But At Least It Would Be a Graceful Death

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Sweet Pea tends to worry about the future. She'll come up with all sorts of things to worry about. Usually these are easily countered, and she is (temporarily) reassured. It's gotten that many of the same things come up over and over again, so I've developed almost automatic responses:

"What if I don't like the job I get when I grow up?"
"Then you'll get another. I had a lot of different jobs before the one I have now".

"What if a bad person breaks in our house and kidnaps me?"
"The doors and windows are all locked. And the police drive around all the time looking for bad people".

"What if you die?"
"I'm not planning on dieing for a long time".

"What if there's a tornado and it knocks the house down?"
"This house has been here for over 100 years, and nothing has knocked it down yet. Mommy and I and this house will protect you".

But the other night she threw me off for a second. She came up with:

"But what if I get sick?"
"What do you mean, Sweet Pea?"

"What if I get sick and die from the Swan Flu?"

One part of me cringed a little inside. I shared this irrational fear, that this flu season would be one for the record books. That there would not be enough vaccine in time. One of her classmates already had a case. A grandchild of a co-worker is currently ill with it. One of our doctors got it last fall from a patient. What if I caught if from a patient and infected one or both of our kids? Of course I know that even if they get it, that they probably won't die. They'll probably be enough anti-viral medicines around to treat them. Probably.

Of course another part of me wanted to laugh out loud at the "swan" thing. Buddy Boy immediately chimed in,

"It's the SWINE flu. SWINE flu! You know, pigs!"

I then hugged her, and told her we'd just have to get her some medicine for that, if she got sick.

We actively try not to have the news on the TV, as there's seldom anything good on, and you'd think that every other child in the county had been kidnapped for all the coverage kidnappings get. But somehow the world creeps in, no matter what we do. And the media magnify our little fears, irrational though they be.

All You Need Is...

The above message was slipped under the bathroom door this morning by my daughter, Sweet Pea, while I was shaving. She usually isn't up that early, so it was a bit of a surprise. When I had finished I opened the door, and she gave me a great big hug and told me I was the best daddy in the whole wide world.

Not a bad way to start your day.

I once read a definition of a daughter as "The one woman in your life who will love you totally and not try to change you." I can kind of understand that.

Of course, this is the same daughter who over the weekend, after being called out for taunting her brother, was crying and yelling at us at the top of her lungs "I hate you. You don't love me. You always yell at me. I'm going to leave and find new parents who will love me." (Note-she defines "yelling at her" as any comment that uses even a slightly disapproving tone of voice)

I think I'm going to have to "store" the memory of days like this, to get me through her puberty.

Trump Card

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Kristina Chew got me thinking today with her post on "Race, Diagnosis, and Identity". In it, she talks about her son Charlie's biracial (Asian/Caucasian) heritage, as well as his other difference, his autism. Kristina also references an article by Peggy Orenstein in the New York Times Magazine called "Mixed Messenger", which discusses Barack Obama's biracial status as a candidate, and being biracial in America today.

When Liz and I were contemplating adoption, we thought long and hard about whether to adopt trans racially or not, which race children we would accept, and what sorts of disabilities we would accept (our children, Buddy Boy and Sweet Pea are biracial African-American/Caucasian). It all sounds so clinical, cold, and calculating, but that's what the adoption process asks of you. You are forced to fill out forms stating what types of children (sex, age, race, disabilities) from what types of parents (drug abusing, smokers, psychiatric issues) you are willing to accept for placement.

I knew that kids who had been adopted often had some issues to work thru regarding having been adopted, and I also knew that kids who had been adopted trans racially sometimes were OK with it, and sometimes felt very much like outsiders amongst their own race when they grew up (and resenting their parents who raised them). I always figured that issues of race would rank high within our family as our kids grew up.

Although our kids are both black and white, I realize that in many places and situations in American the "one drop" rule applies (as long as you have one drop of black blood in you, you are considered black). I knew that even though Liz and I would try to do things to make our kids feel comfortable with their racial identities, that we would most likely not be able to do this fully, and perhaps not even well. And I didn't want to cheat our kids in this very important aspect of their lives. On the other hand, I knew that there are more African-American and biracial African-American children waiting for adoptive parents then there are minority parents waiting to adopt. Thus the choice wasn't necessarily between our kids going to an African-American or biracial couple rather than us, but rather perhaps having to wait much longer to be adopted (or not being placed at all) or being placed with us.

I also worried about how African Americans would accept us as a family. I knew that part of having them grow up being comfortable in their skin would involve us seeking out relationships with African Americans, and I didn't want our kids to see us getting the cold shoulder from black people. This, it turns out, was a totally unfounded fear. Once we adopted our kids an amazing thing happened. I have never felt anything other than acceptance (and even love) from African Americans I know.

So I guess the bottom line was I expected that issues of race would be foremost with us as a family, followed by issues with adoption. Little did I realize when I started this journey as a dad that autism would trump both of those (at least for Buddy Boy). For the last 5 years autism has made my previous concerns regarding race and adoption fall completely to the wayside. I still worry how issues of race will affect my children in the future (as well as my ability to prepare them for the discrimination that they will feel once they leave the protective cocoon of being accompanied by their lily white parents). I also worry specifically how issues of autism and race will interact in the future with Buddy Boy. One of the biggest fears I have involves Buddy Boy having a meltdown as a teenager, and being perceived as an "angry young black man" by a police officer, and being arrested (or worse) because of the interaction of his disability with his race. Orenstein in her article mentions

A few weeks ago, while stuck at the Chicago airport with my 4-year-old daughter, I struck up a conversation with a woman sitting in the gate area. After a time, she looked at my girl — who resembles my Japanese-American husband — commented on her height and asked, “Do you know if her birth parents were tall?”

While I don't think anyone should have to suffer other's assumptions about their children, given the choice of someone assuming Buddy Boy was adopted internationally vs. someone assuming he was a gang banger, I'd take the first assumption in a heartbeat.

But for the last several years learning to deal with all the myriad aspects of Buddy Boy's autism (and more importantly, fighting against a system that wanted to label him as behaviorally disturbed for education purposes rather than autistic) has consumed most of our energy on a day to day basis.

I know that with Sweet Pea we'll still have the issues of race and adoption to deal with. At 5, she's already hit us with the "I wish my skin was white like yours" plea. While I know intellectually that statements like this are to be expected in trans racial adoptions, it sure made me feel inadequate as a parent at the time. Had living in a racially mixed neighborhood, playing with the black kids across the street, having a black babysitter, reading to them about black accomplishments, going to museums, had none of this had any effect? Had we neglected Sweet Pea's development of racial identity because of our time spent trying to get Buddy Boy into (and keeping him from getting kicked out of) a proper educational setting?

I guess in the end there are different trump cards at different times. I also know that part of being a parent is to feel constantly inadequate and not up to the task.

School Ups and Downs

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My apologies for not posting lately. Things have been busy (work, home, kid's school) and I just haven't had the feeling that I had anything of any importance to say lately. I don't really have anything that important to say today, for that matter, but felt more like posting.

Overall, this has been a good year in school. So good for Buddy Boy that I haven't really talked about it, for fear of jinxing him. His second grade teacher is the best teacher in the school (at least that's what parents who have had kids in her class say, and I tend to agree). Mrs. J loves Buddy Boy, sees the positives, is great at motivating him, and is great at including him. Did I mention that he is included in the main gen ed classroom for the whole day, with the exception of some pull out time for OT? He has an aide, and has gone from less than half time in the gen ed classroom last year to full time this year. Buddy Boy has had a few rough spots, but his teacher took them in stride, never threatened that we "needed to do something about him", and kept pushing on, expecting him to succeed. And he has.

Buddy Boy still has problems completing his work in school, but his teacher allows for some modifications, and we complete some of it with him at home. He's doing fine academically, and really excels in spelling. He loves his class.

Sweet Pea is a bit of a pistol, but has settled in fairly well to Kindergarten. She firmly believes that the world revolves around her, that she is a true princess, and that she always deserves to be first, best, etc., etc. She is a social butterfly, and has a lot of friends. She also has some enemies at school (ironically, most seem to be girls amazingly like her, who also think that they are the best and only ones). But mostly she's done just fine.

I really shouldn't (and can't) complain. Especially when I read some other blogs, and see that some of my cyber acquaintances (I'd call y'all cyber friends, but you'd probably think I was a bit creepy) like Niksmom and Marla are going thru right now. I truly have nothing to complain about.

And yet I've been down a bit lately, because Buddy Boy has been struggling a bit more (getting into more arguments with his teacher at school, refusing to do homework, etc.) over the last few weeks. About 5 weeks ago he trashed our kitchen, including breaking up a wooden chair. It seemed to be an isolated incident at the time. I've asked him if he's unhappy in school, but he says he's not. I think he feels pressure, but he also desperately wants to stay in the gen ed room. This week has been especially bad at school (compared to how the rest of this year has been).

This week Buddy Boy's class has a student teacher (without the regular teacher in the room), and his aide has been out sick (and has not been replaced). They are covering the solar system in his class, and it is being presented as a "Space Adventure". The solar system is one of Buddy Boy's favorite things. He can name the planets (in order) tell me which ones are gas planets, was sad when Pluto lost its planetary designation, etc.

Whether it's been having the student teacher, not having his aide, or just one of those things, for the first three days this week he had to be removed from science class. As soon as the teacher started talking about the solar system he started interrupting, saying "It's not a space adventure!" He wouldn't (or couldn't) say what exactly he thought it should be, but something was truly upsetting about the way this was being presented, and he basically decompensated. When Buddy Boy decompensates, he gets less verbal, starts verbal ticks (grunts, clearing his throat, barking) and then starts getting physical (throwing things and/or tearing at his clothes). No one got hurt, and the school hasn't threatened to do anything, but it's been kind of disappointing. Once he was out of the classroom, he stayed out for the rest of the day. Things were going so good. We've tried talking to him about it the last few days, but he can't really say what's been setting him off, and each day has been pretty much the same. Liz called his teacher yesterday, and politely but firmly said that he absolutely needed to have an aide, as he was clearly having problems. His teacher agreed.

Today he got thru Science class! Maybe it was getting an aide back, maybe it was a fluke, or maybe he's accommodated to the changed teacher and unorthodox method of presenting the material. But for whatever reason, he made it thru today, which was good.

Meanwhile, down the hall in Kindergarten Sweet Pea was getting herself in a bit of trouble. Earlier this year the school called us because one of the parents complained that Sweet Pea was weaseling food from her daughter. Not exactly stealing it, but going up to this other girl and saying things like "That sure looks good. I sure would like some of that. Can I have some of your food?" This other girl didn't seem able to just say no, but always felt bad, and would go home and cry about this. The school also has a strict "No Food Sharing" rule, to prevent kids with allergies from getting the wrong food, as well as for general decorum. We talked about it when we found out, and thought she had stopped it.

Well last week we found out that Sweet Pea has been up to her old tricks again (and with the same girl). I guess she figures if there are no teachers directly around her at lunch time that she can get away with it. While I worry that my son will get bullied at school, his little sister is practicing her own bullying skills (this year treats from another's lunch, next year the lunch money?). So this time we've grounded her three favorite stuffed animals (all cats) and have threatened that if it happens again, her birthday party at the end of next month will be canceled. I'm hoping that will do it. But I fear that even if this battle is won, there will be many bigger ones with her in the future.

I'm crossing my fingers that Buddy Boy gets thru tomorrow OK, so he can finish the week on an up note, and that Sweet Pea doesn't forfeit the party. Because she has been planning this party since last year, and I know she's really looking forward to it.

Like I said, nothing earth shattering, or really all that interesting.

Springs coming, I know it is. And I can't wait for the clocks to change.

Out of the Mouths of Babes...

photo credit- Shaun.numb

So, Liz was walking thru the local mall the other day, and they passed the central fountain (which has always been a big hit with Buddy Boy since he was at least 6 months old-even after sitting there watching it for 30 minutes he would scream when we left it). On this day the fountain was spewing pink water (which was just fine with Sweet Pea, as she loves anything pink).

The pink water was a marketing thing for the Susan G. Komen race for the cure event that is coming to our town soon. In explaining the event to Buddy Boy, she explained that everyone doesn't always run, and that many walk, much like the "Autism Walk" that we have taken part in in the past. Well Buddy Boy put together the notions of "curing breast cancer" and "autism walk" together in his brain right away, and even though Liz never said anything about curing autism, he said,

"I don't want to be cured. I'm not sick."

He then seemed to infer that the Autism Walk money might be used to "cure" autism, because he stated,

"If we go on the Autism Walk again, we can just take their money. I am not sick."

Later, when Liz was in the car with the kids, listening to the same National Public Radio (NPR) story on autism that Autism Diva was, one of the participants referred to autism as a disease. Immediately Buddy Boy piped up from the back seat,

"It's not a disease!"

Liz agreed, saying that autism is actually a disorder, to which Buddy Boy responded,

"It's not a disorder, either! Autism makes me special!"

To which Liz could only agree.

Now I know that what a 7 year old puts forth as his opinion cannot be reliably said to be his opinion alone. Certainly a lot of what he says are just things he's heard. But while we certainly try to keep a positive spin on autism, we don't usually discuss autism politics or controversies in front of him (we're much more focused on discussing things like the proper channeling of aggression). So when I heard this I was glad that Buddy Boy had what I considered a very healthy view of things, and seemed to be integrating his own feelings on the subject with things he's heard from us and others. On top of that, all I can say is,

"That's my boy!"

I Believe in Guardian Angels

Well, the last week or so has been pretty good for Buddy Boy (and for us). We've all settled back into our somewhat regular routines, and our days have been fairly uneventful. So I guess I'm ready to relate what happened almost three weeks ago now. I'm not a guy that gets rattled (shaken up) very easily. Just a month ago I pretty much laughed off an incident when Buddy Boy got ahold of Liz's car keys and started up the car in the garage. But this incident I'm going to describe really upset me, and I'm only now getting my sense of equilibrium back.

I awoke at about 5:15 AM (my usual time). As soon as I exited our bedroom to go to the bathroom down the hall I smelled burnt popcorn. I immediately got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and proceeded downstairs. I saw (and smelled) the following things in rapid succession (not necessarily in this order):

As I passed the family room I heard and saw the TV was on. Buddy Boy was nowhere to be seen.

I followed my nose to the kitchen. I saw Buddy Boy sitting at the kitchen table eating burnt popcorn out of a bowl that we use for popcorn, which is stored in a cabinet above the refrigerator. He appeared unharmed, and safe.

The top of the hot air popcorn maker was half melted, and it was still half filled with burnt popcorn, which spilled over the counter and floor.

There were several pieces of burnt 8.5" x 11" pieces of paper on the floor, as well as a big black burnt spot on the kitchen tiles (about 3 feet around). The air smelled not only of the burnt popcorn, but also of smoke. Our smoke alarm had not gone off.

There was black soot that covered a lot of the stuff in the kitchen (Liz later informed me that she cleaned off soot from things in the dining room and living room, too.

I saw a small mound of melted blue wax from a melted birthday candle on the floor.

The oven door was open, and a baking pan was sitting on the door of the oven. The pan was filled with a half baked yellowish mass.

After quickly ascertaining that there was no acute danger, I ran to Buddy Boy and hugged him. And I trembled. I was scared.

I have always had a healthy respect for (and perhaps a little fear of) fire, ever since the time when I was about thirteen, when my then 3 year old brother almost burned down our house with a candle when I was babysitting him and two other siblings. I managed to extinguish that fire with a fire extinguisher with the only damage being a buckled tile floor, a burnt chest of drawers, and a singed set of curtains. It was real close to a disaster. I have always kept several fire extinguishers around the house, have smoke detectors on every floor, and have an escape ladder stored in my closet upstairs. Our house was built in 1880, and though we have lived in it since 1998, I have yet to light a fire in the fireplace.

After quickly ascertaining that Buddy Boy was OK, I decided that this scene was too terrible for Liz to see as is, and that I would try to quickly clean up as much as possible, as fast as possible. I didn't want Liz to feel the same panic I was feeling.

Buddy Boy asked me if it was the middle of the night, and if he should go back to bed. I just had him sit down.

I grabbed the garbage bag out of its container and I started shoveling things into it. The popcorn and the burnt papers were the first things in. Then I got a scrub brush to try and get the big burn mark off the tile floor. I got the majority of it off before Liz walked in. I filled her in on what I knew, and after a little while she took over while I was able to escape to work.

------------------------------------------

Buddy Boy has become "sneaky" as of late. We keep a "baby monitor" in his room (as well as in Sweet Pea's). Our house walls are solid, and these monitors allow us to hear them if they cry out in the middle of the night (they also allow us to hear single songs on a CD played over and over all night long, too). Buddy Boy knows we have the monitor in there, and he knows we know if he shuts it off (which he has tried to do a couple of times). He has learned to be very quiet in tiptoeing out of his room and carefully opening and shutting his bedroom door. We have caught him a couple of times after sneaking out of his room. He's never done anything other than watch TV or go to sleep in another room. Nothing even close to this incident.

We've also been battling some sleep issues with Buddy Boy. We thought Melatonin was working, but had had a few nights where he had a lot of trouble falling (and keeping) asleep. Eventually he had always gotten to sleep, though.

Over the next couple of days, Liz and I pieced together the approximate sequence of events.

Buddy Boy has always been quite adept at operating the TV and cable remotes. When he was two, he couldn't talk, but he had the basic functions of the remote (on/off, volume, channels) mastered. He now is faster than any of the rest of us at operating the three remotes necessary to control the TV, cable box, and the VCR. He can scroll thru the menus and find whatever he wants. We put a password on for the pay per view stuff, as he once ordered up a cartoon movie without asking.

Buddy Boy evidently must have come out of his room fairly shortly after we had gone to bed. He had watched three full length animated movies (as we ascertained from the cable menu). That alone must have taken him almost 6 hours. That's when he evidently got hungry, and moved to the kitchen.

Buddy Boy related that he used flour, butter, and water to make himself a "cake". Though proud of his industriousness, he could have burned himself badly handling hot stuff from the oven.

Having failed to make himself something that tasted good, he proceeded to the popcorn. Again, having overfilled the popcorn maker and left it on too long, another hazard (this time fire) was averted.

At some point Buddy Boy decided to play with the birthday candles. He got them out of their storage place in a high cabinet, and also got some matches out of the same cabinet. We think he lit the matches from the stove, then lit the candles (we later found the remains of at least three candles, one of them in the living room-he said he wanted to take fire to the fireplace).

I consider it just short of a miracle that no one was hurt (not to mention that the house was still intact). I have thanked G-d many times since that day for protecting our son and the rest of our family. I have also been mad at myself for not being more careful prior to this.



The hardest thing I've done since this is install a metal hook/eye lock on Buddy Boy's bedroom door. Liz and I talked about it for a couple of days before doing it, but didn't see any other way of assuring protection for all involved. Our burgler alarm would alert us if an outside door was breached, but if we activate the inside motion alarms, none of us would be able to walk around without setting it off. I feel terrible as a father, locking my kid in his room at night. I think of the wooden box and padded room that were used for discipline in a school that Buddy Boy was in for a while last year, and wonder if I am just as bad. For his part, Buddy Boy has taken the lock on his room in stride. If this becomes a long term issue, I'll probably talk to the alarm company and get his door wired into the system somehow. But for now we have the lock. I tell myself that if Buddy Boy really needed to get out of his room in an emergency that he is stronger than that lock. And that the act of him breaking the lock would create enough noise that we would hear. But perhaps I am just placating myself. All I know is that neither Liz nor myself got a good nights sleep for the two days until we installed the lock (and for a few days after that, too, until we trusted it).

We've talked several times with Buddy Boy about several issues (lying, trust, SAFETY) but aren't sure what is sinking in (especially as this incident was less than two weeks after the starting the car incident).

But as I started out saying, the last week or so has been good. Buddy Boy has had several good days leading up to his IEP (I always hate the psychological disadvantage of going into an IEP with recent "bad" days having occurred-they seem to become disproportionally important to the "team"). And the sleep issues seem to be a bit better, having changed to a prescription med.

I don't know if Buddy Boy will think less of me for having installed the lock, but I do know I need to keep him safe.

Unintended Benefits

We have two children. Buddy Boy, who is now 7 and PDD-NOS, and Sweet Pea, who will be 5 next month, and apart from possibly being a little hyperactive, is NT.

Sweet Pea, like any 2nd child (I was one myself), is very competitive. She always wants to do what her older brother does, and is always trying to prove that she is better, faster, and stronger than her brother (or anyone else for that matter). She also resents anything that Buddy Boy gets that she doesn’t (like rewards for certain behaviors).

Last night we went to father's night at her pre-school, which she had been looking forward to for weeks ("We're learning a new song, daddy", "I'm going to be a rhino, daddy", "How many days until father's night?"). We both had a great time.

But I’m sure the time will come when she will confront us and ask us why we don’t spend as much time with her as we do with her brother. And of course try to guilt us by saying we don’t love her as much.

What Sweet Pea doesn’t realize, and may not believe when I tell her, is that one of the gifts that I have received because of Buddy Boy’s autism is that I am a better father, both to her as well as Buddy Boy. I’m not perfect by any means, but I’m sure that I’m better than I otherwise would have been.

When most kids are fairly young their parents are in the beginning to middle of their career cycles. This means that they usually are paying a fair amount of attention to their careers, and letting the home life take care of itself. Not that they’re bad people, but the nature of being on the upswing of your career is that a lot of your energy is sucked out of you by the workplace, and this necessarily limits what you have left for your kids. You rationalize it by saying that it’s equally important to advance your career (income) so that you can provide well for your family. And oftentimes half your kids’ childhood has raced by while you’re doing this.

When a crisis hits your family (and even though autism itself may not be a crisis, dealing with the school system certainly has been) you are forced to acutely reevaluate everything you do. Buddy Boy’s autism has forced me to decide what is really important.

Learning to deal with Buddy Boy’s outbursts when he was younger has assisted me in deciding what’s important. Reading Dr. Ross Greene’s “The Explosive Child” helped us to approach both of our kids in a more supportive and collaborative fashion. I’m sure that I raise my voice less to Sweet Pea because of the things I have learned about interacting better with Buddy Boy. Had I not been forced by extreme behavior to look for other solutions, I would have probably just bumbled along with my somewhat authoritarian nature.

As it became clear that Buddy Boy was going to need a lot of time on my wife Liz’s part as well as mine, both for advocacy as well as for day-to-day support of Buddy Boy, I had to make a decision. Either throw up my hands and say I can’t do any more, or do what most of us have done, and try to figure out how to best help my kid when he needed us. For me it first meant that I changed jobs within our department. I took a job with more predictable hours and more time at home. This meant less income, but the tradeoff has benefited my marriage as well as my relationship with both of my kids. Recently it has meant turning down a promotion and having to serve on the search committee to find the person who will be my boss. While I thought that we had gotten to a place where I could have handled this position without disrupting my home life, Liz did not think so. I respected her perspective, and again this will mean that I will end up with more time at home with both kids then if I had taken the promotion. We’ll have to manage without the extra money (we haven’t gotten anything more in our department than a token raise since 1998), but I’ve never heard anyone on their death bed express regrets that they didn’t earn more money.

So I hope Sweet Pea realizes that while I’m not perfect, I’ve been a darn site better than I would have been as a parent, and spent more time with her than I would have, because of Buddy Boy’s autism.

Joe is 208

Introduction

CLUB- 1) A group of people united by a common interest or goal. 2) An association to promote good fellowship or social intercourse.

The most quoted estimate of the incidence of autism spectrum disorders is 1 in 166.

My name is Joe. I live with my family in an inner ring suburb of a mid-sized Midwestern City in the U.S. I officially joined the "Families Directly Affected by Autism" club in October of 2004, when our son was diagnosed with PDD-NOS, a type of autism spectrum disorder (ASD). My wife Liz and I had actually joined it when our son was born in 2000, we just didn't realize it at the time.

Our son, who I'll refer to as "Buddy Boy" as that's what I often call him, exhibited many of the typical signs of autism as he grew. He didn't have any words at all at 24 months. Which isn't to say that he was unable to communicate. He "spoke" sentences with one syllable: Dih. "Dih dih dih dih dihdihdihdihdih". He repeated it as many times as necessary, raising and lowering the pitch, until he got his point across. He also spun a lot, flapped his hands, and played atypically with his toys (for example, taking things apart and building other things, which weren't necessarily recognizable as anything in particular, with the parts). He was also generally affectionate with us, and had an explosion of language from 28-36 months.

Buddy Boy received speech therapy and Occupational Therapy for what we were told was Sensory Integration Disorder. When his language took off I remember thinking "At least he doesn't have autism". I have felt somewhat guilty about thinking that ever since, as I have discovered that dealing with autism isn't the terrible burden I imagined it would be, and having autism definitely doesn't mean that one is destined to have an unfulfilled life.

Buddy Boy has a sister, Sweet Pea, who is 4 1/2 years old, and other than being a little hyper, is totally neurotypical.

I think the opening line of Dickens' "A Tale of Two Cities" best explains what it's like to raise a child with autism-"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times". Many people see some of the outward signs of autism-lack of or atypical verbal communication, screaming or tantrums with sensory overload, general lack of eye contact, etc.-and either pity you that your life must be miserable, or give you the evil eye like you're a terrible parent that can't discipline your child. They almost never see the connections that you do make with your child, enjoy some of the great (and funny) things they create, or appreciate that you have most of the "normal" joys and sorrows that come with parenting any child.

Although dealing with ignorant attitudes in public can be somewhat troubling, our greatest trials have come with dealing with the school system. Buddy Boy is very intelligent, and can go on for great lengths of time expounding on such things as volcanoes or what components make up a water treatment plant (when he drew a diagram of a plant and identified one layer in a sedimentary pool as alum I had to look it up to check it out-he was right). He also clears his throat and grunts a lot (an involuntary tic that has been described in school records as making "rude sounds"), also has ADHD (which makes him butt into conversations a lot and try to monopolize them), and tends to perseverate over, and fixate on, small details (for instance he'll decide that he needs to study dust mites, so he'll start collecting loads of dust and won't let us throw it away). He also can be somewhat confrontational (usually verbally, but at times physically) when he doesn't get his way. Some of Buddy Boy's teachers and school administrators have identified him as non-compliant, and have worked actively to get him thrown out of school, rather than actively working to keep him included.

Many of the blogs regarding raising kids on the autism spectrum are written by women. A few are written by men. Many of both are excellent, and I've followed many as they also walk this same path that we do. I've decided to add one more blog to the estimated 60 million other blogs out there. Even if no one else reads this, I know it will make me feel better to get some of my thoughts out there, and I think it's helpful to have another male perspective on the subject.

So pull up a seat and sit a while. I don't plan on publishing something daily. More like once or twice a week. I also haven't figured out how to do the RSS feed thing, or even how to attach pictures yet. Perhaps in time I'll have a snazzy look to the place. Until then, this is it. Like a good movie, the story will have to carry me. It certainly won't be my writing or presentation skills.