Tonight was a painful night for me as the mom of a "special" kid. Often I try to see my son's uniqueness as a blessing. He's so smart and has so many amazing things to offer this world. For the most part, at home I can forget his differences. He is his "normal" self. I know he is different but what I see most at home is his behavioral difficulties: his rigidity and inflexibility that turn tiny changes in to major issues, his catastrophic thinking that dramatize anything not going according to his plans, his need to control that makes the smallest of requests from me impossible challenges, his sensory sensitivities that turn him into a raging mess. These are all business as usual things for us at home. But tonight, I saw another side to the story. The socially akward and painful side.
We went to see fire works at a public parking lot in the town next to ours. The van that pulled in next to my car was filled with the three most neurotypical boys you could hope to find. Two of the boys sported hip mohawks, and all three walked with an air of confidence. They tossed football and wrestled in the grass together, making the perfect picture of "boys will be boys." And then there was my son, Siddiq, who's greatest joy was in his newly purchased "Zorbeez" towels. He neatly folded them and carried on a lecture, that no one listened to, about bubbles, dynamite and fireworks. He arranged his bubble supplies in a neat row, all pristinely placed in their assigned spots.
The three boys did eentually find their way over, purely out of curiosity. They stared in confused silence as my son rambled off words a mile a minute and proudly showed off just how much water his "zorbeez" towels could hold. As they got bored with watching, the youngest of the brothers started to flick all of Siddiq's perfectly arranged bubbble supplies out of place, just to watch the agitated reaction he could get. This episode ended with Siddiq loudly bursting out that he would tell the boy's mom if he did it again.
The saddest part of all this is how desperately Siddiq needed to be liked by those boys. He followed them, statred at them, butted into their conversations and play, and tried to show off with his bizarre and hyper humor. In the final painful climax of the evening the eldest of the boys said "Your'e strange", and ran off to sit with his mom.
My son's already delicate sense of self shattered into a million pieces. He marched around angrilly calling himself a "stupid, pathetic waste". (his favorite self-descriptors as of late.) He kept saying he wanted to kill himself and wished he'd never been born. He was furious that he had not asked me to give him his medicine before we left home, stating that because he had been hyper he lost his "best friend".The sad truth of course is that if he had taken his medicine his hyperness may have been less, but his oddity would not be, and the ultimate outcome would have been the same.
The whole ride home I feebly attempted to gather up the pieces of my son's self-worth. I explained that any friend worth having would like him for who he is, that I loved him, and that God loved him and had a purpose for his life. I reminded him that God had a purpose for other aspies like Einstein, Edison, and Newton. (all heroes of his since science is his special interest. Eventually my son was distracted enough to stop wishing himself dead, but I continued to feel his pain.
Seeing him next to all the neurotypical children his age made me see how glaringly different he is. He however looks "normal", with no obvious physical delays or deformities. He is a blonde haired, blue-eyed, good looking 7 1/2 yr. old. He is not different enough for understanding from the public eye, only enough to open himself up to the hurt of rejection.
His one quest in life is to find a friend. One who can be forgiving of his rigidity and controlling nature. Someone who enjoys science as much as he, and would be willing to listen to his science lectures, so he can stop lecturing the air. This is what I pray for daily and wait for with hope. He has so many good qualities. He is creative, smart, and when push comes to shove, he really is willing to help. He's a strong leader. He's a blessing, my blessing! If only everyone could see the beauty that lies beneath his rough exterior.
I suppose that is what all mom's want for their kids. For the beauty of their speicalness to outshine their differences. This is what we crusade for, with speech and occupational therapy, counseling, IEP's and unconditional love.. Praying that it will all pay off in the end.
Until next time...
Kristy.
