Autism

First Day Of College

/ Gardy Loo Pismire / 1 Comment

Meet 14 yo Andre. His sense of humor is scalding, his style of dress is prehistoric and he in a bona-fide hero…he saved another person’s life while risking his own. He insists on routine, he is stubborn as the day is long, and he has autism which while not completely defining him gives you a hint of what is to come.

Today was Andre’s first college class. It is hard to express just what I am feeling but I can tell you this…I am very proud of him.

We are fortunate that there is a high school that is located on the local college campus and besides the regular curriculum the kids also have the opportunity to take college classes. The goal is to graduate with a high school as well as a college diploma at the end of their four years.

We are also very fortunate that Andre, despite his challenges including autism and severe ADHD, is able to navigate the system as well as he does. He is a great student and has a very unique perspective on many issues. And while I am glad he has this opportunity I also worry about my 9th grader.

It’s hard not to be apprehensive about Andre as he steps into this new, more mature world that isn’t set up for someone on the spectrum.

It’s not the drugs I worry about. In Andre’s very black and white world, where rules are to be adhered to at all costs; illicit drugs are just not in his game book.

It is not all the bad influences that concern me. Unfortunately, no one is interested enough to go beyond Andre’s quirky behaviors to get to know him yet alone influence him.

It is not the classwork that has me sleeping less at night. With a son who is a human calculator I am confident in his ability to master anything that his instructors throw at him.

What worries me is those who will take his natural kindness and abuse it. His openness to everyone and everything and exploit it. His way of singing through life and squash it. But most of all, I worry about predators, especially sexual, who will see a target who has no understanding of how protect himself and they will move in. And on a campus that offers hims so many opportunities, a campus full of adults, I pray that no one takes advantage of a young man who takes advantage of no one and desperately wants to have one, just one, friend and to fit in. And if I had the chance to say something to all the students about Andre I would say just let him be himself, listen to him and help him navigate when he becomes rudderless but most of all just be his friend…everyone deserves to have at least ONE friend and by being his friend you will be the one who will gain the most.images

32 Days And I Drank The Kool-Aid…332 Days To Fix This

/ Gardy Loo Pismire / 3 Comments

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So it had been 32 days of no yelling. Not one single loud voice, one yelp or one shiver me timbers shout. Not one shrill sentence, not one whoop, nor one holler. My lips have remained soft and my mind has remained focused on being the best new me I can be. I have gone where I have never gone before. Until this morning when I went to the well and drank the Kool-Aid.

I was getting the kids off to school. Paul is still in the hospital but Andre and Gracie were at home when Andre The Master Manipulator started “poking” at me looking for every hidden button that would possibly set me off. Everything I said was met with a total ignore or a “NO.”  Sometimes autism just sucks.We were 2 minutes from heading out the door when I realized Andre had purposely neglected to do something that needed to be done. And that’s when I lost it.

“I told you to _______” And as I said the last word I realized I was yelling. It scared the crap out of me because I didn’t even comprehend that the decibel level of my voice had risen to the sound of a fighter jet during a fly-by until the 5th word. At that point I caught myself and abruptly stopped, then whispered quietly to the universe and my kids, “Oh darn, I just yelled for the first time in over 30 days. I am so disappointed in myself.” I had just received my 30 day chip only to have it fall out of my hand.

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And so, like an AA member who has slipped, I start the process over. More meditation tapes, more quiet time, more bubble baths, more positive thinking and more contemplating what it means to try to incorporate this “new” me into the old. I worry about what this one act will do to my relationship with my husband whose tolerance for failure, while usually decent, is still tenuous towards me at this point. I am glad he is away as I couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his eyes.

Yet, as I hang my head in shame, I realize that this “no yelling” business is a process that calls for diligence and patience with myself.. I am trying… trying harder than I have tried to do anything in my life and it is not a time for self-lashing. For tomorrow is another day…DAY 1.2 (the improved version) OF NO YELLING!

Seashells By The Sea Shore

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Today, is a busy, busy day. Doctor appointments, therapy appointments; you name it this is the day it has to be done. Therefore, I am unable to write today. Instead, I am leaving you with a story that I wrote seven years ago.

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Seashells By The Sea Shore

For me it is the end to the perfect day. The wind is blowing softly and the sandpipers are scuttling along the shore while the sun’s golden glow shimmers as it sinks below the waves. My six-year-old son skips alongside the sea, his jet-black hair flying behind him. He delights in the unfamiliarity of the shore songs that greet us and offer up the oceans bounties…shells of many colors: brown, tan, black, white and an occasional tinge of pink. He runs collecting both big and small. Paul scoops them up, washes them off, and dumps them in the bag as we make our way down the beach. I help pointing out the errant ones that he has missed along the way. But of course, I leave the chipped and broken shells whose imperfections make them less than a desirable collectors item.

“Mom, LOOK at all my shells,” his voice booms. “There are hundreds of them.”

I peek my head into the bag. Bits and pieces with jagged edges greet me.

“But Paul, these shells are all broken,” I say, trying to be helpful. “Why don’t you collect ones like this?” handing him a perfect specimen that has just washed ashore.

“But Mom, they don’t have to be whole to be perfect. They are beautiful just the way they are. God thinks that about you too.”

And with that, he looks into my eyes and holds my gaze with those deep brown eyes of his. Then he reaches in the bag and gives me a dirty black shell, the majority of whose pieces are scattered over the bottom of the Atlantic. Yet, when I turn the shell over I see he is right. The center makes a perfect circle which circles back upon itself. The color is uniform and is as dark as ebony. And as I stare at that shell I suddenly see my son within it. They both have a few cracks and even some missing pieces. Suddenly I come to the realization that they are indeed both perfect just the way they are.

Sometimes it just takes a six-year old boy with autism to remind you that perfection is in the eye of the beholder and that it is all around us just waiting to be discovered.

Copyright 2008

The Lists

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So on D-Day (Announcing I might want a divorce day) we agreed to make several lists. The first is our WISH LIST of what we would like the other person to change. The second was what we need to Change About Ourselves and the third was Fun Things We Could Do As A Couple. The Things To Do As a Couple List has its own issues. Like can I really take dance lessons without throwing out my back? Do I have to own a Harley to shoot pool in a pool hall? If I text a sexy message to my husband will it be intercepted by a child and what is the code word for nipples?

I have been working diligently trying to put together my list in a way that either a) just lists what the thing is b) what the thing is and how it affects me c) what the thing is and list an example or d) all of the above. When I started the wish list I wondered if I would get even eight things on it but as a wrote it began to just flow out of me and I ended up with 21 things on his list and 23 things on mine. As I sit back and think about this I realize if I could come up with all of these items so fast then obviously there are things I have chosen to ignore, things that have bothered me over time, etc. Maybe I should have worked on some of these before now.

The lists also made me mad and got me thinking thoughts like “Hey, buddy the decision to keep going in the marriage or to end it is mine too. And you might be surprised how the ending will be different than the ending you have pictured in your mind. Maybe I will move away and attend college and you will have the kids while I do so.”  This is not just your game to call.

Of course, we cannot exchange lists now because B took the boys up to Church Camp the day after he dropped the bomb and they are gone for a week. The sad thing is I do not miss them a bit but then again they have only been gone 24 hours. I am soaking up the quietness of the house like a future skin cancer victim soaks up the rays of the sun.

Frankly, it is so nice not to be met with the constant battles of a teen who has autism. The “I don’t want to’s”, the non-stop “no’s”. Honestly, I think I have been overwhelmed by all the special needs in this house for the past year. I know I have lost a sense of hope for Andre which is a terrible thing because I have always had hope and it has sustained me during the trying times. To be without hope feels like walking in a swamp with no moon and no flashlight; the alligators lining the banks ready to take off your toes. Or worse.

If I am honest there are days where I dream of a place consisting of cabana boys to do my bidding, maids, and professional low-calorie meal making chefs. A place where the word, “MOOOMMMMMMM” is banned and people smile as they pass you and no one gives you the finger when you accidentally slide into their lane of life. Right now I feel like the cosmic middle finger is raised in my honor!