#207 - Another Year Older, Not Deeper In Debt

I'm resisting the temptation to quote from "Sixteen Tons" by Tennessee Ernie Ford, not because I have a remarkable sense of restraint, but because I think I did that very thing in a blog post made in a galaxy far, far away.

My posting frequency to this blog has dropped dramatically in recent months. In part, that's because I have been writing and posting with some frequency to my music/poetry blog, My Wordsmithing. The other reason has been nearly everything I feel compelled to write about is either political or religious, and a part of me thinks there is already too much political and religious noise cluttering up the bandwidth.

Thankfully, in this post I don't have to. You see, yesterday marked the 20th birthday of our son. They have been the most challenging, exasperating, and rewarding years of my life. I'm sure there are some other adjectives I could throw out there, not all of them suitable for family consumption.

These 20 years have been challenging because there have been many times when we have wondered what exactly our autistic son is and will be capable of doing for himself as he transitions into adulthood. The answer, as I have learned, is - more than we think.

As parents of a special needs child, I think the tendency is even greater to want to try and protect them from the outside world. The danger in doing so is that we and they never learn what they are truly capable of doing for themselves. As our son has grown into a young man, I have tried to restrain that urge to overprotect. As a father whose own mother worked a lot of nights and whose father was not around while I was growing up, turning that urge off has been even harder.

These 20 years have been exasperating in part because I have realized I am not that great as a father. I suppose I can blame a large part of that on not having good role models while I was growing up, but the fact remains that I am still learning.

The last seven of those 20 years have been particularly exasperating because our son has been, well, a teenager. Although there are some things other teens can do that our son cannot (such as drive), in many ways, our son has been a typical teenager, often not wanting to do the same things as his parents and often spending large chunks of his time in his bedroom with the door closed. I was prepared to say "doing God knows what," and to anticipate the likely response from readers. In this case, though, I know what he is usually doing - playing video games or watching YouTube videos about playing video games.

I suppose these past 20 years have also been exasperating in that our son often will express an interest in this or that and then do nothing to pursue said interest. I have certainly tried to nudge him in the direction of those interests, but I realize I cannot push too hard because in this respect he is a good deal like me. (For many years, I told anyone who would listen that I one day wanted to write a novel. While I have made a few starts, I realized I don't have the patience or the discipline to sit down and do that.)

These 20 years have also been rewarding. One selfish reason for that is that, unlike my own father, I stuck around. That alone likely moves me near the middle of the pack when it comes to fatherhood rankings.

These past two decades have also be rewarding as we have watched our son continually confound, surprise, and exceed the expectations of the so-called experts on autism. He has long been what I term a square peg trying to fit into a round hole kind of world.

I think, though, perhaps the opposite is true and that he is the round peg trying to fit into the world's square hole. Teachers and other experts have always had a hard time trying to get a handle on our son's interests, capabilities, triggers, and the like.

We have long suspected he was capable of much more than the system asked of him, and the last few years have proven us right. The challenge, however, remains finding the proper outlets and channels for those capabilities and the right people to guide him.

While there will always be some things our son will not be able to do, there are, I suspect, things he will be able to do that others cannot. He just needs a little help, a bit of support, and a gentle nudge now and again.

In a little while, we will sit down to cake and presents and celebrate the fact that our son is now 20. The first 20 years have been a remarkable ride. I suspect the next 20 years will be even more remarkable, and I can't wait to find out what great things we will see along the way. Happy birthday, Christopher!

#177 - Season of Change

I haven’t had much to say in this space of late. Most of my thoughts lately have been more lyrical in nature, and so I have been posting them on my writing blog, My Wordsmithing. I’ve also been trying to think of what exactly to write about in this space. This morning, it came to me.

Waking up this morning and getting ready to work, I began to think about the dwindling days – getting light later and dark earlier. It seems, somehow, a perfect metaphor for my current stage in life, as I get older and move closer to life after work.

For all of that melancholia about growing old, I realized that autumn is my favorite season of the year and has been for a long, long time. When I was younger, the falling of the leaves and the dormancy of most plant life seemed to suit my angst-filled teenage life. I didn’t feel as if I fit in with those around me and knew no one else could relate to that feeling. Years later, I realized that most teens probably feel something similar at some point along their rocky road to adulthood. That education did not go to waste!

These days, autumn remains my favorite season, although the reasoning has changed. When I speak of autumn, I mean after the calendar changes over to October, not the period immediately following the autumnal equinox in September.

For me, October is the quintessential autumnal month. The days, while getting shorter, still possess enough daylight to produce moderate temperatures. (Here in SW Idaho, highs reach the upper 60s and lower 70s, typically.) The nights, while crisp, are not bitterly cold. And the colors are often breathtaking.

October is to me the perfect time for a camping outing, especially if you have something other than a tent. Campgrounds are uncrowded and sometimes empty, and weekend outings become an opportunity for relaxation and reflection and not simply a two-day escape. The pace is slower and quieter.

Autumn is also my favorite season because it is a season of change. Or, perhaps to be more exact, it is a season that promises change as the old makes way and the landscape prepares for the promise of new life with the coming spring.

That aspect of autumn rings more true than ever for me this year, as I am about to embark on change of my own. After some discussion and deliberation and perhaps some second-guessing, my wife and I have decided it is time for me to leave the working world, at least the working world as most people define it. In a sense, I am giving up work to begin what may end up to be the most important work I’ve ever done.

Instead of punching a time clock at a job that offer little in the way of a challenge and less in the way of advancement opportunity, we have decided that I should work on our son. Specifically, I will try to help him and teach him some basic day to day skills that might help him to live a more independent life. In the last year, I think we both have seen some of his intellectual capabilities kick into a new gear, demonstrating capabilities I've long thought and hoped he had. As a result, we decided now is the time to strike while the iron is hot, as it were.

At the same time, I will also try to do some work on me. (In a sense, I guess you could say I am also developmentally delayed.) Some of that work will revolve around household management: menu planning, organization, cooking (rather than simply throwing something together for dinner), arranging appointments (car, medical, etc.) Another part of that work might fall under the category of personal improvement and development and will likely involve more physical activity and hopefully involve more writing. Underlying all of this, however, is the goal of helping our son to be all that he can be (to borrow a military marketing slogan).

The adventure begins November 1. In the words of Bob Dylan, the times they are-a changin’, and I’m looking forward to the change. I just hope I’m ready.

#161 - An Open Letter to My Son

On Tuesday, our son Christopher turns 18, that magical age at which all of us become adults. This past weekend, we marked the occasion with a party at the local bowling alley. It was a small affair; the neighbor brought her son and daughter, and two girls Christopher invited from school were also gracious enough to attend.

Christopher said he had a great time, for which I am thankful. It did, however, get me to thinking about what is next for him. I know what I hope for him, but I'm never quite sure what Christopher wants out of life or if he thinks about it much. It's always been a tough subject to discuss with him. Perhaps, like me, he expresses his thoughts better in writing. So, I thought I would try writing down what I hope for Christopher and ask him what he hopes for himself.

Dear Christopher,

In a couple of days, you will turn 18. It is a challenging time and also an exciting one. Most 18 year-olds are preparing to graduate from high school and head off to college or perhaps to working life. As you well know, though, your autism makes you unique in many ways from others your age.

And yet, observing you at your birthday party on Saturday, I see that you are in many ways much like other young men your age. You have a strong interest in girls, and you know a pretty girl when you see one, judging from the two you invited to your party. You also have an adult sense of humor, one that can even be a bit naughty at times. (Your mention of being in a "girl sandwich" did take me a bit by surprise, I have to admit.) So, in many ways you are a lot like your fellow classmates.

You do also have your challenges - sense of time and money, being able to process information and respond in a timely manner. The latter sometimes makes you seem deliberate and thoughtful. At other times, it can be maddening. I suspect that patience will always be a struggle for those you come into your life.

Speaking of your life, what does it hold in store? What do you want to do with your life? What will be possible? I think all of us (teachers, aides, even us parents) have sold you short a time or two in your first 18 years. We have all struggled to determine what you are capable of and what you might be capable of in time. At times, you seem very mature and capable of great things. At others, I struggle to  hold on to the idea of you being able to live a meaningful life. I used to tell people you were 17 going on six going on 30, such are the emotional and intellectual shifts I've seen you make.

You have expressed an interest in varying things, some of them right in line with what many other young adults are interested in - a wife, a family, a career. I don't know how many of these will be possible. I hope all of them. Regardless, I hope you will be better than I was at celebrating the successes and dealing with the disappointments you will likely encounter.

At 18, your whole life is ahead of you. I hope you are able to articulate your dreams and make them come true. Where you are concerned, I've always believed anything is possible. I've no doubt it will be harder for you to make your dreams come true. But I've also no doubt that you are capable of much, probably more so than any of us give you credit for.

Your autism will convince some, perhaps many, that the things you want in life are not practical or achievable for you. Do not listen to them unless you become convinced they are correct, but decide that for yourself. Do not let them convince you. Fight for your dreams but also recognize that you will likely have to work harder to make your dreams a reality.

I know I have been hard on you at times, but it is only because I can see the potential for your life. Deep down, I've no doubt you are capable of making your dreams, whatever they are, come true. If you are willing to work hard at it and not hold on to the frustrations will will most certainly encounter, all things are possible. Dream big! Work hard! Love fully! Live!

Love, Dad

#106 - Ghosts of My Father

First off, Happy Father's Day to all of the dads out there.

This Father's Day found me somewhat reflective. First of all, I had to work much of the day. Teresa has been sick for a week, so I've also tried to juggle doing what I can around the house and seeing to her needs. Needless to say, our original plans for the day were definitely subjected to change.

For some reason, this year I also spent some time thinking about my own father who was, in a sense, the father I never knew.

I saw my father for the last time in the spring of 1962, the spring after I turned five. I left to go to kindergarten, and when I got home he was no longer there, at least not physically. But for years, he was always with me.

Perhaps I should say that the idea of my father was always with me since, being five at the time he left, my memories of our time together are not all that plentiful.

At the time, the explanation from my mother was that my father decided he could not handle having a family. So he left. The truth, it turns out, was apparently something much different.

Suffice to say that it appears criminal acts were involved, leading to a stretch in prison. Details, though, are a bit hard to come by fifty years after the fact. What is a fact is that for years I blamed myself for my father's departure because I had no other story to fall back on.

Beyond that, however, I think that I never really learned how to be a son. In some ways, I think I tried to grow up at age five, when I wasn't really ready to be grown up.

The flip side of that is that is that I never really learned how to apply the lessons and experiences that come from a father-son relationship when I became a father. As a child without a father to bond with, I withdrew and became somewhat distant as a means of protecting myself.

The result is that I sometimes have trouble getting close to my own son. Some of that is that I don't really know how to relate to him sometimes because of his autism. Most of it is my own difficulties in getting close to others.

Now to cut myself a little slack. I think I am a better father to my son than my father was to me. The main reason is that I am still around, so there is always a chance to get it right. We occasionally argue, we sometimes laugh, we each sometimes dig in our heels. But through it all, we are still together in a way my father and I never were - as father and son.

#103 - Another Year Older

"Another day older and deeper in debt. St. Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go. I owe my soul to the company store." - Tennessee Ernie Ford, "Sixteen Tons"

I'm not deeper in debt, not yet, although I have yet to see the latest repair bill on our truck. And while I am another day older, I'm actually thinking about another member of our family.

Our son's cake - red velvet with chocolate
chips, sprinkles, and Peepsters on it.

Our son celebrated his 15th birthday Friday. Or, as I like to sometimes put it, he's 15, going on five, going on 40.

As an example: Friday, we went out to dinner to celebrate our son's birthday. Then we went to Toys 'R Us to let him use a gift card he had received. He gravitated immediately to the Pokemon section. While older kids may play with Pokemon, all of the children pictured on the packages looked to be seven or eight, which made me think perhaps our son had outgrown them. (He ended up buying something else.) This could be considered to be part of the five-year old phase (give or take a couple of years).

A few days ago, our son was sitting in our family room, looking at a catalog. He was gazing intently at a page filled with women in bathing suits. A week or two earlier, he was apparently doing a Google search on nudist camps. (By the way, there is one within an hour's drive of Boise we can take him to if he's serious.) I would term these behaviors as relatively typical teenage actions in the age of the internet.

On other occasions, he's asked serious questions of us, such as whether we think he'll ever get married. It's a prospect that both scares me and gives me hope for his future. I haven't always handled being a husband that well, so I have no idea how someone who is autistic will do. But I am certainly not one to predict.

This wide range of behaviors and actions is, I think, fairly typical of someone considered to be a high-functioning autistic. One minute, our son is talking about becoming a film director one day; the next, he's making yet another creature out of a piece of paper.

We don't know what his future holds. We recently completely our estate planning process, so we have hopefully put things in place to help care for him when we are no longer around to do so. Perhaps before then we'll have a better idea of what he will be able to do for himself.

There are days when I think our son will fully be able to live independently. There are other days when I think he will need someone to do everything for him. Our son can be unpredictable at times. That unpredictability has taught us that, where he is concerned, anything is possible and perhaps probable.

#91 - Conversation With My Son

I was sitting at the computer this morning, reading a few news headlines while I waited for my son, Christopher, to get ready for school.

While I was sitting there, he came in to talk to me. Here is the entire conversation:

Christopher: "Dad, can I ask you a question?"
Me: "Sure."
Christopher: "Will I ever find love."
Me: "Anything's possible."

My half-smart aleck, half serious answer seemed to be enough, as he then proceeded to get ready for school with nothing more said on the subject. Afterward, though, I got to thinking more about the subject.

First thought: This was an entirely appropriate question for Christopher to ask given that today is Valentine's Day, and as he put it, the day is about love, although he first indicated that by making kissing noises.

Second thought: Christopher's question has no easy answer, especially where he is concerned, given his autism. While he is capable of displaying emotion, I don't know whether he is capable of developing deep feeling for another person. It is a question I have occasionally asked even of myself.

There are times that I have great belief in Christopher's ability to lead and live a "normal" life, one that includes things like college, career, and even love, marriage, and family. At other times, I wonder to what extent he will be capable of such a life and to what degree he might be allowed to have such a life.

One thing I have learned as Christopher's dad is that nothing in life is certain and that there are no easy answers. Another thing I learned is that the answer I gave Christopher this morning, while intended somewhat flippantly at the time may, in fact, have been the best answer after all. Because when nothing is certain, anything truly is possible.

#73 - Sensory Overload

I'm sitting here after an evening at Chuck E. Cheese, and the noises are beginning to recede from my head. On Facebook, I half-jokingly posited the question as to what a visit to Chuck E. Cheese would be like for someone who was ADHD. I can't imagine it would be good.

Everywhere you turn you are bombarded with lights and sounds. Upon our arrival tonight, the noise level was almost akin to being in the front row at a rock concert. Mercifully, someone turned down the sound about 15 minutes or so after we arrived.

But those 15 minutes were an experience for us with Christopher. Because of his autism, he is already somewhat susceptible to sensory overload. (Bright fluorescent lights in particular - like those we find at Costco - seem to have a powerful effect.) Couple that with having gone several hours without eating, and it isn't a pretty site. (At that point, Christopher gets what a bit squirrely, as Teresa has termed it, and he does remind one of a squirrel, scurrying here and there.) Christopher was holding tight, first to Teresa, then to me, hanging on for dear life, and it was touch and go whether we would stay.

However, once Christopher had a little pizza in him, things improved and we were able to somewhat enjoy the rest of our stay. The pizza was okay, but a bit lacking in the sauce department. At one point, I held up a piece with visible sauce and joked to Teresa that I had gotten the slice with all the sauce.

Chuck E. Cheese also seems to spare all expense when it comes to beer selection. The two, count 'em two, taps said "Beer" and "Beer". Turns out that Beer 1 is Bud Light and Beer 2 is Budweiser. I guess they don't want to overwhelm customers any more than they already are.

Obviously, children are Chuck E. Cheese's primary demographic, and they reel them in with all sorts of games - from simple games for the youngest to military strategy games for teens and beyond. Games, are also where I suspect the Chuckster makes most of his money.

You spend $5.00 or $10.00 or more for tokens in hopes of winning tickets that you then redeem for prizes that are worth less than the money you spent on tokens. No matter how good you are at the games, judging from the prize selection I saw, Chuck is in no danger of losing money on a single customer.

Still, I suppose it is a pleasant enough diversion for families, although I don't plan a return visit any time soon unless invited by someone else (which is how we came to be there in the first place). For some families, I suspect a trip to Chuck E. Cheese may be the only family interaction they have and then, perhaps, only long enough for their pleading son or daughter to beg then to buy more game tokens. As for me, I'll take a weekend with the family in our fifth wheel over a visit to Chuck E. Cheese every time.