injected into relationships becomes fuel for the fear, regardless of reason. Every cooling friendship feels deserved. Others are held blameless. Their "moving on" is reasonable. Who'd want to stay given my mysterious failure du jour.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Those of us who are working through this particular issue often find us torn, just like poor Damocles. We know not when the sword will fall, but the paltry support of our offerings will give way, and fall it will. There we sit, unable to enjoy the riches of the position we so strongly coveted, fighting the urge to beg restoration to our previous, impoverished station. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I confess. I'm still working on this one.</span>BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-69390601673419251862013-09-10T09:59:00.004-05:002013-09-10T09:59:58.535-05:00Of My Tribe<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had an interesting encounter yesterday. I was introduced by a coworker to a younger man with Tourette's. His is much more "visible" than my own. After growing up "the only one" in my world, meeting others "of my tribe" still feels unique and a bit surreal. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My tribe? It may be a strange way of describing it, but it fits my thoughts quite accurately. These are not friends or relatives. I haven't met most of them. We are "scattered to the four winds". Meeting them is like meeting no other. We know things, things about each other. There's a shared history of strangers that's hard to describe. Mere allusion to experiences that define our common identity yields knowing glances and an unmistakable sense of relief in not being "the only one" if only for the span of a brief encounter. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In these brief moments, those of us on the Autistic Spectrum and with "spectrum related disorders" experience what it feels like to be the rest of you all the time. We feel that sense of connected oneness with others that requires no effort or though. Like the air around us, it's just there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They are out there. Beyond distance, irrelevant of introduction, they know me. I know them. Though scattered, we are one people. They are "of my tribe".</span>BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-90508954942406604602013-08-19T11:24:00.000-05:002013-08-19T11:25:22.670-05:00Once More into the Breach<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nathan has begun his sophomore year. This marks our return to battle as his parents. We return to the fight for our "hidden child", the one that we know is "in there".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This new year brings with it a new resource teacher. Last year was the first time we've been dissatisfied with any teacher who maintained Nathan's special education needs and rights. Honestly I'm glad. Last year's teacher wasn't "part of the team". Nathan's abilities and best interests never connected with him. Good riddance.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Not all battles are new. We'll muster his teachers at his IEP meeting (Individual Education Plan). They'll be given a brief history of how far he's come. Then they'll be offered a chance to join the ranks of "my army". Many do so willingly from the start. Others see the righteousness of our cause after knowing Nathan in the classroom setting. Few ever refuse to join, but there are those from time to time who must be dealt with as "hostile forces". </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Amanda will return to the nightly battle to access Nathan's considerable intellect in spite of his "disability". Hers is old fashioned trench warfare. It's "messy and bloody". Progress is measured in inches, but is undeniable. She fights on tirelessly. In her battles I am logistical support at best. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Some may wonder why I view my son's education in such militaristic terms. It's quite simple. His intellect and personality are held captive by Autism. They are "in there". It's just short of all-consuming, but it's worth it. He's worth it. He has no less right to have his grades and high school experience reflect his intellect, personality, and individuality than any other kid his age. This is the righteous goal of our crusade. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The summer break provides much needed R&R for all of us. Unfortunately, the war is not yet won. I'm not sure it ever will be. For now, we echo the words of Lady Macbeth "....but screw your courage to the sticking place, and we'll not fail."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We and those with character sufficient to join our campaign go once more into the breach.</span>BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-89472980089127090312013-08-13T09:47:00.002-05:002013-08-13T14:50:00.669-05:00Mea Culpa<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In his first sermon after his son's suicide, Rick Warren said the following: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"It's amazing to me that any other organ in your body can break down and there's no shame and stigma to it, but if your brain breaks down, you're supposed to keep it a secret. Huh? There's no stigma. You get diabetes, no problem. You get heart disease, no problem. Your lungs don't work, no problem. Break a bone, break a back, your liver stops working, no stigma, but if your brain doesn't work right, why should you be ashamed of that?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This statement has stayed with me since I first saw a clip of him saying it. This has been my life. It has been my son's life and probably will be for the foreseeable future. There is a stigma for those of us with mental and/or neurological dysfunction It all boils down to one simple assumption. Somehow, this is my fault. At some level, I am culpable for my condition, and therefore responsible for the behavior that it causes. Somewhere along the way I chose this path. I choose to behave and think as I do. I should be able to "get it together", "do better", etc. If I can't, I have failed and deserve the stigma I wear. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sound harsh? It is. Exaggerated? Unfortunately, no. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">About six or seven years ago we were attending church. I excused myself for a moment. When I returned, Nathan was noticeably agitated. At the time, Nathan had verbal tics and would also mumble to himself under his breath, as many Autistic kids do. In my absence a man, who we do not know took it upon himself to intervene. Bear in mind, both of my boys were sitting with their mother. This "gentleman" found a moment when Amanda wasn't looking, turned around and scolded Nathan. I returned to find and agitated and quite terrorized 9-year-old. It was clear, Nathan was afraid. I was LIVID. I managed to contain my fury and passed a card I carry to the man. The card bears the symbol for Autism and explains that my child is Autistic, and that the behavior the reader is witnessing is caused by his condition. He read the card, passed it to his wife, and then returned it. When church was over, they stood and left without saying a word. I was still livid. A lady behind us actually took it upon herself to defend the man's actions to me and tell me how "appropriately" the man had handled things. Wonder if she noticed his silence while his wife and daughter carried on a conversation during the closing song and the pastor's closing statement. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What's my point? Even after being informed of what he had witnessed, he still felt fully justified in his actions. Nathan "should have known better'. We, his parents "should have taught him better". No quarter given. Nathan was culpable. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is one example from a list of experiences that is tragically long. I too experience this. There are those I encounter, some regularly, who would readily label me with a litany of unflattering descriptors. It makes no difference that they know my diagnosis and its evolving state. I am culpable and therefore worthy of their disdain, derision, and ultimately their rejection. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Pastor Warren is right. Why should I be ashamed of having a "broken brain"? I have no answer for his query except to say "I don't know, but I am." Worse yet, I am forced to bear witness to my son's shame for the differences his "broken brain" forces him to exhibit. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Mea Culpa.</span>BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-56283759161889789422013-08-05T09:15:00.000-05:002013-08-05T09:15:39.410-05:00A Happy Depression<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 20px;">Sounds nonsensical. I get that, but since when does neurological dysfunction have to make sense? It's just another proof that I have a central nervous system that's "wired like old Christmas Tree lights".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is how it works. I LOVE my life. I'm literally surrounded by people I can depend on and who value me for who I am, where I am. I have very little "bad stuff" on my mind. It's all just standard, "life stuff". On the other hand, I show all the symptoms of significant, clinical depression. I have almost ZERO motivation. My to do list piles up at home. Concentrating is extremely difficult, requiring great effort and self-discipline. Maintaining what I consider marginal productivity at work requires immense personal discipline. I can't even get motivated to do things I LOVE to do, like learn music or just noodle around on my bass. There are things I WANT to do, I just can't seem to make myself do them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It makes even less sense to me than it does to you. It's a truly surreal experience, but one that has been a regular occurrence for as long as I can remember. I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't experience this from time-to-time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">With experience, I finally learned to spot this for what it is. Identifying it helps prevent it from spiraling into a more emotional "classic" depression phase. This and forcing myself to do things that have measurable results are my way of fighting back. Yesterday, I replaced light bulbs, sharpened my kitchen cutlery, grocery shopped with the boys, and cooked with Connor. It kept the day from seeming wasted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Therein lies the part I hate most. When in these times, I feel I'm wasting my time and abilities. This is the part that brings the anger and frustration, thought not with others. I'm angry and frustrated with me. Fortunately, I lack the motivation to be very passionate about my anger and frustration too. Given the situation, I'll consider that a bonus.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">No shining, hopeful message this week dear readers. Today it's just one more "message in a bottle". My hope is that it will provide a needed epiphany for someone that "it's not just you".</span></div>
BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-67825341679695046352013-07-22T13:27:00.000-05:002013-07-22T13:27:29.906-05:00A Mojo Risin'<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It has begun. I witnessed the first signs just last night. He admitted it without knowing. My oldest child has "My Curse". His life will be forever altered. People will view him differently. There's no escaping it. Like the dread curses of old, it has transferred from father to first born.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Just what is this curse you ask....PEOPLE TALK TO ME!!!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They tell me EVERYTHING. I don't know why. We bear the mark of St. Alphonsus. OH THE HUMANITY!!! I've never fully understood why people tell me EVERYTHING. They just do. It started in childhood. Somehow, I became a confessor. It's just plain odd sometimes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was once stargazing with a PhD in Physics from a local university. We'd never met. We'd never even see each others' faces, and still couldn't. We were silhouettes oohing and aahing over each celestial artwork that could be brought into our respective scopes. I'd later learn he's a rather reserved fellow who doesn't divulge much. He told me his life story. He spoke of his childhood, his marriage, his child, his divorce. About two hours in, he stopped and said "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm telling you all this." My reply was simple. "It's OK. People talk to me. They tell me stuff. I'm not sure why."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Without knowing he'd done so, Connor confessed that he bears the curse just last night. He was regaling me with the things a married couple who started communicating with him via an online game's chat function. They've told him their family problems. It was hard not to laugh as he filled me in on the things he'd been told. He finally told them both "Look!! I ain't Dr. Phil!! I'm 18, single, and have NO IDEA why you're telling me all this!! You need professional help!!" "DAD!!!! These people are SCREWED UP, and they're TELLING ME about it!!!!" I must admit. They boy has his old man's penchant for spinning a good yarn as well. It was hard to try and maintain composure as he described the experience.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Whatever mark it is we bear, "the villagers" can see it. There's no escape. Like lycanthropy, the curse has propagated itself to the next generation. I'm convinced being a werewolf would be far more fun.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Thus ends this week's confession.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Bear witness to our curse.</span>BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515501288030511397.post-894060511349198332013-07-15T13:39:00.001-05:002013-07-15T13:39:18.380-05:00Modeling<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Let's face it. The world is a dangerous place filled with predators, pitfalls, and myriad other risks. It takes no notice of neurotypical/non-neurotypical. It is savagely egalitarian. My ponderings recently have trended toward things that are common in the experiences of both groups. I spend the majority of my time exposing the world of Autism to a neurotypical audience. In my current thinking, I find both worlds tragically and wonderfully linked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's common knowledge that Autistic kids don't naturally develop communication, social, coping, and numerous other skills. Those skills are exposed and taught by a method I've come to call "modeling". Parents of non-neurotypical kids develop this method without planning or forethought, at least the good ones do. The missing skills are taught by thousands of repetitions. The child faces a challenge, the parent presents the words, skills, choices needed to successfully handle it. Over time, the child learns and grows. The term "role play" doesn't fully capture it. We teach them by literally being what we want them to learn.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Over time, I've realized that this has application far beyond Autism. Often, the neurotypical need this as well. The "missing pieces" in their lives aren't due to genetics. Tragically they are due to people. Damaged people damage people. Abusive/neglectful parents and spouses, predators, and sociopaths of all type and stripe leave those they encounter with emotional deficits that bear striking similarity to those caused by Autism. The emotional damage is communication oriented, socially stunting, and debilitating to coping abilities. Unlike the deficiencies caused by Autism, the emotional wounds to the neurotypical are poisoned, much like a scorpion's sting. The greatest damage done is in the neurotypical person's ability to love and be loved. This is where our modeling skills can improve their world as well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Those of us who raise Autistic kids have received an expensive "crash course" in loving a person in spite of their "issues". It took me years to see this, but I saw it one day rather unexpectedly. A dear friend had injured her foot. I bandaged it. It seemed the logical, "friend" thing to do. No biggie. I got this. When I looked up and saw her face, it became clear to me that something else was going happening on her end of the equation. At first I thought I was physically hurting her. After processing the experience for an hour or so, it occurred to me. No one had ever done that for her before. I know her story. This knowledge filled in the gaps that logic couldn't. For me, it was nothing. I have an accident-prone wife. My boys were Cub Scouts. Someone gets an owie, you “fix it”. No biggie, at least not for me. For her, it was a new experience. We both learned in one simple, seemingly logical encounter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One simple, seemingly logical act taught us both something important. For her, it modeled a compassion that she'd never seen, yet I considered "pedestrian". For me, it showed that what Autism has taught me has much greater application than "just Autism". It's another instance of losing track of who is the actual teacher, parent or child. I learned that "modeling" isn't just for teaching my son. I can model healthy interaction for all those in my world, knowing that some may desperately need a demonstration of what I consider normal and as automatic as breathing. Maybe "can" isn't the right word. I MUST model healthy interaction for all those in my world. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've long known that our "special kids" impact their world in ways that those around them desperately need. Their honesty, rabid loyalty, and gentle souls provide a respite for those they encounter. The lessons they teach us introduce a new responsibility to our world. We quite literally surrounded by those whose lives would be forever changed by our modeling the honesty, compassion, integrity, and love that our children have taught us. All we have to do is look. They are there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We have no acceptable alternative. Dare we disrespect what we and our children have paid so dear a cost to learn? We must look. We must act. We must model.</span>BigDaddyBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07611706932473944079noreply@blogger.com0