Living Well Is the Best Revenge (GBE2 #115 Topic: Faith)

I go out of my way to try NOT to write about autism.  

For starters, there are so many other bloggers that do a much better job of capturing life with autism than I feel I could.

And then...my life with autism...isn't really all that difficult.  I see what other parents go through...what other children have to endure...the lives of some of the individuals that I have cared for during the course of my career...and I figure that I'm pretty damn lucky!

On their worst days, my kids just seem to be a little weird. 

Nathan can come across as kind of a jerk...uncaring...cold...a kid who has no use for the world around him or the people in it.  It's just his way...personal connections are difficult for him and sometimes, I think he'd prefer it if we all communicated in the virtual world--his comfort zone being almost strictly behind a keyboard.  But there can just as many moments when he does engage with us and his smile and sarcastic sense of humor--that took forever for him to develop (he had no idea we were joking for years!!)--light up the entire room.  

Bear is Nathan's opposite.  He loves to interact...too much sometimes.  He loves to ramble on and on (and on...) about his favorite topics:  the video games, Minecraft and Skyrim, and watching videos on Youtube.  Even at the age of almost eleven...and at the size of a small adult...his favorite place to be is wedged between Jeff and I on the couch with me scratching some part of his body.  He walks around the house with "t-rex arms" and spins around and/or flaps his hands (what he has named "advanced jazz hands") whenever he hears the theme song to the television show "The Big Bang Theory". 

Nathan has one really good friend.  Bear maintains that his family are the only friends he needs.

While Nathan tends to keep things inside and doesn't like to talk about what's bothering him, Bear freaks out about almost anything and is prone to meltdowns over seemingly minor things.  As Bear has matured, the meltdowns have become smaller and easier to come back from...but they still happen...frequently.

These differences, I think, are why Bear was easily diagnosed at the age of five but Nathan wasn't diagnosed with Asperger's until he was fifteen.  Bear can be loud, obnoxious, and rude.  Nathan is generally quiet and well-mannered.  Adults like Nathan because, even when he was younger, he acted like a tiny adult.  Bear's emotional and social age is at least 3 years younger than he actually is.  A ten year old, who is five feet tall and weighs 150 pounds, having a "temper tantrum" like a five year old isn't an easy pill to swallow for people who just don't get it.

All of Bear's life, people have shunned him.  Sometimes he notices....sometimes he doesn't.  And sometimes, people pull me aside to tell me what a rotten child he is and how it's all our fault!

Sometimes...they say these things when he is in earshot! 

We didn't discipline him enough.

We coddle him.

He isn't really on the autism spectrum--we're just bad parents.

He doesn't need special ed--just a good smack every once in a while.

He should know better not to give us a hard time by this age.

You dropped the ball with this kid...shame on you!!

Sometimes, these statements come from people who are supposed to be loving and supportive.

Often, the very idea that people feel that way--when they are supposed to love us unconditionally--causes more pain and anger than I can handle.

But I have faith.

Not necessarily in them...but in my kid.  That he will continue to be the happy, charming, amazing kid he's always been...and that he will grow into an even more amazing adult.

Proof...

that we never dropped the ball....

Strenth of Character (GBE2 #58--Topic: Strength)

In the original GBE, one of my first posts was about pet peeves.  One of those peeves was when people pronounce the word 'strength' (or length) without the 'G' sound.  The sound of a person saying "strenth" or "lenth" can make me cringe like nails on a chalkboard.

Now, I realize that the pronunciation of these words is a regional thing.  Whether we use that g-sound in those words mostly depends on where in this country we've spent the majority of our years--much like whether you call your sparkly carbonated beverage soda or pop...or even just a coke.  It might be a peeve of mine but I understand that it's not wrong and I've never meant any insult to those who feel that G is silent.

But there's a reason why it's nails on a chalkboard for me.  And it has nothing to do with the words themselves...but rather the first person that I'd ever encountered that pronounced those words in that manner.

Mrs. Angerame.  My ninth grade math teacher.

Math has never been my strong suit.  Even as big a nerd as I claim to be, getting a passing grade in math was always a struggle.  Despite this, I'd been accelerated a year ahead in math since the sixth grade.  In my freshman year of high school, I was taking tenth grade math, which in New York State in the early 90's, meant geometry.

I was lost.  Not just lost in math....lost in just about every aspect of my life.  All my friends had deserted me (there is a post about that somewhere...) and my father had just died.  I spent most of my free time eating, writing, listening to music and eating some more.  My studies were lost in a sea of procrastination.  Looking back, I can plainly see what a mess I was...but at the time...well it just felt normal

When grades came in, my mom was displeased.  I needed to get back on track.  I needed to get serious.  A 30 in math was not going to fly in our family.

I went to my teacher.  I asked her if there was a time before school started that we could meet so that I could get some extra help.  I asked her if I could meet with her on my lunch break.  There were reasons why I could not stay after school but I tried to take responsibility and get the help that I needed.

She told me if I couldn't come after school then there was no way she could help me.

Each day spent in that class, I felt like I was drowning.  I asked for help.  I told her I didn't understand.  She made me feel small and stupid almost daily.

Then one day, she said something that angers me to this day.

"Stephanie, it's a wonder that you've been properly toilet trained seeing as you can't even comprehend simple math."

So...because I struggled to understand GEOMETRY (not simple math by a long shot...), I must be mentally deficient and should feel fortunate that I could even wipe my own ass.

From a teacher, that is absurdly unacceptable.

She has no idea how much that abusive comment affected me.  As the other students chuckled at her words, I felt ever smaller and more stupid.  I already felt like I didn't belong and this just made things worse.  I knew she was out of line but a small part of me was afraid that it might be true.  Being smart was who I was....my whole identity...if I didn't have that...well, then I had absolutely nothing to hold onto.

Somehow, even without her "simple math", I managed to go to college, have a rewarding job, get married and make some pretty amazing (and smart) babies.  I even manage that ass-wiping thing on a daily basis.  I'd like her to know that I turned out pretty damn great...no thanks to her.

Mostly, I'd like her to know that she failed that day--both as a teacher and a human being.  She had the power and the strength (or strenth) to help guide a student who had lost her way. 

But instead of building me up, she chose to knock me down.

I hope she's proud.