Well, really it wasn’t today; it was last week. And, it wasn’t just me. LaChan, Nile, Avery, and I called our third-ever family meeting. It was the much anticipated discussion about autism. During conversation, we told Avery that he has a form of autism.
I must admit: I was scared to do it. I was so anxious that I envisioned the scenario over and over and over in my mind in the days, hours, and minutes leading up to the conversation. It had been brewing for weeks now. And, with his birthday party on the horizon, we had to make a decision. Last Sunday, I went to church alone. LaChan kept the kids home to help prep for Avery’s bowling birthday party, which was later that afternoon –at least 35 children and a host of parents would be there. And NOW, he was 9. Nine year-olds are socially unpredictable – they bully, tease, play jokes, tell-half truths – but that’s another conversation. After service, I disclosed to my parents that LaChan and I planned to tell him. I asked that they pray with me and for us, and they unhesitatingly obliged me. We prayed, thanked, and cried together in anticipation. Well, I was the only one who cried. Why was I moved to tears? My emotions were mixed and scattered. Part of it was guilt. Why did we wait this long? Part of it was fear. What does he know? Will he think there is something wrong with him? Part of it came from just acknowledging how BIG and OVERWHELMING raising a child with special needs can be as a father. In this moment with my parents, I admitted that I was overwhelmed. And, again my parents were there offering their support as I worked through those feelings. I hoped that I’d be able to provide the same kind of support to Avery as my parents did for me. When I got home, we called the kids into the bedroom. Man, I was nervous. A 20 minute conversation felt like ages. But, here’s what I remember most. As the kids sat on the bed with LaChan, I knelt on one knee, leaning against it. It probably looked like I had a belly ache. LaChan opened up the conversation saying she and I wanted to talk to the kids about something important. At one point she asked Avery directly: Do you know what autism is? Avery responded, “Um...it’s like an ability or disability. And, there’s no cure.” Okay, somebody’s been talking to him about this. And it ain’t been me! CRAP! LaChan: Do you know anybody with autism? Avery: No. I don’t think so. LaChan: Do you remember…?(she began to name a bunch of his friends from a social skills program in which he used to participate) Avery: Yeah, those are my friends from Pennsylvania! LaChan: Guess what Avery? They have autism. Avery: They do?! LaChan: Yup. And you know what? So do you. Now there was probably only a 1-second pause, but to me, it felt like FOR… … …EVER Avery: (smirking) So, I was right. Someone DID tell him before we did. This is EXACTLY what we didn’t want to happen. Insert GUILT here. I jumped in. Me: Avery, when did you think you had autism? Avery: When you and mommy gave me my Skate for Autism shirt. We used to host an annual Skate for Autism event in April as an outreach program through our nonprofit organization. That was EASILY 5 years ago. Clearly, he had been paying attention. Had we already told him in other ways and not known it? Me: Well, Avery, autism is part of what makes you a really cool brutha. Autism is what helps you have a GREAT memory and be a great martial artist. It is why you are such a great math student and follower of the rules. It helps you read really BIG words and why you like to rub our noses. LaChan: Yup. It helps you in those ways, Avery. But sometimes it can make things difficult, too, which is why it’s important to ask for help. Autism is sometimes why you don’t like eating anything but french toast sticks for breakfast and why you don’t like changes in your schedule. That’s when you have to be really brave to do things that are good for you, but sometimes don’t feel so good. At this point, ALL of us (Nile included) were watching to see Avery’s reactions. He didn’t seem overwhelmed. There was no climax or dramatic moment, which is what I wanted. We didn’t talk in terms of “disability” and “deficit”. Our language was about “differences” and “preferences”. We asked him if he was okay with what we talked about. He, very matter-of-factly, stated he was fine. Of course, he wanted to hug us all, which makes total sense because he usually seeks sensory input when something is a little new or unfamiliar. He reached in for what seemed like a kiss and rubbed my nose. That’s my Avery… I was relieved. I was thankful. I was finally breathing. He had a great birthday party and hasn’t said anything about autism since that conversation, except when we all wore blue on Thursday to support Autism Awareness Day. My concerns are still alive and well, though. Someone else might talk about to him about autism in terms of disability or deficit. This is exactly where my faith has to outweigh my fears and concerns. That’s a daily decision for me. I checked in with Nile a few hours later and she seemed in good spirits. She thought our conversation went well, stating she was glad to be a part of it. Her voice and feedback is just as important in this process as anyone else’s. The next day, Avery’s teachers received an email from me about the conversation. Hearing almost immediately from his school counselor (who is a GREAT counselor), I asked they work hard to communicate the same things about Avery’s differences if he ever asks about them. I also asked that they share the email with others in the building who may find it useful. This was especially important to me because it’s Autism Awareness Month and schools are talking about it. We are all wonderfully and carefully made - differences and all. I can now celebrate those differences WITH my son, not just about my son.
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AuthorI'm Mike. If you have an interest in mental health, family functioning, and disability advocacy, this blog may be of interest to you. Archives
January 2016
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