I wish I could brag about how I resolve conflict with my wife. All of the interpersonal skills acquired through life experience, good mentoring, AND counseling classes, many times, go out the window when we are engaged in an intense debate that can have serious implications. It happened this week over how to appropriately discipline our special needs guy for not meeting an expectation. Thankfully for us, we’ve got some clarity moving forward should, or really when, this situation surfaces again. Getting to that clarified place, though, was pretty tough.
One of the areas where our son has some challenges is in organization. If you peered inside his book bag, looked in his desk at school, or glanced in his bedroom you might see that not only can he be a little “messy”, but his ability to give attention to detail has been a consistent struggle. I’ve found, in my interactions with parents of special needs kids, that there exists a two-fold challenge: a challenge for the kids, especially when they work hard to do better AND a challenge for the parents in trying to provide the right kind of support for the kids to be successful. Many parents work hard to help their children by setting up systems, creating routines, and communicating expectations. They do this with hopes that when the children are older and move beyond the home environment, they can recall the skills acquired in the family system and apply them in different environments. We are trying to prepare our kids for success beyond our own households. One critical question arises: at what point, and at what level do you subject your kids to the consequences of not meeting said expectations? For me, I want the consequences to be harsh enough to remember the next time an issue arises, but not so harsh that no learning takes place. As my wife (and any behavioral therapist) would say, “the punishment has to fit the crime”. Avery’s autism diagnosis can hinder his ability to be organized, and he sometimes interprets messages so literally that it can be a barrier to his success. So, when he came home without his homework folder – AGAIN – I was frustrated, but calm. I told him clearly that he would not go to karate because he forgot his homework folder at school. I might as well have told him that he would never eat macaroni and cheese (his favorite meal) again. He didn’t give me tantrum/fallout behavior, but he was clearly distressed. LaChan was curious why he had not left for karate yet when she arrived home. I told her that he forgot his homework folder. She adamantly…well, adamantly may not be the right word, but she was pretty convinced that I didn’t make the right decision. She adamantly communicated that the consequence did not fit the infraction. We disagreed…for the entire evening. Her perspective was that he forgot BECAUSE of his challenges, not because he was just randomly forgetful. Even through all of the discussion, she conceded. Reluctantly. I mean REALLY reluctantly. In fact, if you know the kind of women around whom my wife was raised, you would know that conceding is difficult for her. She’s been raised around women who have taught her to not just find her voice, but to use it consistently, confidently, and convincingly. It's one of the things that makes her behavior incredibly attractive...and equally frustrating (when its not directed at me!). Later on, she shared that she felt guilty because one of the reasons Avery may not have brought home his homework was because of instructions she gave him. You see, Avery’s fine motor skills are not entirely mature, and they may never be. He still has a really hard time tying his shoes even at 8 years old. Well, on many days his math homework comes out of a workbook with a quarter of the page missing because he has a hard time ripping those pages out cleanly. At an earlier point in the year, LaChan told him clearly: “When you have to bring home math worksheets, ask the student who sits next to you to help you rip them out”. Pretty clear, right? Well, on this day, when he forgot to bring his homework folder home – with only math homework that night to complete – the student who sits next to him was not in school. So he didn’t attempt to rip out his math homework worksheet because in his mind HE WAS FOLLOWING MOMMY’S DIRECTIONS. I wanted to cuss. In fact, if you cuss, you can cuss right here. At that point, I wasn’t mad at LaChan or mad at Avery. I was mad because I realized I overlooked a major factor. I have become so used to responding to him like he has no special needs that I forget that some of his needs can be as pervasive as any kid with more severe symptoms of autism. I forgot that that his needs can be as pervasive as my need to keep lists or Nile’s need for 10 minutes grace time when waking up. So, if…I mean WHEN this comes up again, the consequences of the infractions not only have to fit the “crime”, they also have to fit the kid…and that takes parental discipline.
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I'm excited, proud, and honored to feature LaChan Hannon's guest "blog" for me today. PLEASE read and enjoy!
____________________________________________________________________ We can often find ourselves walking a fine line between being an individual and also wanting to belong; between liking ourselves just the way we are and desiring to fit in; between establishing our own ‘house rules’ and following the rules those expect of us. We, hopefully, raise our children to be independent, yet we measure them by the comparative standards of others. We want them to stand out and be noticed, but we frown upon their seemingly attention-seeking behavior. ‘Be good, but not too good or people will think you’re a show off. Be strong, but not too strong or people will think you don’t need help. Be cautious, but not too cautious or people will think you’re afraid to take risks’. We are walking, living, breathing contradictions. And, it makes us beautiful – it makes us all the same, normal. There were moments, days, months, and years that I did not feel so normal. Our invisible differences made me the target of mothers’ stares as my child flipped over his own stroller while still strapped in it as we waited for my daughter to finish dance class. It made me the recipient of unsolicited advice and ridiculous wisdoms of well-intentioned onlookers. But, it more importantly made me prayerful about my thoughts, deliberate about my words, and intentional about my actions. It made me reshape my definition of motherhood and accept that no matter how hard I tried to be normal just like everyone else, we were peculiar…and I make no apologies for that, now. The ‘day of no apologies’ began on Autism Day at Sesame Place, when I looked around and witnessed 6 full blown meltdowns (one of which was mine) happening simultaneously and met the eyes of each mother giving each an understanding smile, a shrug of the shoulders, a ‘thumbs up’, an encouraging head nod, or my arms as help. The ‘day of no apologies’ has become a lifestyle. It is a lifestyle that continues each day I reconcile my insecurities with my purpose. The ‘day of no apologies’ continues each time my differences are identified as something for which I should be ashamed or embarrassed. Being different is rarely easy. It isn’t always appreciated, understood, supported, and trusted. Mothering a child with autism AND a child without autism IS different. It is different than the generations of motherhood that came before me and demands that I revamp, recreate, and sometimes ignore the oral traditions of motherly wisdom passed down to me. My differences make me dependent on every other part of my being – my senses, my gut, my intuition, my husband, my faith, my revelation. I’ve learned that with the acceptance of difference comes confidence – confidence in knowing you are doing what you were put here to do. Differences facilitate finding your Purpose. I love the fact that my family is different. It is routine yet spontaneous (again with the contradictions). Life knew what I needed, and what I was lacking. Life created my normal just for me, and no one else. It is for me to appreciate, grow from, accept, and share my story so that someone else can accept their own normal. We’re different for a reason not so that we can all be the same and normal. We are different so that we can find our own purposes in life. And, so that we make an impact on someone else who needs to be confident in their difference as well. The ‘day of no apologies’ is a MOVEMENT of PURPOSE. We overcome by the power of our testimony. And, my story is different than yours. There is purpose in your difference. Live it and Share it… For people who are Christians or who have attended church for any period of time, they may be familiar with a Biblical passage in I Peter, Chapter 2 verse 9, where the author broadly refers to folks who follow the teachings of Christ as peculiar people. I came across this passage during my own devotional time this week and realized that there are probably several folks who consider themselves peculiar, or through their lived experiences, realize that they have been perceived as peculiar.
Now, I’m not a Biblical scholar, but I do interpret this passage to be referring to folks who may not fit into the norm; this is very similar to what I blogged about last week on the experience of being “othered” (for more on that, visit the blog right below this one, entitled “Black, White, and ‘Other’”). But as I’ve spent time recalling my own experiences, sharing ideas with people closest to me (namely, my wife), and listening to the incredible stories of the fathers I’ve been interviewing, I don’t think it’s too much to assign this peculiar label to these fathers and their experiences. I say this because of a really consistent message I’ve heard from these guys. It's one that I’ve come to REALLY appreciate: It takes special parents to raise special needs children. I’m going to take the liberty and add peculiar here, too. Meaning, it takes special, and maybe peculiar, parents to be willing to confront their own feelings about their children being different than their peers in ways that may make their kids targets of potential ridicule or bullying. It takes special, and maybe peculiar, parents to attend IEP meetings and demand their children receive the services they need, deserve, and are entitled to by law when they may confront teachers and administrators who are not supportive because the empathy well has run dry. It takes special, and maybe peculiar, parents to subject themselves to stigmatizing behavior in public places – like being stared at in restaurants, shoe stores, clothing stores, carnivals – so they can create memories with their children while folks who may not appreciate it respond insensitively. Of course, there are days (thank you, Jesus! Or, you can thank whoever it is you thank) when parents of special needs kids don’t have to feel as special or as peculiar. I love hearing my wife share the story about the first time she went Autism Day at Sesame Place some years ago. You see, LaChan’s employment schedule lightened up during the summer because she’s a teacher. But, she would willingly assume the role of full-time homemaker during that time by engaging with our kids for the better part of those 8 weeks…under the condition we got a summer Sesame Place pass. A few days a week, she and friend would organize a play date and they would take all the kids to Sesame Place. They would usually report having a good time. But there were frequent days when she would also express some frustration about insensitive staff members or feeling a little stigmatized by other park guests who didn’t know the extent of our son’s needs. But then, Sesame Place instituted an Autism Day. On this day, parents and caregivers of kids with autism and other special needs could bring their kids to the park without the hustle and bustle of a typical summer day. Whenever she recants the story of taking our son to the park that day, the relief she expresses – even now – is palpable. You can literally see her “exhaling” as she talks about it. She calls that day, “The Day of No Apologies” and it moves me every time I think about it. I hope that as a member of this wonderful community of special needs parents and families, that I can continue moving toward being unapologetically peculiar. Have a great weekend! -mike My family identifies as Black. Or, one might say we are Black-American, African-American, or of African ancestry. We live in a community where the schools my children attend have student populations that are fairly diverse with respect to race or ethnicity, but the faculty is not nearly as diverse as the student body. As a matter of fact, at the last school event I noticed that most of the faculty was White. I could be wrong and/or may have missed something, but that’s what I remember. As a parent, it reminded me – whether intentional or not – of my difference…my otherness.
I’m also the dad of a special needs son with a form of autism. I continue to confront the reality that my guy has and will continue to develop differently than many of his peers. His sensitivities to sound, smell, touch, and taste are different. His attention to detail and capacity to memorize is different. And, his ability to connect deeply with others can sometimes be different. And, I am again, reminded of my family’s otherness. That otherness can be highlighted in specific contexts like athletic events, the barbershop, or at a ballet performance (I just got real personal there). Have you ever been othered? Yes, I did make that a verb. Can you recall experiences where someone or some group has intentionally or unintentionally reminded you how DIFFERENT you are from everyone else? If so, I challenge you to consider whether the folks who othered you were authorities who could influence your experience with them? It could have been a teacher or a coach. It could have even been a clergy member or a family member. Did you then have to rely on them to keep their word or fulfill a promise? Did you have faith that they could then meet your needs? As a parent of a special needs child, there is a vulnerability I experience that can be as pervasive as my son’s autism symptoms on a bad day. I’m vulnerable because I’m relying on professionals to administer care, make recommendations, and support the development of my kid in ways that I otherwise would not even consider. I have to exercise a fair amount of trust – and faith – to be confident that the folks who say they are there to help actually DO want to help. This has been especially true for me when it comes to my son and his vaccinations. I’ve tried to convince his doctors about my reservations about continuing his vaccination regimen because of the relationship between one set of vaccinations and when I remember the onset of Avery’s symptoms. And I’ve tried to convey those ideas respectfully and honestly. And even in conveying them respectfully and honestly I still remember feeling unheard… Othered. I’m grateful I have additional forms of capital (social, educational, professional) that position us to have access to quality care for my son with autism. And, I need to say that the large majority of folks who have administered medical care to my kids have presented nothing less than professional, caring, and sincere. But, I shudder when I consider folks who don’t have those forms of capital and have to TRUST people who might contribute to their feeling othered for care and services for their child with a disability. I encourage parents – of special needs children and of typically developing children – to be confident that while they may feel inadequate to make decisions about their child’s care in the shadow of the experts, that they cannot forsake their own convictions and instincts, even when that comes at the risk of being othered. While being othered can feel isolating, it has the wonderful potential to deepen our connections when we risk sharing those experiences with each other. Students enrolled in counseling programs today are taught, very intentionally, about the importance of advocacy. It was, and has remained, a hallmark of the counseling profession and many other mental health and helping professions (e.g., psychology, social work, etc.).
Advocacy efforts can take a number of forms. They can be regional or national in scope, like a letter writing campaign to one's congressman or congresswoman. Or, the advocacy can be done at a very local level, such as high school parents organizing their efforts for more rigorous course offering for their students. The best definition of advocacy I've heard in my (relatively short) life was offered by a faculty mentor, Keith Wilson. He said, and I'm paraphrasing, that advocacy is fighting for the rights of a group of whom you are NOT a member. (insert "a-ha" moment here). Nile came home earlier this week and told me she had something to share with me. I was in the regular routine of running the kids to their respective activities and asked if she could tell me when we got home. She agreed, reluctantly. So, while fixing their dinner (if that's what you'd call chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, and broccoli), she recalled that during the day there were kids who were being mean to the boy in her class who was on the autism spectrum. She was bothered because the kids were making fun of him, while he thought they were meaningfully engaging with him. He called them his friends even though their behavior was not really friendly. The young man was verbal, she said, and from what I could interpret, sounded A LOT like her brother. He was in a mainstream class, generally enjoyed social interactions, but had some trouble interpreting social cues and nuances. Her feelings ranged from anger, sympathy, and empathy toward the students being mean and for the student with autism. As we talked about it, Nile discussed one girl who she thought was particularly mean, and it bothered Nile. I tried to connect with her as she conveyed those emotions, saying things like: I understand why you would think that's mean. I'm not sure why some folks would be that insensitive. What is it that makes you so angry about how they're treating him? *You know I had to throw a "counseling" question in there! Don't judge me!* Lo and behold, I think we got the answer to that question. The girl Nile perceived as most insensitive... has a younger sibling with a form of autism. As Ni and I continued to talk through her frustration, I tried to convey the risks and rewards of speaking out against things that she believes to be unfair or unjust and advocting for those who may be targets of such actions. I shared that we ALL can either take the risk of speaking out and being ostracized by our peers and others OR not speaking out and having to confront the guilt that can sometimes accompany silent consent. I told her that she already knew the right thing to do, even if it was having a 1:1 conversation with the girl because we both acknowledged we wouldn't want anybody treating her brother like that. Of course, after saying that her mom and I would support her in any way we could, my final question was: So, what's gonna happen next time you see your friend? I thank God for reminding me of how important it is to be an advocate. Peace, -mike I’m coming off the heels of having an awesome celebration last night of my sister-in-law’s most recent birthday. If you can imagine around 35 people within about 1000 square feet – eating, drinking, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company – it’s just a glimpse of how much fun we had. The parameters for the party were simple: if you showed up, you had to sing a karaoke song to the birthday girl OR you had to play an instrument. Now, imagine a bunch of young (mostly early 30s to early 40s), primarily African-American men and women who ARE members of the hip-hop and soul music generations and you can guess the music being…performed. Yeah, that’s what we’ll call them. Peformances.
Good times, indeed. As you see friends from near and far, it’s typical for those who are parents to ask about each other’s children. No surprise there. Well, as folks ask about Avery, much of the conversation in recent months has been about his martial arts experience. I like talking about Avery and martial arts. I like talking about the success he’s had and the great instructors and mentors with whom he’s connected over the last 2 years. Why else do I like it? Well, because it can be competitive and…can be perceived as masculine. Avery’s got another set of physical skills and strengths that kind of set him apart, which I’ve mentioned before but not in detail. My boy can dance his tail off. Line dances, salsa, merengue, Zumba instruction, WHATEVER. He can just move. Well. So, just the other day LaChan asks the question I KNOW has been on the burner for some time: Can Avery take a dance class at Nile’s ballet company? *deeeeeeep sigh* I was trying to monitor both my nonverbal/body language AND my verbal response. In my head I want to say, “Nah, man”, but I don’t have any good reason to say no. My reason is essentially that I, at times, perceive dance or formal dance instruction, as primarily feminine. Now, I enjoy ballet, modern, and African dance forms. And, because of my relationship with LaChan, I’ve seen some awesome male dancers. But, that has not translated into wanting MY SON to perform any of those forms. I’d much rather have him participate in a team, competitive sport (you know, soccer, baseball, SOMETHING!). What I’ve been learning in the context of raising a special needs guy is to make a conscious decision to celebrate strengths and differences in folks. I’m learning to challenge myself to spend less time talking primarily about my kid’s challenges and more time talking about his strengths. I’m learning not to “pathologize” his differences from other kids (e.g., his intellectual development, social development, etc.) and just acknowledging them as different: not wrong or bad. I’m not one of those folks who doesn’t realize how larger social systems and preferences work. We’d be doing my kids, and especially my son, a disservice if we didn’t work on Avery’s social skills, reading and comprehension skills, and/or his ability to start and complete a task. But, I’m also learning that regardless of what behaviors and attitudes are interpreted as appropriate, masculine, feminine, etc. by broader social standards, they have to be checked at my door when they don’t facilitate my boy’s development, confidence, and self-esteem. And, I might need to be just as critical for those that stand in the way of my own development, too. Peace, -mike I hope anyone reading this blog had an opportunity to enjoy the winter holidays and get some form of rest and relaxation. Our family celebrated Christmas with loved ones locally and brought in the New Year with dear friends in Pennsylvania. The woman actually was married on New Year’s Eve and children were invited to the celebration, which made it especially nice. But, you know, that there are some things that happened causing me to be reflective of fathering and parenting that are WAAAAY too good to not share with you.
In my blog entry on 11/3/12, entitled PDAs (http://mdhannon.weebly.com/2/post/2012/11/pdas-public-displays-of-affection-because-pubertys-definitely-arriving.html), I began sharing about my daughter’s advent into becoming a young lady and how I’ve been making sense of it. I wrote/shared pretty openly about how she and I have begun to talk about “who’s cute” and “weird behavior”. The thing is, the other evidence of puberty was pretty clear (little more attitude, outfits a little more sassy, and my favorite…the bras). But never had SHE shown us…well, me (not sure if she’s talked to mom about this stuff in any great detail…but it’s likely) any behavior that said to me: YES, I THINK THAT PERSON IS CUTE AND I WANT TO CONNECT WITH HIM (OR HER). Well, forget that now. At our friend’s wedding reception on NYE, Nile and I had danced together to a mid-tempo song (“All My Love” by Luther Vandross, party favorite by soul music lovers everywhere!). I want you to picture this…furreal. As we danced, I talked with her, saying “This is how you dance with someone who wants to dance with you”. We were doing the simple “Two-Step” about a body length apart, but holding hands. I remember saying something like: “And if the person wants to get to close and it feels weird or uncomfortable, just say very clearly, ‘Hey man, back on up. You’re too close’”. I felt good about it. We laughed as we danced. Then a slow song came on (can’t remember what it was). So, I pulled her just a bit closer to me and placed my one hand in the mid-part of her back and placed her other hand in mine and we slow-danced. Her other hand was on my back. It was another teaching/learning moment for the both of us. Our exchange this time was something like: Me: Now, this is how you slow dance with someone. I want you to keep your head up and not look at my feet, but follow my lead, based on where my feet go. Nile: Okay. Me: (as I’m highlighting the distance between our bodies) Don’t get ANY CLOSER THAN THIS when you are slow-dancing (we’re now just a little bit closer than our earlier two-step). And, you know the deal. If it gets weird, tell that fool to BACK UP! We laugh. The song ends and she retreats to grab some food and I find my wife. And, about 10 minutes later, I got my evidence. Someone directs my attention to the dance floor, and AS SURE AS I’M BLACK (and proud), I see my daughter and some handsome young middle school brutha SLOW DANCING WITH NILE!!! What the what?! Wait, what’s happening? No, WHAT JUST HAPPENED?! Thankfully, I didn't panic so much to make a scene or draw attention to myself. I knew the boy’s aunt and cousin (the bride) and clearly, I know members of his family really well so I don’t have questions about the kind of folks to whom he’s connected. And, more importantly, I JUST HAD this conversation with Ni and I didn't want to alarm or embarrass her. However, that WAS NOT a license to go practice. Or was it? Her distance was good. She clearly listened to me and heeded my instructions. So, as the night ended, some 20 minutes after they danced together (and it was only one song), I asked her about the guy. Me: So, that guy asked you to dance, huh? Nile: Yeah. Me: What did he say to you? Nile: He just came up to me and said, “Hey, do you want to dance?” It wasn’t rude or anything so I said yes. Me: Did it ever get…”weird”? Nile: Nope. It was fine. Me: Okay. Cool. PDA, my friends: Puberty’s Definitely Arrived. #prayforabrutha Wishing you a great weekend! -mike Some of you may know that I have been interviewing African-American dads of kids with various forms of autism for my dissertation. The experience has been moving, to say the least. Today’s blog is inspired by an interview I conducted just yesterday with the father of a child who is dually diagnosed with a form of autism and another developmental disability.
Unlike some of the other dads in the study, I know this guy pretty well. I met him as a college student and he was an elite athlete then and maintains a very active lifestyle now. His athletic and competitive “wiring” spills over into his life as a partner to his wife and father to his three children. In our interview yesterday, he really caught my attention at one point because he made a broad criticism of parents and adults who acknowledge kids for EVERYTHING. We laughed when he made statements like: “Everybody shouldn’t get a trophy!” Or, “That kid is NOT a winner!” The wild thing was the way he balanced that perspective when he talked about raising a child with a disability. He admitted to not knowing the extent to which he could fight, advocate, achieve goals, and push himself until he became a dad of a child with a developmental disability. And let me remind you, this brother played at the professional level of his sport for some time before entering the corporate world. An elite athlete…better than average student…academic and athletic accomplishments most of us would dream of…and he’s not worked this hard, or had this much pride in his identity, until he began this experience as a dad. He talked extensively about celebrating the small victories for his kids, and especially for the one who has the disabilities. What do those victories look and sound like for us? A word. A smile. A look. A sign. We had our own (small) victory this week. LaChan and I heard Nile yelling at Avery in frustration and we called her downstairs to figure out what was happening. She was mad at him. Now, Nile is what some would call a “tweenager”. She’s 10 and is clearly…pubescent. So, now, more than ever, she desires alone time and not wanting to be bothered. (I guess that’s what happens when girls start wearing bras and stuff…but whatever!) This day was different and she wanted to play with Avery. Well, Avery was being especially “autistic” on this day…Well, what I mean is that he really wasn’t interested in playing with his sister and was more content to spend time by himself, in his own world. He had his Avenger toys and was cool doing his own thing. But Nile wanted something different in that moment. She wanted to engage with him. She wanted him to want to play with her. So, when she came downstairs to explain, she was beating around the bush and talking as if Avery was doing something wrong. “He’s being mean and ignoring me! I mean, I’ve called him for like 10 minutes and he won’t even answer!” LaChan keenly notices what’s going on and just asks her, sensitively: “So you’re upset because he’s not playing with you?” *silence, as her eyes start to water* “Yes. He never ignores me like this. And, I don’t usually get to play with him a lot because of school and stuff, so...yeah. I want him to play with me.” Where’s the victory in my one kid’s symptoms being a little more prevalent on this day versus some others? Where's the victory when the other kid's feelings are hurt because of challenges associated with his diagnosis? The victory was in Nile being able to pinpoint how she was feeling, why she was feeling it Game. Set. Match…(for now) Happy holidays to you and yours! -mike My kids lied. Both of them.
I hate admitting that but it came up this week in a way that I’ve not seen before and I find myself moving between feeling hurt, frustrated, and fearful. Last Sunday, LaChan decided that she was going to forgo church in order to attend to some things in the house that would get done a lot faster with the rest of us gone. However, I told both the kids they were coming to church with me. Avery, usually one of the first awake on ANY morning, was on task. He ate his breakfast. He brushed his teeth. He got dressed. And, Nile didn’t give me any indication that she didn’t want to go to church. In fact, she responded pretty affirmatively if I remember correctly. Clearly, I misread and/or she had other plans. So, without my knowing, she makes her way down to the kitchen to fix her breakfast while I’m upstairs. She asks her mom (who didn’t realize I told Nile to get ready for church), “Mommy, can I stay home and help you?” I think LaChan gave her a “tentative” yes. I came downstairs to fuss at Nile because she was moving too slowly. I began my weekly, “We don’t EVER get anywhere on time” rant. As I was reminding Nile of how S…L…O…W she moves, LaChan looks at her and says, “Nile, how come you didn’t tell me your dad already said you were going to church?” *Radio silence with no eye contact* (This chick was trying to play us!) There was a time when everything that came out of Avery’s mouth was the truth. This brother NEVER mixed words. LaChan: Avery, do you like your food? Avery: This is NASTY! Me: Avery, you like my haircut? Avery: Daddy, your haircut makes you look like you’re bald. We attribute some of his candor to his diagnosis. He doesn’t care to filter his sentiments and communicates pretty openly and honestly. Things have always been black and white with Avery. This week, though, he was caught punching his sister in her leg and he straight up lied about it. And here comes the mediation: Me: Nile, did Avery punch you in the leg? Nile: Yes, he was punching me and I… Avery: (yelling) NO, I DIDN’T! Me: Avery, be quiet. I’m talking to Nile right now. Nile: I was saying, I don’t know why he was punching me. Me: Avery, were you punching Nile? Avery: No. *pause* Me: Avery, it’s not good when we don’t tell the truth. I’m going to ask you again and I want you to tell me the truth. Were you punching Nile? Avery: I WASN’T punching Nile. Nile: Why would I lie?! *in my head, I was thinking, because you just tried to manipulate me on Sunday, girl!!...I didn’t say that though* Me: Nile, I’m not talking to you right now. Avery, I’m going to ask you one more time. If you don’t tell me the truth, you WILL NOT test for your new belt this weekend. Were. You. Punching. Nile.? Avery: (smirking) Um, yeah, I think I did punch her. I popped him in his mouth. Twice. Then I told him that he owed his sister and me an apology. *In retrospect, I guess I should have made him apologize first and then pop him. But hindsight is always 20/20, right? I’ll remember that next time* He apologized and made his way upstairs to take a shower before bed. I was frustrated, and in that frustration I wanted to blame other influences that might encourage my kids to not be truthful. But, my counseling instincts got the best of me and realized I probably needed to turn inward vs. outward. You know, use some “I” statements. What’s at the root of when I find myself wanting to manipulate or lie? Usually, it’s because I’m hiding something of which I’m ashamed. And it’s usually pretty STUPID stuff. Like, LaChan: What’s your ETA? Me: 5 minutes *I’m really like 20 minutes away, but I don’t want to admit I left later than I was supposed to leave…You know how this goes* As stinging as his comments can be in response to a question, I don’t want my son to lose his capacity to be brutally honest. I (most times) appreciate and admire that quality he possesses. I really need to take stock of what I am doing, saying, and/or communicating that creates a barrier for him or her to telling me the truth and being transparent. My kids’ successes and failures at this point in their lives are SO MUCH MORE ABOUT ME than about them. I guess that’s why fatherhood is always under (re)construction. The last 7 days have been especially demanding for our family, particularly our daughter. As I’ve mentioned before, she’s in her first year at a private school in hopes that it would provide her with more individualized and rigorous instruction. The experience was generally meeting our expectations, from what we could tell. Her social transition was a little harder than I would have liked, but we knew some of that was related to the commute to and from school.
You see, our network here in NJ is pretty expansive. Our closest friends and family are here. Nile’s commute was about 40 minutes each way to school. I took her in the mornings because my schedule is much more flexible than LaChan’s. I would pick her up at the end of the day two days a week, while one of my best friends and my aunt would pick her up 3 days during the week. We thought it was working. We were grateful for all of the support. We kept trying to justify the decision we made for her to go there. It’s a great school. She got a huge scholarship to attend. Classes are small and she thrives in smaller, more intimate environments. She can build deep relationships with the faculty and students. If things go well, she’ll never have to transfer again because it’s a K-12 school. We had been at this schedule for 3 months now. Nile is up at 5:45 AM (she’s 10), she and I are out the door by 6:50 AM. We arrive to school usually no later than 7:40 AM. We pray together in the car once we get to school. When I pray with my kids, I usually ask them, “Is there anything you want to pray about?” Her answer seemed to be on repeat on most days. “I’m just gonna ask God to help me not be so tired.” LaChan and I had been talking about Nile’s fatigue for at least 6 weeks. Our conversations were usually centered on how WE could adjust to help her. We had already modified our schedules tremendously to make this work and were willing to do what it took for Nile to take advantage of this opportunity. But, we couldn’t because any other adjustments would be for Nile to make, not us. We can’t get her up any earlier. She can’t stay after school to deepen her relationships because of the distance from home. She can’t stay after school if she wanted to do the OTHER things (besides school!) that bring her joy and balance, like ballet or community sports. Our family was out of balance and we were not operating in Nile’s best interest. Here’s when I knew we weren’t doing right by her. As LaChan and I were hashing this stuff out one night, at one point she stopped and said to me: If this were Avery, we would have BEEN moved him. *Checkmate* And, I make no assumption that LaChan struggles with this, but I know how much my pride can be an obstacle for me making a good decision…or changing my mind and doing an “about face”. There’s a Biblical scripture that essentially communicates that acting in pride is usually preceded by something not too good. We sat Ni down last Saturday to tell her that we thought it would be best for her to change schools. Again. She got visibly upset. She cried a bit, but didn’t seem overwhelmed at the beginning of the conversation. When we asked her how she was feeling, she communicated that she would be sad because she got cool with a few girlfriends. But she really began to cry as she expressed how much she missed spending time with us because she spends most days, “in the car or doing my homework”. *insert GUILT here* LaChan and I were both moved to tears. She hugged LaChan and she whispered in her ear something that confirmed for us that we were making the right decision, even if it meant another transition. Thank you, mommy. |
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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