I was reading this opinion column on CNN today. It kind of annoyed me.
I am just like everyone else in wanting to eat in a restaurant undisturbed by screaming children. I don't enjoy being out in public and having my enjoyment disturbed by rude children who are out of control. I laughed as loud as everyone else when Bill Cosby did a comedy sketch about a boy on an airplane named Jeffrey.
However, I have a problem with the assumption by Mr. Granderson that a child who is out of control in a public setting has a permissive parent who is allowing him to behave in that manner.
My child is not a brat. Let's start there. And I am not a permissive parent, by any stretch of the imagination. I don't allow my child to run amok in public places. I make every effort to keep him in his seat in restaurants. I make every effort to keep his volume level at an acceptable decibel level. I have regularly removed my son from public places when he is behaving poorly out of respect for others.
My son, however, is three years old.
He is going to be loud.
He is going to be messy.
He is going to want to play in places where playing is not allowed.
These are age-appropriate behaviors.
Am I to sequester my son from all outside contact with the world until he's 21 because he might irritate someone by behaving like a child?
What if my infant has an ear infection, or is sensitive to the pressure changes involved in airplane travel, and screams in pain when the plane takes off and lands? Am I being a permissive parent then?
What if my child has special needs, such as autism? Does it make me a permissive parent, then, when I suddenly have a child tantrumming because there's a new menu at Chili's or the tables have been rearranged at the local pizzeria?
I don't think so.
How is my three year old child going to learn how to behave in a public place if I don't put him into public places? How will he ever understand what is permitted in society, and what is not, if he never interacts with society?
It's easy to misinterpret and mislabel a parent's inability to control their children as permissive or lazy parenting. There may be something else going on, however, and it is ignorant to lump people into one group based on some characteristic that is deemed unappealing.
Yes, my child is going to misbehave in public on occasion as he gets older. I will speak to him in a low voice, give him a consequence, and yes, I will give him "The Look". And sometimes, despite all my efforts, my child will still run amok.
It has nothing to do with my being permissive, and everything to do with being a kid.
Showing posts with label autism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label autism. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Red Writing Hood: Drowning
Prompt:Write a short piece - 600 words max - that begins with the words, "This was absolutely the last time" and ends with "She was wrong."
This was absolutely the last time, she thought.
She slammed down the phone, grabbed her purse, and stormed out to her car. She clicked on her seatbelt, backed out of the driveway and began the drive to her ex-husband’s house.
She had been asleep, cozy and warm. It was ONE in the freakin’ morning, fer cryin’ out loud!
Why was she doing this? She asked herself one more time. A little sob escaped. Why was she dropping everything, yet again, and driving over to clean up yet another ‘mess’ for him? He hadn’t even waited until his new hair plugs were 24 hours old before packing up and leaving her, off to find a new life.
Yet she was still required to rescue him. He did this on purpose.
He knew that she would never dream of leaving him to deal with this kind of situation.
He wasn’t prepared. He never had been, even after all the classes she had dragged him to, all the books she made him read. Nothing had ever prepared him. And so he foundered.
Some people just weren’t made to handle stress, she decided. It rolled over them like a tidal wave, pulled them deep underneath, and they just can never make it back to the surface to find their breath. She inhaled deeply, and let her anger go.
She pulled into the driveway and got out of the car. Her ex was waiting at the door. She could hear, through the open door, the wailing and screaming of her autistic daughter, in the throes of the violent tantrums she always had whenever she stayed with her father. They shared custody.
She glared at the man, intended to say something mean and hurtful, but stopped when she saw his face.
He had a black eye.
He had been crying.
He looked so lost. Drowning.
Candace thought that her heart had broken completely the day her husband had walked out on her. That there were no more pieces to shatter on the wall of reality.
She was wrong.
This was absolutely the last time, she thought.
She slammed down the phone, grabbed her purse, and stormed out to her car. She clicked on her seatbelt, backed out of the driveway and began the drive to her ex-husband’s house.
She had been asleep, cozy and warm. It was ONE in the freakin’ morning, fer cryin’ out loud!
Why was she doing this? She asked herself one more time. A little sob escaped. Why was she dropping everything, yet again, and driving over to clean up yet another ‘mess’ for him? He hadn’t even waited until his new hair plugs were 24 hours old before packing up and leaving her, off to find a new life.
Yet she was still required to rescue him. He did this on purpose.
He knew that she would never dream of leaving him to deal with this kind of situation.
He wasn’t prepared. He never had been, even after all the classes she had dragged him to, all the books she made him read. Nothing had ever prepared him. And so he foundered.
Some people just weren’t made to handle stress, she decided. It rolled over them like a tidal wave, pulled them deep underneath, and they just can never make it back to the surface to find their breath. She inhaled deeply, and let her anger go.
She pulled into the driveway and got out of the car. Her ex was waiting at the door. She could hear, through the open door, the wailing and screaming of her autistic daughter, in the throes of the violent tantrums she always had whenever she stayed with her father. They shared custody.
She glared at the man, intended to say something mean and hurtful, but stopped when she saw his face.
He had a black eye.
He had been crying.
He looked so lost. Drowning.
Candace thought that her heart had broken completely the day her husband had walked out on her. That there were no more pieces to shatter on the wall of reality.
She was wrong.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Book Review: Big Daddy's Tales
Before I start, a disclaimer: I actually bought this book. Yep. Paid for it with my own money. Big Daddy did NOT give me any incentives, cash or otherwise, to review his book, although if he chose to send me chocolates, I would scarf them down immediately.
I eagerly anticipated the publication of Big Daddy's Tales: From the Lighter Side of Raising a Kid with Autism, by F. Lewis Stark, who also goes by the name of Big Daddy Autism. Mr. Stark has a blog, Big Daddy Autism, which I have been reading for some time. Big Daddy and his wife Mrs. Big Daddy, have a son with autism, and the blog describes many of the ups and downs and all-arounds of raising a special kind of special needs child.
Because each child is an individual, there are as many 'kinds' of autism as there are stars in the sky(actually, that applies to any and all disorders or conditions, but we are speaking strictly of autism today). In his book, Big Daddy references the old story about a person preparing for a trip to Italy(aka the birth of a NT child), and ending up in Holland(aka the birth of a child with autism). He, and his wife, have determined that spending time in Holland, admiring the windmills and tulips, is a better perspective than spending a lifetime wishing to be in Italy. They have chosen to find the humor in as many spaces of their son Griffin's autism as they can.
There was a point in my son's development that a developmental psychologist used the 'A' word, and that was a very scary time for my husband and I. So I have a very general, incomplete idea of what the parent of a child with autism might go through in the early stages prior to diagnosis. When you have a child with autism, sometimes it must be incredibly difficult to find something in the disorder to laugh about, something that can make you feel uplifted. I think that Big Daddy does an excellent job in accepting his son as he is and finding the joy in that. His is a realistic viewpoint, with no sugarcoating to wash it down, but it is an often hilarious pill to swallow.
This probably should be required reading for anyone in education, but it's also an ideal book for anyone who knows a child with autism. I work with kids who have autism, and my husband occasionally has a student with autism in his class. I have found that kids with autism are a fun bunch. Even when they are having a 'bad' day, there's just something about them that I adore. I just like 'hanging out' with them. Reading about Griffin, with his elevators and his Weather Channel, made me laugh out loud. It also caused me to say to my husband, "You've gotta listen to this!" and read parts of Big Daddy's Tales to him. I just don't ever do that, because my husband and I don't have the same taste in reading material, but Larry laughed along with me, and that is a testament to Big Daddy's writing.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Elevators
Elevator riding is an act of faith, I've decided, no matter your religion or beliefs. Think about it.
An elevator is a box on a string, pulled up and let down by a motor. Pretty flimsy, really. Not much margin for error. Yet each day millions of people step into those boxes and trust that that string is going to stay strong and keep them safe while carrying them to their destination. Most of us step between those steel doors without paying any sort of attention, probably talking on our cell phones or texting, and just press a button. We never consider that, while in that little box stuffed with other people or not, we have given control of our lives to something insubstantial. Something that we never see, but keeps us from falling into the darkness. I occasionally wonder about that 'something', and I sometimes whisper a quick 'thank you' while I am riding.
What if the elevator deposited you where you needed to be instead of where you want to be? Would you demand to be let back on the elevator or let yourself wander around for a bit? Would you accept the elevator's decision regarding your needs or would you argue or fight about it? Would you expect the elevator to solve all your problems during the ride? What if you're afraid of the elevator and never have the faith needed to step into that box?
I probably think about things like this just a bit more than necessary.
And speaking of elevators, my friend Jillsmo over at Yeah. Good Times. is the awesome parent of a child with autism who likes trains and elevators, and since it is Autism Awareness Month, you should probably go and visit her blog. She has been guest posting on other blogs and answering questions and just being a wellspring of information. She might not like being called a 'wellspring', but there it is. Since Autism has been said to occur in 1:110 children, you probably know someone, or will know someone, who has autism. I think that is a darn good reason to read up on the topic!
An elevator is a box on a string, pulled up and let down by a motor. Pretty flimsy, really. Not much margin for error. Yet each day millions of people step into those boxes and trust that that string is going to stay strong and keep them safe while carrying them to their destination. Most of us step between those steel doors without paying any sort of attention, probably talking on our cell phones or texting, and just press a button. We never consider that, while in that little box stuffed with other people or not, we have given control of our lives to something insubstantial. Something that we never see, but keeps us from falling into the darkness. I occasionally wonder about that 'something', and I sometimes whisper a quick 'thank you' while I am riding.
What if the elevator deposited you where you needed to be instead of where you want to be? Would you demand to be let back on the elevator or let yourself wander around for a bit? Would you accept the elevator's decision regarding your needs or would you argue or fight about it? Would you expect the elevator to solve all your problems during the ride? What if you're afraid of the elevator and never have the faith needed to step into that box?
I probably think about things like this just a bit more than necessary.
And speaking of elevators, my friend Jillsmo over at Yeah. Good Times. is the awesome parent of a child with autism who likes trains and elevators, and since it is Autism Awareness Month, you should probably go and visit her blog. She has been guest posting on other blogs and answering questions and just being a wellspring of information. She might not like being called a 'wellspring', but there it is. Since Autism has been said to occur in 1:110 children, you probably know someone, or will know someone, who has autism. I think that is a darn good reason to read up on the topic!
Friday, December 3, 2010
Autism is Not a Fashion Accessory
A few of the parents I meet in the course of a special education referral want their child to qualify for services as autistic. I've heard them discussing all the celebrities who have autistic children, and they seem to be excited about the possibility of a similar diagnosis. If it turns out that a child does not have autism, parents will sometimes argue with the school. Some parents will even take their child to doctor after doctor and spend lots of money just looking for one who will say the "A-word".
To these parents, I would really like to say, in as nice a way as I can, to just...stop it. (I actually would like to say something else, but I do like to have a paycheck.)
Autism is not cool, even if rock stars and actresses are on television talking about it. Autism is difficult. Autism is scary. The parents that I know who have children with autism do not feel "cool". They feel helpless a lot of the time as they struggle to help their child. They cry a lot. Autism, for these parents, is not glamorous; it is exhausting, difficult work that sometimes yields only tiny gains. Yet these parents struggle on because they love their children, not because they want to be 'cool'.
Please give those parents of autistic children the respect they deserve by not acting like their child is some sort of fashion accessory that they can take on and off like a watch. They can't, even if some of them wanted to.
To these parents, I would really like to say, in as nice a way as I can, to just...stop it. (I actually would like to say something else, but I do like to have a paycheck.)
Autism is not cool, even if rock stars and actresses are on television talking about it. Autism is difficult. Autism is scary. The parents that I know who have children with autism do not feel "cool". They feel helpless a lot of the time as they struggle to help their child. They cry a lot. Autism, for these parents, is not glamorous; it is exhausting, difficult work that sometimes yields only tiny gains. Yet these parents struggle on because they love their children, not because they want to be 'cool'.
Please give those parents of autistic children the respect they deserve by not acting like their child is some sort of fashion accessory that they can take on and off like a watch. They can't, even if some of them wanted to.
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