I Had To Have The Sex Talk With My Son And I Lived to Tell About It

I had “The Talk” with my son. We both survived, barely. He is twelve now, and I know what you’re thinking: WHY are you just now having this discussion with him? Do you live under a rock? Don’t you know what kids are capable of getting into these days? Do you want your kid to be a statistic?

Believe me, I get it. But you have to understand…I have tried to have The Talk with my son before this, many times. Each time, he politely rebuffed me.

My son has High-Functioning Autism. It is as the name implies. Some professionals call it Asperger’s Syndrome. It means he has trouble with social cues, reading body language, some processing problems as well as trouble controlling his impulses, like anger. He is easily embarrased, so it didn’t surprise me that he did not want to discuss his burgeoning sexuality with his mother. This is the kid who hides his eyes if I take him with me to mall and we happen to pass the lingerie store. There have been no shortage of attempts on my part to usher him into the ways of the world. He always swore he was not interested.

So when I found that he had been googling, “penis” and “breasts” I figured, protest though he may, it was time. I am a smart woman. I have safe search on, so he didn’t find anything except Wikipedia pages…no trauma. I get that kids, boys in particular, can be curious. I am just thankful that no damage was done! And I am also grateful that I have enough technical savvy to know how to lock down the computers!

So, how do you talk with your son about something you both find highly embarrassing without losing your mind? The answer, it seems, is just do it. Do not make a big deal about it.

Five Ways to Discuss The Subject Without Wanting to Run and Hide

1. Be as matter-of-fact as you can. Lay out the information without a lot of emotion, as though you were tutoring someone who speaks a different language. We are talking autism here. That is, after all, what you are doing.

2. Refrain from idioms, editorializing, and heavy opinion. All of these will be ignored by a kid with autism. He probably won’t get most of them, anyway. It is easy to get “on a roll” and end up losing the kid halfway through the process.

3. Don’t bother asking, “Do you understand?” He probably won’t admit it either way. Just lay out the information as best you can. If you are good at reading your child, you can elaborate if need be.

4. This is a good time to explain society’s views on women, respect, pornography…just try to do it without making the kid feel belittled. Did I like that my son googled body parts? NO. Did I tell him I don’t want him to do it anymore? YES. Did I make him feel like a bad person? Absolutely not. Kids need guidance, and that’s what I gave him.

5. Refrain from what I call “Aesoping” even though it is very satisfying as a parent. This is basically when you say, “I told you so!” Kids learn from their experiences. You can certainly point out the learning, but don’t rub their nose in it. That only serves to make you feel bigger than he is. One-upping a child doesn’t make us better, it makes us bullies. And with a kid with autism, it makes him shut down.

Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m no Pollyanna. It’s not all roses and sunshine around here. I was floored when I found out my son had been …exploring google. It wasn’t easy. But instead of making it about me, and my parenting, and what I am doing right or wrong, I made it about my son. Having a child going through puberty is difficult. I can only hope I have set the groundwork for my son, and that if he does have questions later he can ask instead of looking in all the wrong places for answers.

All in all, it was a painless process for us both. But I have to admit: I am very glad that I only have one son! Somehow, talking to the girls is just so much easier.

Tina has two children on the Spectrum and one who is a quirky teen. Autism Sucks is her brainchild. She also blogs at her personal blog, Send Chocolate Now.

It Definitely Sucks!

For most kids at 15 your world is all about your friends.  Your family sucks.  Your parents don't know anything.  They don't get it.  They don't get you.  High school provides a connection source.  It's the place that you find most of your friends.  You take some classes you hate, some that you love, but your place in the hierarchy of this place can define a great part of your life.  Your experience here, shapes who you become to a degree.

High school can also be a place of shear torture for many kids. Being bullied, feeling left out, ostracized, desperately wanting to fit in, but feeling like you don't.  When you have Aspergers, an extreme deficit in social skills,  and sensory issues, you can multiply that torture X's 10 (at least).

It's near the end of the school year and Red is done, he's ready to check out.  Unfortunately you can't just say, "Sorry people...I'll see you next year, maybe."  You have to get through it.  Suddenly his classes are too loud.  There's too many people.  He hates this teacher and that teacher.

The bottom line is he's tired of feeling like a little gold fish in a huge ocean filled with sharks.
He's tired of swimming against the tide.
He's tired of not having any real friends.
He's tired of being surrounded by people but not being able to connect with any of them.
He's tired of the loudness of the classrooms.
He's sick of the sensory overload.

So he comes home and goes ballistic.
He screams to the top of his lungs at a simple request of taking a shower.
He rages and rants about how horrible his life is.
He becomes more aggressive more angry with those of us who love him.
He is miserable and he wants the rest of us to join the misery party.
He pounds us with scripts and demands to buy him new things that he thinks will make him happy.
He has yet to realize that things don't make you happy.

Everything that is wrong in his life is somehow my fault.
I am the person who works tirelessly to find answers.
I am the one he thinks can make things better for him.
I am the person that he knows loves him unconditionally.
I always forgive him.
This gives him license to treat me like crap.

I keep it moving forward...trying to help him and my younger son, who also has Aspergers.
Therapies, doctors, social skills, medicine, advocating, ARD meetings, IEP's, BIP's, carpools, entertaining
I keep a smile on my face, trying to focus on my blessings.
I pray and see small victories, but can't help but wonder why I'm not seeing any miracles.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven -Ecclesiates 3:1

In my head I know this is true, but when your child suffers, it's hard to figure out the purpose of that.  Help me Lord.

Please stop by and visit me @ Confessions of An Aspergers Mom
I also invite you to "Like" my Facebook Community Page

Denial

"To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

My boy denies Asperger his due. The paperwork claims a mood disorder and that makes it official.

My boy denies Asperger and the existence of God. He can't have faith without any evidence.

My boy denies Asperger and, from this day forward, he identifies with hippies. He has long since outgrown his James Bond tuxedo.

My boy denies Asperger and he doesn't see the point of Harry Potter. A modern day wizard is nonsensical.

My boy denies Asperger and he would prefer not to go on vacation. He doesn't like to be away from home that long.

My boy denies Asperger and he once wrote his own constitution. He used Russia 1906 as a model.

My boy denies Asperger and he gets anxious waiting at doctor's appointments. It's 2:34 now and shouldn't we be back there because our appointment was at 2:30?

My boy denies Asperger and he blogs for the local socialist party. He's 15.

My boy denies Asperger and he is an expert on Japanese fighting fish. He cannot row a boat.

My boy denies Asperger and he charms every teacher. He finds his fellow students to be a tougher crowd.

My boy denies Asperger and loves ethnic food. He doesn't realize his stepfather has taken him to his favorite Ethiopian restaurant for 6 birthdays in a row.

My boy denies Asperger and greatly admires Steve Jobs. He still thinks software should all be shareware.

My boy denies Asperger and believes being grounded is oppression. The dictionary defines it so.

My boy denies Asperger and cannot accept what he cannot change. He's never seen Asperger's syndrome in black and white.

~ I'm HeeWho and I blog at notthatgoodofaperson

It Clicked

It clicked today. Not that it hasn't before. There have been huge steps, then a step back, then forward, then two steps back. That's autism for you.

But today, the pieces fell into place. She's been struggling to learn to read for a while now. Lately, she's been working even harder on her speech homework and reading simple books. Fat cat. Hot dog. She's read Dick and Jane, and recently discovered that Poppy, our Newfoundland, is the perfect reading buddy. She's become more interested in books, and loves to be read to (though she has loved that for a while).

Today, we sat, waiting for my band class to start. I brought along the book I'd been reading aloud. In it, a group of teenage girls learned to read for the first time. The main character, a smaller girl who felt young and unimportant compared to her peers (hm, sound familiar?) was teaching her older sister to read. On a whim, I pointed to a word.

"I bet you know this word." She recognized it as one of her sight words. "She." She knew the next word as well. "Would." Carefully, she sounded out the rest of the words in the sentence. I helped her sound out the harder words, ecstatic. Later that afternoon, she read an entire page out of the book, with help.

We ended up going to the bookstore that evening. I don't think I'll ever forget the look on her face as she looked at the chapter books and realized that she could read the words inside. Suddenly, it wasn't something that her peers could do that she couldn't. It wasn't something to be afraid of, or pretend she didn't want to do. She could read. She skipped back to the car with her book, and once home, ran around the house singing "I can read!" She wanted to read everything: labels on packages, words from the book, even a birthday card that was on my nightstand. She read me an entire book, Leo the Late Bloomer, about a tiger who couldn't read or write when everyone else could. It was all I could do not to cry. She said later that there were words everywhere and now she could read them. She jumped up and down, still singing, and went to read to Poppy.

When she came back in, she chattered rapidly about anything and everything: the characters in the book, how she felt left out with her friends, how she had friends who moved and others who weren't friends anymore, how she wanted to be like me (yeah, I know. No pressure) and how she was so excited she could read. I wished I could hug her and tell her it would be okay, that it wouldn't be hard. All I could do was hug her and tell her I knew exactly how she felt, how even now I didn't feel like my peers (Prom? Meh. Dating? Triple meh.) It surprised me, definitely. She's very quiet and doesn't usually talk about her feelings, let alone deep, dark fears and insecurities. I wish I had the words to make it better. All I can do is be there for her, ready with hugs and a listening ear (since it would probably be frowned upon to try to knock some sense into nine and ten year old girls). Even with everything she told me, I feel like she has a newfound confidence. As we told her, a whole world has been opened up to her. Later, finishing the book, we ran across yet another thing she could relate to.

"I keep thinking about a tale my nurse used to read me about a bird whose wings are pinned to the ground. Have you heard it? In the end, when he finally frees himself, he flies so high he becomes a star. My nurse said the story was about how we all have something that keeps us down."

Today it clicked. And I know it's just the beginning and it doesn't mean everything is perfect, but I'm finally seeing my baby sister fly and I think it's the best feeling in the world.

JBug is the oldest daughter of Tina, and big sister to two (mostly wonderful) siblings.

Photo via Flickr, quote via Princess Academy by Shannon Hale

How Do I Explain It to Her?

She's almost ten, and she doesn't understand. Why is she different? Why does she still love and need her stuffed animals? Why isn't she interested in boys, or Miley Cyrus or Ke$ha (shudder) or makeup or Abercrombie & Fitch? (not that I would buy her clothes there...ever!) Why is it so hard for her to read? Do math? Talk quietly?

Why do her cousins tease her for things she cannot control?

She's almost ten, and she doesn't understand. Why is it so hard for her to control her frustration, disappointment, anger? Why does she clam up when she gets really upset? Why do her words fail her? Why does she see a speech therapist, reading tutor and feel so "little" (her words,not mine).

She wants to be a big kid. She wants to do the things they do. Sleepovers, going to the movies with friends. After all, she's almost ten. She watches Nickelodeon and the Disney Channel, and though I explain until I am blue, blue, blue in the face that those kids are fictional, their life is not reality, she still aches. For what she doesn't have. Maybe won't ever have.

She's small. She still wears dresses almost always, and has since she was a toddler. It's just what she likes. But she wants to be older, and look her age. She needs help to brush her hair, hates to take a bath. Her self-care skills still need...coaxing.

She's almost ten, and she doesn't understand. Why autism? Why her?

I can't explain it to her. I wish I could. I am in my forties.

And I still don't understand.

Tina blogs here, and at Send Chocolate Now. Autism Sucks is her brainchild. Want to write? email her! autismsucksblog, just add gmail.com

My Autism Mirror

It is easy to list the things that really suck about autism.

Even parents who have no experience caring for disabled children could guess the types of things I would put at the top of the list -- if they tried, for just a moment, to picture their own children struggling with an illness or disability.

They would wonder what it must be like to worry about the future and to grieve the inability to communicate with my son. They would try to imagine what it must be like to bury dreams and replace those dreams with uncertainties that literally can drive a parent mad.

But here is one of the worst things about autism -- and similar disabilities -- that only the veteran special-needs-parents will "get."

After autism slaps you around and kicks you in the ribs -- by forcing you to deal with the reality of what is "wrong" with your child -- it then does something even more painful.

It puts a mirror in your path.

A great big mirror.

And in that mirror, you see not only the mistakes you make as a parent -- mistakes you are destined to repeat, even as you hate yourself for doing so -- but you also see the demons within yourself.

You see how much you grieve for yourself, as a parent and as an individual, even though it is your child who has really gotten the raw deal in life.

Score one in the selfishness department.

You see how you get so bogged down in the day-to-day of coping that you never manage to do the things you would like to do -- for your disabled child, for your other child, for your other loved ones, for yourself.

Score one in the unorganized, underachieving departments.

You see how much you wish things had been different. You look away from soccer fields and talent shows. You shut out the conversations of parents at events for your "other" child -- where nobody knows what it is like to wish that your son could just be "normal."

Score one in the jealousy and pity-party departments.

You see how sometimes you actually are angry at your child, even though it is the autism -- and not the child -- that drives the anger.

You feel your frustration rising when he stims -- because you wish he'd be doing anything, ANYTHING, else -- as long as it was something normal. (And, yep, I am not even going to put the word in quotes because, let's face it, I love him as he is but still wish he could just be normal, whatever the heck that means.)

You lose your temper when he strikes out at you, even though you know that if the tables were turned, and you were the one completely unable to talk, you would not face the world with one-tenth his energy and joy.

Score one in the bad-parent-who-loses-her-temper-and-does-not-deal-with-her-son's-disability-with-the-kind-of-patience-a-good-mom-would-have department.

The autism mirror never goes away and, man, does it shine a bright light on all your warts.

No matter where you turn, your mirror goes with you.

I sometimes feel like I can hardly function after I look in my mirror. I despise myself for everything I have not done, and for everything I cannot do.

But I know I am not the only one. And even though I cannot always see the parents walking with me step-for-step, they are out there.

A dad whose blog I just discovered tells it like it is:

Unlike the tales that Hollywood likes to tell, there are no saints or sinners when it comes to raising an atypical child. There are people that strap in, buckle up, and get the job done, and there are those that don't. There are no 'Saints' in this house. There have been times when either one of us wanted to strangle him. (Luckily for him it's never both of us at the same time). Handicapped children aren't intrinsically wonderful, beautiful, or even very much fun to be around. They're love-sponges that soak up all the love you can give them. And by that, show us that we have ever so much more love to give than we ever even knew we had. 'Mothers' or 'Fathers' don't always understand, but moms and dads do. -- The Missing Piece

Amen.

I am the mom to two beautiful kids, and I blog at fruitypebblesfordinner.blogspot.com