Bullies Nearly Sully Disabled Child's Sunny Weekend

Like many 11 year old boys, my son loves to ride his bike. He loves the freedom of the road, the challenge of finding cool neighborhood bike routes, and the wind in his face. Biking is his ultimate freedom . And that freedom includes neighborhood rides to the sports card and memorabilia shop and the local park. Great exercise, exploring one's community, and catching some sunshine was the goal for Saturday, isn't that enough?

Apparently, for some bullies in a car, it was not enough.

As my son waited on his bike at the light on a busy street close to our home, some teen boys in a car yelled at my son, called him names, and pelted melted cupcakes at him.

What were those kids thinking? I think I know. I suspect it went something like this: "Hey, see the fat kid up there on the bike? Let's throw this at him. It'll be funny!" (Or something said far cruder, I imagine).

The cupcakes were thrown at my son's face, but he blocked the throws and it splattered over his favorite t-shirt and shorts, his right arm, socks, and shoes. The perpetrators drove off instantly. My son was humiliated and upset. He called home on his cell phone (yes, he has one, a move that at first we thought was crazy to do for someone this age, but now take great comfort in the fact that he has one). He told his dad what happened. My husband jumped in our car immediately and drove the few blocks away to get our son. After loading up the bike and our son, they drove to get my daughter and I, who happened to be out on a neighborhood walk at the time, to tell us what happened.

And what happened would upset any child, but my son is not any child. He is on the autistic spectrum  (high functioning) with some added conditions. Life is not easy for my child. The fact that he can even ride a bike (despite some impaired fine and gross motor skills) is a big deal. He's worked hard, despite huge challenges to earn his independence on his bike. He has to work harder, plan further, and deal with some issues that no child should ever have to deal with. While he is a big kid, medications to treat his conditions, pack on weight, something he struggles with every single day. The hardest part of it all and the most difficult to stomach, is that my son has been the survivor of bullying in the school system and elsewhere multiple times. He dealt with the following: being called dumb, slow, weird, disturbed, and fat. Some of these cruel peers from his mid-elementary school days, did receive punishment for their poor behavior. Most didn't. I even had some of them do this right in front of ME, in a bold and uncaring move. Even adults in my community, who were either unwilling or unable to have understanding, said inappropriate comments within an earshot of my child. Each day is work for my son. Each day is work for our family. Each day presents challenges.

And now this.

But there is a good news story in all of this. Really.

After being very upset when my son returned home, he did something rather unexpected. He handled the situation very maturely and wisely. He said, "I am mad about this, but I am sad, too." He remained calm, despite it all. In the past, my husband and I would have expected a tantrum, tears, depression, and/or anger due to his conditions. Not here. Although he did say, "I don't think I want to ride my bike anymore." It was then, that as parents, our hearts got crushed. My husband was even reduced to tears when our son had left the room, he was so shaken. We were so angry, sad, and disappointed. We wished we would have caught the horrid people that did this and had a word with them. We wished life wasn't so unfair. We wished, since that this happened on a busy street, that some caring adult would have stopped to help, offer a kind word, or something. This did not happen. Nothing happened but injustice and cruelty. And even though we worked hard to show love, kindness, and support to our son for the rest of the evening, it was still hard to breathe and think. We wondered if this would be a big setback for him and this worried us to no end.

But it was this 11 year old,  developmentally and learning disabled child that turned it around in less than a day.

First thing this morning, my son declared, "I am going to be riding my bike A LOT." And this is what he did! He went out on ride after ride, stopping back at home to refuel with food, water, rest,  love, and support. And time after time, we sent him back out again as he wished, seeing a boy more and more restored. He returned more and more tired, thirsty, and sweaty, but triumphant. It was pure joy to see this strength of purpose and sense of being.

You see, he took back HIS community. He took back HIS streets. He took back HIS freedom and fun. He took back the fact that despite disabilities, he had the RIGHT to live his life. And he taught us to do the very same in the face of adversity.

So, to the punks that assaulted my son: you LOST. To the adults in my community: if you are a parent, grandparent, relative, neighbor or someone who cares about children, what can you do to break the cycle of bullying for any child? How can you stand up to adversity on behalf of children? How can you send a message of love and understanding? These questions should be treated, just like the boy who wouldn't stop riding. Keep riding, keep going, and keep going strong.

Thanks, Son.

 Kim authors Gritty City Woman where this post also appears, because, well, it has to. It also appeared in my local newspaper community blog (hence the last paragraph).

Punching Bag

Rant on.

What would you choose? A couple of bruises, scratches or some other boo-boo, or someone yelling nasty words at you constantly?

I’ll take the bruises, scratches, and boo-boos, thank you very much.

In the early days of my son’s diagnosis, he became a bit of a hitter and kicker. I was typically the targeted punching bag (he rarely did this stuff to others; thank God as it was bad enough for me and my husband, so fortunately no one else was in the mix). At 11, he’s grown far better with this physical behavior. It still stirs the autism pot once and awhile, but thankfully it’s short lived and medication evens the playing field.

Last week, though, in a tantrum moment (worst we’d had in some time), I took a hit in the face, like a slap. It wasn’t too bad and when my son came out of his autism world and took a trip to my world when the anger haze lifted, he was overly apologetic and remorseful. I appreciated the apology, but I still felt worn down, beat up, and dirty.

It’s the words. My kid’s words feel like getting hit full blast with sharp-cornered bricks. They hurt worse than a slap, that’s for sure. And it’s not the typical smarting off, backtalk, or pre-adolescent crankiness. Nope, this ranks right up there with pure verbal abuse (laced with some God awful expletives). Again, I am the punching bag here as well (Dad gets some too, but I am the primary caregiver during the week, so I take more sadly). We work really hard with him on dealing with this vitriol with a variety of techniques we’ve learned from his medical and educational teams (and former family counselors, I say former because my kid refuses to get behavioral therapy and pitches a fit in their offices). Regardless of the trying everything including total honesty ( I feel hurt when you say those things, here’s why, etc.) it doesn’t work. In the meantime, I am feeling physically and mentally exhausted. Mind you, I don’t have this every day. But enough. Even if it’s just once during a period of a couple weeks or a month, it’s ENOUGH.

Some relatives took my son recently for a long outing (of course he’s an angel with them). I did not miss him. I did not think of him. And I don’t feel an ounce of guilt for saying that. And I don’t feel bad I said this in an open, public forum either.

Rant off. Thank you.

Come visit my tired but trying to have fun self and get down to the nitty gritty with me right HERE.

Mom, Sorry I Was Such a Gark

There is a cupboard in my kitchen that houses all of my office supplies like staplers, tape, envelopes, and the like. I can always tell when my son gets in there because I hear things fall and clatter to the floor. I can hear the tape being ripped off the roll like it's being strangled, and the cupboard door slams open and shut probably three times. Very hard. Not in anger, but for lack of finesse. I know I will walk down to a royal mess like pens missing caps, papers spilled all over the floor, and paper clips dumped from the box.

Today, though, I don't mind.

My son is making me a card for Mother's Day and I don't care about that mess. Other messes demand more attention, care, and love.

You see, we've had a tough week together. Every conversation was tense and strained, each outing turned into an argument, and every action got slapped with dash of impatience, a pinch of anger, and cups of frustration.

By the weekend, the pain eased and we said our apologies to one another. I admitted the autism was kicking my ass and he readily said the autism was kicking his ass. We were in loving agreement. However, he said he wanted to tell me more in his card.

So, he slid the card under the bedroom door. It was simple and sweet, but one part was rather odd. It read, "Mom, sorry I was such a gark. Huh?

I tried re-reading it and sure enough, it was written clearly: gark. So, when I quietly strode into my son's room to thank him and hug him, I had to ask what a gark was (while praying it wasn't some new-fangled slang that was dirty or vulgar).

He looked at me funny and said, "I dunno, what's a gark?"

"Well, it's what you wrote," I said and I showed him the card.

He laughed and said, "No, no, no. That's the word jerk. So much for spelling!"

It was one of those small moments, that a Gritty mother warrior and her Gritty warrior son, had a feeling of brevity and lightness.

My dear boy, sorry I was such a gark, too.

Onward and upward to those Gritty Tacomans and all the other Grittys out there! Kim Thompson likes to get gritty HERE on her blog!

Whiplash!

Break out the neck brace, I’ve suffered whiplash, autism style.

Autism whiplash is a phenomenon in my household where my 11 year old PDD son has a “good streak” and then it turns bad on a dime. What constitutes a “good streak?” This is when there are LESS issues than normal and/or the issues that are experienced have a QUICK resolution. I mean, really, with autism, I’ve never had an issue free day with my son. However, if it’s a soft day, with less, that’s terrific. A good streak can last a day or two, maybe a week or two! Once I got the royal treatment with nearly a month! Wow! So, this is a good thing so far, right?

Yep, and this is where the autism gives me a gut punch. We are rolling along well and BAM! It’s like getting rear-ended in a car without warning.

Case in point. My son has a great deal of difficulty setting foot in the school’s threshold to start his day. Between the anxiety and quick anger, it is an ordeal. But sometimes, school CAN go smoothly. So, recently, my son had a good streak with getting to school and he was doing pretty well staying there. This had been for a week. My husband and I also noticed that he was having really good behavior at home (more cooperative, helpful, kind). We were feeling pretty good and hopeful. So, one day my husband took my son to school. This is a big treat for my son (because usual my husband is at work and can’t take him). My son adores his father and tends to behave a lot better for him, than me. So, hubby takes our boy over to school. Things are going well and the conversation is upbeat. Dad delivers son to teacher and notices that son has an odd look on his face. Without warning, our son attacks his father in front of school staff, starts hitting, and calls his father dirty names and was viciously verbally abusive. My husband was horrified (this rarely happens to him) and removed our son from school. Bad streak ensues. Exhaustion sets in. Hope sinks.

Whiplash.

The autism has pulled this trick on my son and our family on and off this week. Good streak and then snap, it’s broken. Usually it comes on quick and strong.

Let’s discuss. How do you fellow warriors cope with whiplash? How do you swim in the muck of a let-down?

Kim Thompson's blog, Gritty City Woman, is dedicated to bring out the grittiness in all of us!

A Day in the Life on the Spectrum

Most of the time I have no idea why my daughters start a tantrum. It is usually only in hind sight, I can hypothesize what led up to the tantrum although, I never know accurately why or what instigated the revolting reactions known as The Tantrum. Before I go on, let me clear up what I am talking about when I say tantrum. Because, a lot of kids have tantrums. They usually throw them when they didn't get their way or maybe when they didn't have enough sleep or are hungry. And, to a stranger, that is what our daughters' tantrums might seem like at the moment. But please, let me elaborate >>>