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My Profile
Gift from Hil Part 2 - 2014-12-30
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11:07 a.m. - 2014-07-13
On the road into town there's a triangular intersection near the railroad tunnel. On the tri-cornered spit of land in the middle of the intersection there's a patch of marigolds and geraniums and room enough for a sign which advertises the upcoming events at the county park up on the other road. I pass through that way a lot and mostly what's on the signboard doesn't register much beyond me reading it as I read everything I pass, but this week the sign announces there's a fundraiser next weekend sponsored by Autism Speaks. Every time I see that sign I begin to seethe. Autism Speaks? Yeah? Far as I'm concerned autism can shut the hell up. I have a couple of choice words for autism and they aren't "Happy Birthday." Autism is my mortal enemy. I loathe it like I loathe nothing else on this planet. I see those cutesy magnetic autism awareness magnets on the backs of cars and loose a disgusted laugh. Autism awareness? Fuh. I have been nothing BUT aware of fricken autism! Since forever! I haven't had a day off from autism for 30 years. Not me, not my kids. Neither has the ex, but that's his problem and not mine anymore. I mentioned in my previous entry that Wolf recently sat for his senior portraits. What I didn't talk about was how the photographer was sharing the auditorium with the all-district summer music program. On the day we were there the youngest band campers were on the stage. About 60 kids ages 11 or 12 doing their best to produce music but it mostly sounded like cats being sawed in half. Sloooowly sawed in half. As Wolf waited his turn with the photographer the band session came to an end. The kids stowed their instruments in their cases and straggled up the aisle to their waiting parents. I was amused watching this one kid who was maybe 4' and a whole 70lbs trying to carry his bassoon but it was a lost cause, the cumbersome thing was taller and weighed more than he did. The bassoonist's dad came to the rescue and father and son left the aud chattering happily about music stuff. I looked at my own kid sitting next to me and sighed. As proud and happy as I was to be there with my tall handsome son to get his senior portraits done I couldn't help but be sad too. Wolf had never had the chance to be a band kid. When he was that age my son was still struggling to sit still. He was still trying to master tying his shoes. He was still unable to go for more than a few minutes at a time without throwing a tantrum. A tantrum borne of his frustration and anger at the constant bombardment of sensory overload and unchecked compulsions to act out. Autism. Goddamn autism had done that to my kid. Autism had taken his entire childhood. No band. No Cub Scouts. No soccer or T-ball. No summers off either, No summertime freedom to do enriching things or go to camp or even just goof off. For nine years Wolf spent his summers in stuffy, sometimes stifling classrooms doing the same crap he did during the regular school year. Speech and OT and behavioral therapy. Group counseling. Individual counseling. Day after hot sweaty day grinding away at the most basic skills of classroom behavior. Fucking autism! I hate, hate, hate you! Wolf turned and saw me looking all watery and I shrugged, "Mom moment." He nodded and went back to fiddling with his phone. I scrabbled a tissue from my purse and tidied up my leaky face. Yes I know. I know research needs doing and money needs raising. I know dance-a-thons and pancake breakfasts do more than raise money, they educate the public. I know every minivan with a magnetized puzzle piece on the back is driven by a mom just as weary and angry as I am, just as heartsick over her kid's harder than hard life struggle. I know this, but I don't care. I have zero interest in fundraising and educating and being part of some cockamamie 'autism community' and furthermore neither does my kid. You listening, Autism Speaks? I don't care what autism might have to say! Autism blows. I hate it and wish it would die. Hey autism, this is for you. Back to unicorns and soap bubbles and waxing rhapsodic about dandelions next time, right now your friend LA is furious.
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