I’m really excited to move closer to the completion of my dissertation. This culminating project has been time consuming, emotionally demanding, and fascinating all at the same time. I’m learning so much from these dads of kids with autism. I’m really indebted to them for their openness and transparency.
The time I’ve spent with them has inspired my post today. Our meetings have reminded me of something pretty simple, yet profound. Love shows up and takes action. Not rocket science, right? Well, consider this. I assume many men are not socialized to engage with our emotions. I’ve mentioned in a past blog my agreement with a mentor who has had over 20 years of clinical counseling experience with both men and women. She asserts that many boys are taught to only engage with two emotions: lust and anger. Girls, however, are socialized to engage with a full range of emotions, with the exception of lust and anger. Whether or not you think there is any validity to this claim, consider middle school students’ social experiences. A boy at 11 years old has probably learned that if he communicates being hurt (e.g., “My feelings are hurt”, “I’m physically hurt”, etc.) he risks becoming a target of light joking or more serious harassment. Disguising hurt for some boys literally becomes a survival tactic. The same can be said of girls. How often have we heard a girl get reprimanded for being too aggressive or too candid? That kind of behavior may not be considered “lady like” by some folks. Just food for thought about our comfort with knowing, acknowledging, and becoming comfortable with our emotions… Now, the dads who are contributing to my dissertation all had the opportunity to describe the qualities of a good dad from their perspectives. I do not recall ANY of them describe emotional qualities or talk in emotional terms. None of them said that a good dad "is loving". However, they ALL spoke in action words, which I interpreted as expressions of their love. They said good dads: - Prepare their kids for the future - Avail themselves and spend time with their kids - Demonstrate patience with their kids - Tell their kids they love them - Provide financially and emotionally for their kids - Protect their kids - Pray with and for their kids - Communicate honestly and effectively with their kids A question you might hear between two people who have a strong relationship, but are not being clear about a particular idea might be: “What does that look like?” It basically asks for evidence that demonstrates whatever is needed or requested. For these men, this is what (the emotion, love) “looks like”. I can totally see what love looks like based on their descriptions. They didn’t discuss love in terms of the strong feelings they had for their children, but it was palpable. They talked about it in terms of the action they take every day to demonstrate it. Don’t get me wrong; there is incredible value in our words. It’s no coincidence that many faith traditions place so much significance in words. There is a Biblical passage that basically says that the power of life and death is in our words. The act of confession is powerful. The decision to offer an apology with words can be the difference between a relationship's life or death. But measuring the feelings attached to words becomes so much easier when the objects of our affection SEE love in action. It makes me reflect on poet Khalil Gibran’s transcendent words: Love is work made visible. So, in true hip-hop form, I want to send a shout out to the dads raising special needs kids! Those dads who both SAY AND SHOW how much they love their kids by making that love visible even if their children may not be able to verbally communicate their appreciation. We see you!
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I’m a creature of habit when it comes to getting my haircut, which means Avery is a creature of habit also. We have two barbers. If one isn’t available we go to the other. If neither is available, we just have to get “fresh” another day. I’m not a big risk-taker when it comes to getting my haircut, and I’m certainly not one when it comes to Avery getting his haircut either. There was a time years ago when Avery could not go the barbershop because of the sensory challenges he experienced as a toddler. The clippers would be too loud, too sharp, too warm or cold. It was pretty painful for him. Thankfully, these days are much easier for Avery, and by extension, for me, too.
There are definitely group norms when it comes to visiting the barbershop. As a customer, you go in and assess how much time you may have to wait for service based on the number of customers present. Or, you may just approach “your” barber to ask how many customers are ahead of you. I imagine the barbers are simultaneously monitoring the number of customers they have and sometimes have to approach first-time customers to determine if they want service, not knowing if those first-timers will accept or decline. Barbershop talk typically means sports. Barbers and customers argue over whose team is better or worse and why. They debate whose team has the most potential and whose is destined for failure no matter what kinds of players are on the roster. Our last visit to the shop was a little different, though. As Avery and I waited for our barber, a group of about 5 men – all of whom had visible intellectual disabilities – came in to the shop. They came in with a female care professional that helped them get situated. Before the men entered, there was a pretty heated basketball debate going on. While I wasn’t directly engaged in the debate, I was definitely listening and appreciating the intensity of the conversation. But the conversation came to a screeching halt when the 5 entered the shop. Uncomfortable is the only word I can use to describe my feeling; my guess is that many of the other customers and some of the barbers did, too. It was crowded, which meant the men would have to wait for haircuts…which meant we all might be here for a while. Some of the men would make comments about random topics to which no one really could respond. I imagine those behaviors were just symptoms of their disabilities. For some of them, their presentation was a little disheveled. And some of us, like me, had to sit next to them. The tone in the barbershop went immediately from a verbal, heated debate to a silence that was louder than the argument that just abruptly ended. I fell right in line with my own body language. With no words, we all said: “Let’s watch TV or our cell phones instead of talking like we were before the 5 arrived.” As I realized what I was doing, I was disappointed. Thankfully, there were some barbers who were a lot more comfortable than me. Two, in particular, stood out. One of the barbers, while inviting one of the 5 into his chair, asked him about a dish he prepared since the last time he visited. As the customer recalled making the dish and how fun it was, a second barber chimed in, “Man, I didn’t know you could make that! You can cook better than me!” Ice OFFICIALLY broken. Everyone in ear shot of that exchange began to laugh. Some of it was probably nervous laughter, but those comments functioned as a connection point...and a relief. I was frustrated with myself because I thought I was more comfortable around people with severe disabilities. My son has a diagnosed developmental disability. My uncle has an intellectual disability. But on this day my stereotypes took the reins and I allowed them to influence how I responded, even if my response was nonverbal. I was also frustrated because of how easy it was for me envision my son in the same situation, potentially. I’m happy that my son has had success in school and in other spaces. But, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I spend a lot of time thinking about the supports he may need as an adult. My son might have a care professional take him to the barbershop among his own group of 5. And, his presentation may change the tenor of the space simply by arriving. My prayer is that his reception reflects those two barbers' confidence more than it reflects my silent but loud discomfort. Peace, -mike |
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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