Being a Man

 He was 12 years old and in 6th grade... from September 2009

As I pulled out of the hospital parking lot, the teary voice coming through my cell phone said, "Mom, I had silent lunch today. I couldn't sit with my friends. The teacher warned me to stop talking at least 5 times but I couldn't stop, so I had silent lunch."

I still had 45 minutes of commute to clear my head from work, and needed time to think about my response. My mind was going in numerous directions: I was thrilled my Aspie son has a group of band buddies (he has friends!!!) to sit with at lunch. I was glad to learn the teacher's are being understanding yet not letting him get away with inappropriate behavior in class. And I was sad my son was upset yet proud of him for telling me what's going on in his life. All I said at that time was, "I love you honey, thank you for telling me what's going on. We'll talk about this when I get home."

After I got home and changed clothes I sat down with Robert. As he snuggled next to me, a thought crossed my mind: There won't be many more times he'll want to snuggle with me as he grows up... and I already miss the feel of him in my arms.

And thus came the inspiration for my answer. I waited while Robert relayed the days events to me then I asked him, "You know how you tell me you're ready to be grown up? Ready to make your own decisions? Ready to make the rules?" He nodded yes.

And I asked him, "You know how I tell you it's not time for you to make the rules? That you're still a kid and not a man yet?" He nodded yes.

I said, "Well let's talk about what a righteous man would do. A righteous man will face his challenges head-on, he will admit his mistakes, face the consequences of his actions, then move on and strive to do better. Can you do that?"

He quietly said, "Yes Mom, I can." He didn't try to argue with me, didn't try to tell me he was the victim, didn't sass me.

I think he took a small step towards being a man.

Talk to Me

This is an older note, written in March 2008. I share it every year as we head into Autism Awareness Month.

When Robert first came into my life, I was prepared for all sorts of possible delays and issues. I'd worked with children for years and had educated myself on all the things that might happen based on his life in an orphanage. I read books, went to seminars, and was ready for the big things: Reactive Attachment Disorder, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. But none of those things manifested themselves.

I worked on bonding with him -- purposely regressing him so that I would feed him, then forcing eye contact while he was eating. I taught him his name (no one had ever taught him his name), and held him as often as possible. He learned English and how to give a "two-armed hug." And I started his musical education early with Mozart, jazz, and big band sounds to soothe his spirit and feed his brain.

At night, after I put him to bed, he would get up and hide behind his bedroom door, giggling, then he would dart out into the living room to see what was going on. He was 3-1/2 but didn't know any English, and almost no Romanian. Telling him to "go to bed" was meaningless, so I would lie down with him until he fell asleep.

And I talked to him. He would lie there and listen to me narrate the events of his day. I would talk about what he'd had for breakfast and what games we'd played. Every night I would tell him 3 or 4 parts of his body: "hair", "eyes", "nose"... and I would touch the corresponding location on his body and amazingly, the little fella would know these words the next morning! Every night I would teach him and each morning, he would tell me his new words. He absorbed language like a sponge! His acquisition was so fast I couldn't keep up with the list of words I was making to share with our social worker on her next follow-up visit.

Soon, I realized (and was so relieved) none of the disorders I listed above would be part of our journey with Robert. But there was something... I knew it wasn't exactly ADHD even though it sometimes looked like it.

Then a friend talked to me, and gently suggested that Robert's issues were neurological and fell under the Autism umbrella. My friend was right and the first diagnosis was Sensory Integration Disorder. Through years of Occupational Therapy in the clinical setting and at home with me, great strides were made, but there was something more... Again, I couldn't peg it, but there was something...

One day I was talking to a friend and she said, "Have you heard of Asperger's Syndrome?" I hadn't but I researched it quickly and Robert fit all the criteria. He is brilliant - a "little professor" as many of these children are, but he has deficits in social skills, language arts, and develops obsessions for certain objects.

You'd think that after all these years, after all the research, meetings, seminars, workshops, and networking with parents and professionals in this field that I wouldn't be surprised by anything.

But Friday morning [in 2008] I was in an IEP meeting at the school and we were reviewing a recent evaluation done on Robert. I am familiar with the test that was used. I am sure the numbers are right. And yet, what's been playing through my head the last couple days are the numbers 4 and 22.

My brilliant little boy has expressive communication skills that test out to an age equivalency of 22 years old. The little professor can build and describe an electromagnet for goodness sake, and he can tell you where your epiglottis is located, so no surprises there.

But because he does not understand all parts of speech, because he does not understand slang and social cues, his receptive communication skills are those of a 4 year old.

4 and 22.


These numbers haunt me.

With the proper therapies the incredible gap between these two numbers will grow smaller. But still they haunt me. What's the missing piece that explains this deficit and will help researchers find a cure and increase understanding?

That critical piece of the puzzle is Autism research and awareness. April 1 will be here soon and will mark the beginning of Autism Awareness Month.

If you know someone who's life is touched by Autism, keep in mind that they are dealing with a puzzle that as yet can't be solved. And if you think they need to talk to someone who understands, encourage them to get involved in a support group, or you can tell them to talk to me.

Big Brother

Growing up, I longed for an older brother. In my dreams he would've been a protector and advisor. He'd have taken some of the burden off me (I'm the oldest child in my family), he'd have guided me through awkward social situations, helped me study, and eased some of life's challenges. Obviously, my dream could never be a reality.

Many decades later, I'm raising two sons. In the natural order of things, it would be safe to assume my 16 year old plays the role of Big Brother to my 13 year old.

But never assume anything, especially when considering a special needs family. My 16 year old is diagnosed autistic: a compilation of Asperger's Syndrome, Sensory Integration Disorder, ADHD, reading comprehension issues, and sparkling brilliance. He is a delight, but he has not been able to take on the traditional authoritative role reserved for a family's oldest child.

Instead, the role of Big Brother has fallen on my youngest son. He is the organized one, the Communicator, Mentor, and Coach. When I'm at work, he makes sure things are ok at home: dinner's in the microwave, chores are checked off each boys' list, alarm is on, showers taken. When my oldest misses social cues, his younger brother clues him; When my oldest "isn't sure" what someone said, my youngest chimes in; when my oldest leaves things scattered or needs an activity break, my youngest reminds him to be focused. It does not always work smoothly. There have been times when my eldest son says, "Why does he act like the big brother? I'm older." And times when my youngest is simply tired of shouldering the burden. (He has his own sensory issues, including Auditory Processing Disorder. Sometimes, one more noise, sound, or word is too much to tolerate).

So, it's not easy. Sometimes there is chaos and impatience. But it's not "bad" either. There is love and commitment. There are priceless bits of character development. Siblings of special children are often more compassionate, tolerant people.They are warriors and defenders, they develop thick skin, and excellent coping skills. They often champion life's underdogs, and they learn early that Disney lied: it's not all happily-ever-after, but it can be good.

However, our little family's dynamics were recently altered, rather quickly. My youngest has had reconstructive surgery of his right rib cage. For several months, he can not pull, push, or lift ANYthing. He must be careful not to fall, or to get jostled in a crowd. And he fatigues easily. As he recovers, he must fully rely on his older brother to cook dinner in the microwave, to carry clothes for him, to open the door for him, to carry his toys. Physical limitations are not easy for an independent 13 year old to accept. But in this mix of healing energy and angst, I also sense: Relief. From both of my sons.

For my youngest, some of the burden has been reduced. And my oldest now gets to take on the role of Big Brother. He must put down his coins and geckos and focus on the task at hand. He must protect, nurture, and care for his brother. It's time to take the next steps in maturity, to become the caretaker of himself and someone weaker than him. His egocentric universe is going to be under attack, and he may rebel a bit, but he will become a better person, and brother, in the process.

The next few months promise to be ones of healing and rest, they will also be ones of challenges and trade-offs. Possibilities abound and Hope carries us forward.

The Love Note

I could sense her curiosity. No judgement, no condemnation, but her curiosity was palpable. She had no idea of years past. Of years in churches when I was determined my autistic son would worship with me, yet services would find me consoling him, entertaining him, and on the floor in back rows doing compression exercises and brush therapy. 

She didn't know how far we've come. She merely knew we were sitting next to her in church. She surreptioulsy watched as I held Robert's hands to keep him from picking his skin, or kept my hand on his knee to keep him from jiggling his leg. We may have been a quiet distraction from her worship, but I felt no censure. Still, in the hopes of acceptance, I felt compelled to write her a note. My note is below, as is hers. This is the best love note I've received in a long while...

It's a Dude Thing

I wish I knew how to be a man. Seriously.

No, I'm not thinking about a sex change operation or making an announcement about my gender. I like being a woman. It's how God made me, and after all these decades, seems to be working for me, last time I checked.

But I'm raising two teenage boys on my own. Their father isn't around and their Grandfather (my father) is deceased. While I might wish to meet a nice man, I'm in no hurry, and have no desire to date just anyone to have a man around the house.  

So where does that leave us? 

Oh yeah, I'm trying to learn to think like a man...

God gave me these boys to raise and he knew what I'd be up against, so He graciously gave the boys great role models in teachers, friends-of-the-family, and via activities. But there's no significant male influence in our home. So it's up to me.

I can teach them manners (so far neither one scratches themselves in public very often) and I can teach them morals, praying they're listening. But the dude stuff? 

About a year ago I realized, I had to get with the program!  

So, we tackle dude-type projects together. Google has become my friend. I research inexpensive do-it-yourself projects and we take them on. The boys have learned about weeding and have done some landscaping and gardening. This spring we plastered and painted the kitchen, and made a backsplash behind the kitchen sink. We work as a family and we work hard. Our results might not be up to Bob Villa's standards, but they're ok!

But what about the rest of the dude-stuff? How to court a woman, how to be a gentleman, how to be a Dad? Well, I just tell them how I think a Man should act, how he should treat a lady, how to be respectful. And they've learned in their own way about how to be a real Dad. Antiquated or not, they open doors for women, they let ladies go first, and while they're a little young for dating I've already said "Well, if you were the parent of a teenage daughter, how would you want a boy to treat HER?" 

I strive to raise up two righteous Christian young men who will go out and be successful in this life -- however that success is defined.

But the other day, a commercial came on tv depicting two men standing at a water cooler. One man started discussing sports, and the other mentioned yoga... Yoga dude ends up with water being thrown in his face. On some levels, I think the commercial is tacky. But, it's as if water was thrown on my face, too, because I realized...  I have to teach a sport to my boys. I don't want them left out at the water cooler when they grow up!

I think my youngest son will be ok, he's sociable and is a great conversationalist. 

But did I mention my oldest is very high functioning autistic? He has Asperger's Syndrome and has to be taught social skills. He's still coming to terms with the fact not every person will want to hear about his latest coin acquisition or his geckos, and he is slowly accepting the notion of making small talk with friends.

So I sat down with the boys and told them, "You have to pick a sport and come to understand it so when you grow up, and other guys at work start talking sports, you can talk about it too and fit in. It's a dude thing." His response was basically, "Mom, I know I'm a guy. I don't have to like sports." I don't know if I was right or wrong, and I don't know what a man would do but I said, "I don't care if it's your favorite thing, but it's something you need to know. It's a man thing."

So now we're going to pay attention to football and hockey a little more than we already do, and I'm going to pray about other male-bonding things I have to teach the boys. 

Because of me, and all the Aunties in their lives, they'll probably be the most polite men around the water cooler, but hopefully, they'll fit in and understand how to act like a dude in a man's world.

Geckos taught My Son to Love

"Mom, I love them" sounds simple enough, but to me... It's truly an answer to prayer.

My oldest son is diagnosed as having Asperger's Syndrome. He is brilliant in his own way, a junior professor on things of science and history. He is verbal and surprisingly social, loving time spent with his peers in school and marching band. I credit this to lots of therapies, and certainly God's guiding hand.

But one of the challenges persons with Asperger's face is: lack of social or emotional empathy. And one of my son's challenges is having me as a Mom. I hug my friends and am not shy with my sons, or my friends. Daily, I tell my children I love them. I hug them, I praise them, I support them, even as I discipline them.

My examples, combined with his own sweet heart, planted well in my youngest son. He, too, is a hugger and has a kind, caring heart. He worries about others and has a social conscience.

But my oldest. I had to teach him to give "a two-armed hug" even when he shied away from physical contact with family members. And I had to teach him that a handshake (which he prefers to hugs) is not only considered a  social statement of respect, but expected in our society. So now he extends his hand in greeting not so much out of happiness to see his friends ("Don't they know I'm happy to see them?") but because he's learned it is a proper social gesture.

When he became obsessed, as those with Asperger's will do, with weather and storms, I became concerned. Never once did I hear him talk about all the people affected by Katrina or Andrew. But I heard all about the incredible power within these storms. So every time he started discussing these intense storms, I would remind him of the social toll of the storms, of the ways humanity was touched. I deliberately sought pictures and stories about the human element. Thus, over time, he learned not only fascinating statistics, but he also learned about devastation, of the faces of loss, and he would have to answer my question: "How do you think those people feel now?"

He learned to empathize or at least, how to think in terms of humanity. I am proud of him!

But L-O-V-E. How was I supposed to teach this abstract feeling? Through works of the care and concern for others? Through story books? Sure, we can do all that... but I worried. And I prayed. Would he ever really understand what it is to love someone? Could he come to love someone?

Did I mention I prayed about this? And don't we know God hears the smallest whisper of our heart? He knows the desires of our hearts? He heard my prayers...

And he sent two leopard geckos home with my son one day. A science teacher could no longer care for the geckos in her home and asked Robert if he would like to raise them. She gave the geckos, an aquarium, and starter items to my son. Eeks! I was less than happy about having reptiles in my house. But God has used them to teach my son how to care for others, how to give of himself, how to show concern, how to nurture and....he has learned to love!  

So the other day, as I watched the delight dance across my son's face, and he said "Mom I love them" when he talked about his geckos, I gave thanks!

Sometimes I feel very needy as I turn to God, but I am constantly being reminded... don't stop praying! He hears our prayers, and He will answer, in His time and in His way. Even with a couple of geckos.