Hold my hand

     I have long felt the frustration of knowing I need to teach C how to make it in this world while at the same time wanting to preserve and protect his unique personality. I’d like to think those two things don’t have to be mutually exclusive, but sometimes, unfortunately, they just are. Caught between wanting to help him not stand out in what is considered a bad way and wishing kids would just mind their own business has left me frustrated and angry with the way of the world.

     A member of C’s team pulled me aside last week and said he’d been holding hands with his friend “T,” the boy I consider his first real friend. A truer Mutt and Jeff there never has been; T outweighs C by probably 50 pounds and is as tall as C is short. They are quite the pair, drawn together by their mutual love for Mario and T’s uncanny ability to just be C’s friend. 

     So why shouldn’t C hold T’s hand? Who cares, really? Apparently, the other kids do. I’m not sure if it was directed at the boys or if C just overheard someone talking, but he now knows what he calls “the ’G’ word.” He knows “gay” is considered bad despite not really knowing what it means.

     I’m in a conundrum here, for many reasons. The first of which is that both Husband and I are fully supportive of gay rights, gay marriage, adoption by gay couples, you name it. That being said, we know it is not yet developmentally appropriate for C to know about sex and its relationship to the “G word.” So explaining what “gay” really means is something I don’t feel he’s ready for just yet. Quite frankly, if we even mentioned that men sometimes marry men, I’m pretty sure he’d ask T to marry him across his crowded classroom, and then there would be an entirely worse set of problems.

     Which brings me to my second conundrum. I am so tired of feeling as though we need to change C’s behavior and actions to match what other kids deem appropriate. His holding T’s hand is as innocent as it is sweet. Telling him holding hands with another boy is inappropriate makes me want to rebel against all that is deemed “normal” and “typical.” Yet at the same time, if we don’t help him with this, it will be just one more thing that makes him stand out from the crowd.

     I want C to stand out from the crowd – he always will no matter what he does, both in marvelous ways and in ways others find unsettling. The last thing I want to do is turn C into a generic clone, although I realize this will never be the case. And while there are some things I refuse to try to change about C, this is probably a situation where I should just go with the crowd. However, I’m hoping that down the road, we can go back to C and tell him that in fact some boys DO hold other boys’ hands, and that it is perfectly okay. But in the meantime, we’ll just have to go with that rule.

     I don’t like this new rule; I think it goes against not only my personal beliefs about people being allowed to love whomever they love, but it also takes away some of C’s innocence all for the sake of not standing out for something other kids say is wrong. So while Husband was back in C’s room tonight telling him that in 3rd grade, boys just don’t hold other boys’ hands, I was left feeling as though we have somehow sold out just a little bit.

To all the girls he’s loved before…

     C loves the ladies. And they love him back. From his early days of charming grandmotherly types at the post office and calling every woman he saw a “pretty lady,” it’s always been about the girls. There’s a few he’s left behind; most notably the “it” girl of elementary school, if there is such a thing. He adored her from afar, and from not so afar, as he asked her every day the first few months of school if he could sit with her at lunch. Given that she said “no, thank you” every single time (at least she was polite, I suppose), I’m hoping he finally realized that some things just aren’t worth it. Silly girl – she doesn’t know what she missed.

     Yet there’s one girl C has left behind that tugs at my heartstrings. A non-verbal, special needs girl who was in his class last year. C worshipped her. Every day he would rush to school so he could play with her in the sand while waiting for the morning bell to ring. Hours upon hours added up of their sitting in the sand together at recess and before school. She never spoke save a few words in sign language, but I believe her love of him was as deep as his for her. They hugged each other dearly every morning when they first arrived.

     This year, however, she’s not in C’s class, and one member of his team suggested that it was good for him as he needed to move on from her. “He needs to grow beyond her instead of ‘hiding’ with her,” the team member said, and I knew she was right. But I also know why C loved her so; she was safe. Aside from being completely sweet and lovable herself, she never turned him down when he wanted to play with her, never said an unkind word, and always welcomed him with open arms. Who wouldn’t love that?

     C cried when he found out she wouldn’t be in his class this year as his little heart broke into a thousand pieces. He got over it as he settled into his new class and started making friends. Yet every morning when we walk onto the playground before school, she turns his way, her little face lighting up in the tiniest of ways. And unless I point her out, C just doesn’t see her anymore. He has moved on, which makes me both happy and sad at the same time.

Be careful what you wish for

     C has a friend. A best friend. A boy who shares his fanatical interests in silly noises and Mario. They talk on the phone endlessly, trade houses for playdates, and send each other notes home in their school folders. I’m so happy I could cry. It’s wonderful, really, that C finally has a real friend, and when he talks, it’s all “T” all the time.

     Yet with this grand first friendship unfortunately comes a grand drawback. Before C came along, T was inseparable with “R” for many years. Now R is on the outs. Worse, R has an autism diagnosis. Worst, C has never excluded anyone from anything. Until now.

     C and T are doing the usual when three’s a crowd; they are ganging up against the third. Yes, you heard right, my own sweet special needs boy is participating in the unhappiness of another special needs child. It’s not all the time as there are times at school when the three interact nicely together, but R has clearly been replaced in T’s world. C doesn’t know R has autism, and C doesn’t know he himself has autism. What C knows, I believe, is that for the first time ever, he has a best friend, and it feels good. I can’t begrudge him that.

     I suppose most parents would either ignore the behavior or talk generally with their child about being kind to everyone, and the behavior would continue or it would not. Neither of those options work for me. Given my natural protectiveness of children with special needs, I’m not sure which is more painful to me: that this particular child is being hurt or that it’s my child who is partly responsible for the hurting. I simply can’t just ignore the behavior, no matter how much I’d like to say this behavior is a natural part of growing up. C has been on the receiving end of this kind of behavior far too much to simply let it go when it comes from him. And talking generally with C about being kind is never going to sink in to the point he realizes I’m talking about how he treats R.

     So I had to go for something more dramatic, something C would not confuse or only partially hear. I pretty much read him the riot act, complete with telling C he wouldn’t be allowed to play with T on the weekends anymore if the two of them couldn’t figure out a way to be kind to R. I reminded C that he too had been left out of groups and how upset he was by it.

     What I realized, unfortunately too late, is that this approach didn’t work either. It became painfully obvious, after a particularly unproductive, mostly one-sided conversation, that I had blown it completely. C had no real idea what I was talking about. I figured on some level he knew he was being unkind, but he really didn’t. It simply did not occur to C that R was hurt. And that is what broke my heart most of all.

The grass is never greener

     As I watched C on the first morning of school, I also watched the boys in his class greet each other with fist bumps and high fives. C stood alone by the side of his class line and completely shut down. No words, no smiles, just a death grip on my hand strong enough to make me wince, while he looked straight ahead and fingered the picture of our dog he had stashed away in his pocket.

     Last year, C seemed to figure out that girls are good and boys are sometimes mean. Blessedly he missed much of the teasing directed his way, but there was definitely some awareness that the boys weren’t always nice. I watched him throughout the year as he eventually stopped greeting many of the boys in his class altogether. He just gave up and stopped trying with them. Part of me was happy that he learned to stay away from those who hurt him, but the other part of me wished he didn’t even realize they hurt him. 

     Of course, if C didn’t recognize the pain of being shunned, I would have a completely different child than I do. I am thankful for how far C has come over the years, and I remind myself it wasn’t really all that long ago (although it seems a world away) that we were worried he’d never break out of his shell and lead the kind of life he’s leading now. This is a child who wants friends with a desperation that is enough to make me cry but rejoice at the same time. Far more a blessing than a curse, C’s awareness of other kids and his desire to have friends sometimes brings him sadness but also delivers the greatest joy. My single most important challenge as a parent is making sure those two emotions counter-balance each other.

And so it begins

     On this morning of the first day of school, I find myself more anxious than usual about the new year. After one year of difficulties with boys, I thought it might be a fluke. After two years, I know it’s a pattern. So what will 3rd grade bring, and is there any way C can attend an all girls school?

     The elusive path to friendship with a peer boy eludes C. I worry that all the boys in his class will be gargantuan-sized athletic boys who understand the subtle ways to tease someone else and get away with it. I have visions of C sitting alone at the lunch table, trying not to cry into his rice milk. Will yet another year pass with the only party invitation being from the boy whose Mother makes him invite the whole class?    

     We’ve done everything we can to pave the way to a successful year. We explored the idea of holding him back to be with a “nicer” group of boys, but decided against it. I met with C’s new principal multiple times to ensure his placement with the teacher who would be the best match for him. I took C in to meet with said best-match-teacher (heretoforeveraftermore dubbed “Mrs. D”) last week, and, as per usual, he is smitten (so am I). It helps that Mrs. D resembles “Peach,” C’s favorite Mario character, and has dog pictures scattered around her room. 

     There is hope. C’s desk is next to a girl from his class last year who was delightfully kind to him. I’ve volunteered to be class Mom in the hopes that I can arrange some playdates with other kids. The new special education teacher seems to be a definite bright spot.

     I don’t want much. Just. One. Friend. Surely that’s not too much to ask.

The core of the matter

     There are always memorable comments made at C’s IEP meetings; comments that stick in my head for one reason or another. Usually, it’s because someone on his team has so beautifully captured something about him, and I hold the thought close to figure out what to do with it later. Long past the point of leaving an IEP meeting feeling as though my heart has been ripped from my chest and stomped on, I now feel as though the members of C’s team so closely grasp both his strengths and challenges that I find myself inspired to soldier on in shepherding this amazing child.  

     At C’s most recent IEP meeting it was the statement that C “has no core group of close friends” that stuck with me afterward. Friendly with most everyone, C seems to remain the friendliest kid in the world without any real friends. He’s definitely doing better - he has settled down and the kids seem to accept him more. Yet he continues to be, at his very center, alone. It struck me that this really is the crux of the issue for C. We can work around his handwriting challenges, and we’ll continue to address reading comprehension as the work becomes more difficult. It remains, however, that what none of us can seem to help him grasp is the very thing he needs the most.

A change is in the air

     I sense a shift afoot in my world, and I think I like it. It makes me feel a bit rebellious, a bit wild, and just a little bit assertive. It’s not a huge change, and it’s not as though I’ve gone from one side of the issue to the other. I guess I’ve just landed on one side after all this time sitting on top of the fence trying to balance. I still have one hand on the fence, but I suspect I’ll move away from it as time goes on.

     All this time, while loving C just the way he is, I’ve tried to follow his lead and help give him the skills he so desperately wants. He wants friends, and I’ve tried to show him the way. With therapies, facilitated playdates and Mommy intervention at the park, I’ve gently coached him in the finer skills of friend-making as if I had a list of what those skills actually are.

     What I’ve realized is that he just is who he is, and he’ll probably always struggle with the social subtleties of friend-making. And to heck with everyone else if they don’t love him like I do. They don’t know what they’re missing. I’m tired of trying so hard to help him fit into their world. Why can’t they come on over to his?

Wordless Wednesday

Best Friends

Someone special

     As I stood waiting for C’s class to go inside this morning, he was lagging at the end of the line talking to a little girl in his class. He told her that he had a new $10 bill at home and that it said “We the people” on it. The class recently memorized the Preamble to the Constitution, and for those of you who don’t remember (um, that would’ve been ME before it was repetitively drilled into my head a few short weeks ago), “We the people” comprises the first three words of the Preamble.

     This lovely little girl, whom I would gratefully adopt if only her parents were willing, looked at C directly and said, “Wow! That’s really cool!” They continued chatting all the way in the door. It was such a delightful moment for me to witness. C sharing one of his slightly perseverative fixations with someone, and that someone responding in an interested way. A real, meaningful dialogue between two kids, and one of them was C.

     I think he might have a real friend.

Big Deal

     C had a big moment the other day. No, I must correct that – a HUGE moment. Something came in the mail addressed to him, something I’ll probably save in the little pile I keep of huge moment momentos. It’s something I’d almost given up on ever happening, resigning myself to the fact that this moment might never arrive. Yet it did. With great fanfare.

     For the first time in his life, C has received a special kind of birthday party invitation. Not just any party, but one that takes place at Chuck E. Cheese, his favorite place on the planet. He doesn’t even know there’s pizza there as that’s completely off his radar screen – and he has no interest in eating it. It’s the games, the tokens, the tickets, the prizes, and being there with other kids he knows.

     Why so special? This is the first birthday party invitation he’s ever received simply because the birthday child really wants him there. It had nothing to do with the Moms being friends, or because the whole class was invited, or because the neighbors had to invite him so he doesn’t feel left out. This invitation, in all its glory, came simply from one little boy to another, from one friend to another, just because the friend wanted C at his party.

     That kid is going to get one rocking birthday present.