Define Perfect

No one, not one thing is perfect.  What does the word even mean?  My son has asked me from time to time.  I can’t say as I really understand how to answer.

And those that think they may know someone that is, typically are the furthest from what I do think perfect might actually be. The word itself gives off a negative connotation.  If you think some one or some thing may be perfect, then you are stating everything outside of that is imperfect.  Then how do we define imperfect? 

It seems as though it is associated with anything that may make others uncomfortable. Out of the ordinary is not necessarily imperfect.  It could be a beautiful display of art, something so unique.  Rather though, it is those that choose to be their ordinary selves that evoke disgust or rejection from others.

I’ve encountered this more than I would have ever like to since my son was born.  While it is to be expected that other kids can be cruel at times, I was not fully prepared to see the cruelty of the school system.  My son entered first grade happily.  He was no doubt, overly stimulated by the loud students, extroverted teachers and large building.  To amend that, I was brought in for observation and viewed a teacher rewarding my son with a light up bouncy ball when he would sit quietly.  Oh yes, let’s provide a 7 year old with more stimulation, then punish him for using it during class, in which was the place it was given to him.

From then on, the phone calls and emails from teachers, principals and counselors poured in.  Berating is the word that comes to mind.  And as a single parent with no one else to take the load, it was border line harassment.  I began providing supports for my son, had him diagnosed (Aspergers at the time), therapy, but I did not understand what could be offered by the school.  That very moment of his diagnosis, the school met with me advising they would place him in a school that suited his needs better.  No special needs coordinator or IEP, just kicked out into a school where kids were put in rooms to be screamed at as though they were in boot camp.  Metal detectors lined the entrances.  My son was horrified, scared and so was I.

I wrote the district’s superintendent.  He agreed, he was angry he was never made aware of my son and his situation and immediately got me in touch with the Special Needs coordinator who taught me all about IEP’s and support classes.  We got him out and  put him in a better environment, but the damage was done.  My son no longer could trust adults, teachers or principals.

Unfortunately, trauma takes time to work through, and as he grew into middle school, he carried that weight.  Teachers frequently report that my son “thinks the world is out to get him”.  And I frequently remind them of what he has been through.  All the while being bullied day in and day out.  Beat up, called retard and receiving death threats to the point where sheriffs provide their cell numbers in case I may need them in the future. Yet the school staff continues to ignore it all, putting the blame of my son’s “bad behavior” on him and I.  And I continue to remind them that they are not following his IEP.  That they will not see changed behavior if they cannot provide a changed environment.  Meeting after meeting, it is only when I pull in another advocate and begin to push back that his needs are ”somewhat” met. 

To further show you just how uncomfortable my son and I make the perfect people at his school, just the other day I received a visit from a social worker with allegations that I am abusive.  My son was scared and immediately stated he would never think this, of course.

The report came in that because my son wears coats, even when it’s warm outside, he must be covering up physical abuse.  They stated that he watches violent videos and his art work is disturbing.  There is no hiding the fact that my son loves horror.  And as long as he is not threatening others or himself, I am supportive of this interest.  He tells stories, creates videos and loves psychological situations, including SciFi.  He is in middle school and can certainly be awkward at times.  He has been wearing coats throughout his years in school because it makes him feel safe and keeps the germs off he says.  As soon as he comes home he takes it all off and is the typical shorts and tshirt kinda kid.  He is that disgusted by school, that he has certain clothes he won’t even touch once he is home.  He is intelligent and extremely observant.  He is imperfect.  However he is very good at reading others moods.  He understands politics and corruption.  Loves history and gaming.  He is extremely out of the ordinary, yet completely and genuinely himself.

So at the end of the day, I ask those that accuse me of being a bad parent and my son of being a bad kid….are you perfect?  I wonder if every time you see someone or something that looks different than you, acts a little odd and might even be a little sarcastic and bold, you judge them?  You tell yourself there must be something wrong with his home, his friends, his use of screens because at the end of the day, it couldn’t possibly be my classroom, my teaching, me that is causing this imperfection?

I don’t know much about the personal lives of these educators, but I do know this.  They don’t have autism.  And the one’s always looking to find things wrong with my son instead of figuring out how to make things right for him (because isn’t that their job, to work with kids and help them learn in their way) don’t have kids that can’t complete a task without zoning out.  Do they have kids at home that are so sensitive that it is a daily struggle just to get them to wash their hair or face?  Not because their kids, but because it is actually painful?  Do they know what it is like to see their kid want to talk about psychology and the study of seals more than wanting to play baseball?  Or to understand that their child needs extra time because they are slow processors?  That they are not able to answer a question within your time frame?  That they need to think and sometimes they over think, obsess and become stuck on one thing.  And if they did have these kids at home, would they not want their schools to provide these supports?  Supports such as time and patience, peace and quiet, the ability to take time to answer questions and use thought instead of being constantly berated to hurry up.   My son’s disgust for school has nothing to do with his education.  He is interested.  But if you are expected to go to a rave to learn about biology, how would you behave?  How much would you be able to absorb and learn?  Let’s throw you into a pot of chaos and then tell you to finish your assignments, not be irritable or distracted. 

I have always believed that perfection is a disgusting disguise of those who judge others.  Anyone not being genuinely who they are with expectation that others act this way as well should be defined as being perfect and held to their impossible standard.  My son and I will continue to be imperfect, lively freely with no desire to be influenced by your preconceived ideas of what a single mother and autistic son should be.  We are our own and I can assure you that we are more honest and loving towards each other than most families with two parents or siblings.  We do it our way and we will no longer apologize for not fitting in your class room.   

Chasing Neil

He’s seven years old.  And ever since he was 1 day, he has been the love of my life.  His bold eyes and beautiful heart have captivated me.  He has the ability to stop a store of people as if he was a celebrity with his character and charm, making friends wherever he goes.  Neil is my son, but he is more than that.  Neil is exactly who he wants to be.

For two years I had the privilege of living along side him on a daily basis.  Raising him yes, but watching him take the lead.  Neil always had a curiosity even as a baby.  His observant nature is what makes him who he is today.  Not me, not society, just his ability to see what many of us miss.  He lives in the moment and acts out his feelings.  He is the epitome of honesty.  But unfortunately this is not what society feels is acceptable.

Neil was diagnosed with ASD aka Asperger’s this year after having a hard time performing in 1st grade.  For several years, Neil attended a private preschool followed by kindergarten with no issues.  And then suddenly, those beautiful qualities that we all wish we had became his nemesis.  The overload of information, the long days, the loud crowd of 25 other kids all shoved into one classroom.  It was too much.  Imagine your senses heightened.  Visually over stimulated, not knowing what direction to go in and the noise, oh the Noise Noise Noise as the Grinch would say.  Picture yourself at your office while someone is banging symbols behind your head all day.  This is what it is for Neil to be in a “normal” classroom.  An exhausting roller coaster ride of information, people and demands.  Just like many of us in our careers, there are some that cannot sit behind a desk all day and others that prefer to work independently.  We are not all the same, therefore as we have more freedom to choose what motivates us, we are able to become successful, because we are happy.  But children are not able to choose how they learn and that’s a shame.  Because no matter how much the public school system tries to teach that we are the masses and “one size fits all”, it will fail us every time because we are all different.  Whether you have Asperger’s or you are high energy, or you are shy and anxious or you come from a good home or a broken home or no home at all you have it in you to be productive, focused and driven.  It’s just finding your own desires and motivations that will allow us to be successful.

At home, he is in his element.  I can take him anywhere.  He has a fondness for sushi and Chili’s.  He loves cats and finds it calming and nurturing to act like one every now and again which of course gets him in trouble at school or has other kids wondering what’s up with this kid. But really, don’t all children act out?  Have some form of imaginary friend?  This is why Neil thrives at home and in social situations when we are together.  Because I get him.  He is my son, but he is also my sidekick.  I have been in tune with his senses since he was born. And as he is observing this great big world, I have been observing him.  Since my divorce, our bond has grown even stronger.  We are always together and I use our time to explore and discover new things.  Sometimes I know I am challenging him.  But I parent so that my son may grow up feeling confident and secure in himself in hopes that he is never alone, but if he finds himself struggling, he will know how to cope.  I don’t parent a child on the spectrum. I raise a strong willed boy to become a super cool human in this thoughtless society today.  And I don’t look at him as a child with a “special need”.  I look at Neil as though he has a power we are lacking and in that wild mind of his he is teaching us all how to be real and beautiful in our own selves.

He is wise, an old soul, an incredible reader with an extraordinary vocabulary.  He has an intense focus when working on something he is passionate about.  He laughs a lot even though at seven years old he has been through a lot.  Neil isn’t mine, he belongs to the world and how much greater it is to live in it alongside this beautiful mind.

A Little Help From My Friends

When you’re a parent, you sacrifice.

When you’re a single parent, you struggle.

When you’re raising a child with autism, you dedicate.

When you are all of these things, you need help.

From the time my son was born, help began to diminish. From those you should have no doubts in, to those you gave everything to. But it happened.  People I believed in and loved began dropping like flies.  And soon it was just me and my son.  And for awhile that was alright and we have grown to be better than most would think when you have nothing but dead flies around you.

But soon, you find that you can’t.  And not like the “now come on Dana, you just preached to us about positivity in your last blog.”  No really, you just can’t.  No amount of reciting the Little Engine That Could is going to all of a sudden give me the ability to “can”.  It’s like saying, hey, you’re strong, I bet if you put your mind to it you could lift that parked car over there.  That is what my life is like. That is what many of you out there sharing the same enormous amount of responsibility, but doing it alone, that is what it is…..lifting a car over your head because we believed and stayed positive.  Thanks but that’s not happening.  This is real life, this is happening and  despite my cute Facebook group name “Single Parent Superheroes”, we are not that.  We are human and we cannot do this alone.

Some of you may not want to ask for help.  And believe me, I get it.  But if you can, then get over it, do it!  That parked car is not going to lift itself and you have a child to save.  Some may be where I’m at, just lacking the right amount of flies.  But I will take what I can get.  It’s not easy asking for help when you feel like you have been fighting a battle alone for so long.  And you know that you can’t just except “conventional” help, because let’s face it, you are not conventional.  I have learned that at 40, I have fewer flies (ok I’ll stop calling you that), people in my life than ever before, but I now choose wiser friends and I choose them wisely.  They are too, non conventional.  They may not know exactly what I’m going through, but they get that it’s not easy because they too are going through some messed up stuff.

So at the end of the day when you are finishing the essay you wrote to the teacher, trying to explain to them what you see in your autistic child at the moment so they can better understand.  When you are picking up that child from school after a day of constant worry of what he may or may not be doing while simultaneously trying to earn a living that doesn’t pay the bills.  While you lay your head on your pillow at night wondering if you will ever be enough to have someone to lay next to.  While you walk up to that parked car and hope no one is looking when you actually try to pick it up…..ha gotcha.  Well….at the end, just ask.  Just see.  There may be few, there may be none, but something is better than nothing and you really don’t need another broken back.

What would you think if I sang out of tune?
Would you stand up and walk out on me?
Lend me your ears and I’ll sing you a song
And I’ll try not to sing out of key
Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends
Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends
What do I do when my love is away?
Does it worry you to be alone?
How do I feel by the end of the day?
Are you sad because you’re on your own?
No, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, get high with a little help from my friends
Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends
Do you need anybody?
I need somebody to love
Could it be anybody?
I want somebody to love
Would you believe in a love at first sight?
Yes, I’m certain that it happens all the time
What do you see when you turn out the light?
I can’t tell you, but I know it’s mine
Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, get high with a little help from my friends
Oh, I’m gonna try with a little help from my friends
Do you need anybody?
I just need someone to love
Could it be anybody?
I want somebody to love
Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends
Oh, I get high with a little help from my friends
Yes, I get by with a little help from my friends
With a little help from my friends’
Songwriters: John Lennon / Paul McCartney

IMG_7551

 

My First Day on the Blog

All of you single parents going it alone, this is for you.  From the hurried mornings to the impossible school nights, the pile of dishes and unmade beds.  You are here to relate.  Let’s face it, we are the underdog.  There are no communities for single parents where we can pay a fee to have our lawns mowed.  We are it.  Numero Uno.  If you have help, three kids or one; it doesn’t matter.  This isn’t a competition.  We are in this together.  Because at the end of the day we hit the pillow not the couch…alone.  What is a couch?  If you have one I bet you are never on it.  Chances are it’s mostly used for fort building and coat storing.

Even now as I type, I am ignoring my responsibilities knowing I will need to wake one hour earlier than the typical 5:30 alarm to make up for this “free time”.  You know what I’m talking about, all that “free time” our married friends say we should have because on weekends the other parent has our child.  Yes, because going weeks without another human being to help maintain a home and a child means party time for us on Saturday!  Chances are you are frantically getting all the things done you couldn’t because caulking or weeding don’t get done when you are the only one tending to your child.  Running the gazillion errands on your lunch break because you know you can’t leave the house once you’re home.  And maybe you get out a little to see friends or maybe you have a partner.  That takes even more sacrifice because you know for every minute you are doing  something for yourself you will spend making up in late nights or early mornings.  Someone said to me recently, “Dana, you are lucky you get to have a day out with your boyfriend.  When you are married you never get time like that together.”  Agreed, I was married for 16 years; however, I would easily give up that one “free” day to have every night back with a family.

Things that are done by most at the end of the work day, instead wait for us in endless piles until after our kids are asleep because there is no other parent or warm-blooded body at least keeping an eye out.  You can’t even leave your house if you wanted to.  The papers, the schedules, the forms are piled on the mecca we call the counter top.  You know it well.  And thank goodness for it.  We eat standing up on it, finish homework on it, leave things we think someday we will get to on it.  Thank goodness for the counter top.  Because being a single parent means being grateful.  We get it.  We appreciate any help we can get.

We all have our stories and well, this is mine.  My son is on the spectrum.  Don’t worry, I still don’t know what that means.  He is seven, he is cool and he is my favorite human.  There are no choices in single parenthood.  We are the rushed, the frantic, always late; but we are also the strong and the passionate.  We keep our sanity in front of our children and scream or cry when we are alone (and sometimes akwardly in front of people for no reason).  And we make it work someway, somehow so that our kids don’t have to fight this battle as they grow into adulthood.  In many ways single parenthood makes our children stronger, more independent.  We realize quickly how capable a six year old is helping his mom with the groceries or his Dad with the lawn.  They feel more confident that they are part of the team, team household.  And in this day and age of entitlement, I feel no less of a parent just because I am only one.

So hold your head up high when your heel gets caught in the cracks, or you slam your finger in the door.  The bruises will heal, time will Neil6pass and we will come out of this challenge with knowing we have raised good people.