There is a good chance I will butcher this story since it is a recollection of a conversation that took place between my son and my wife about three years ago, but I think it is worth sharing, and I reserve the right to use creative license since this is my blog and I also reserve the right to use run-on sentences since, yes, this is my blog and no, it is not Mrs. Evans' English class. But, I will try to make each paragraph at least two sentences long in honor of Mrs. Evans, just to prove that I did learn a thing or two while attending high school.
As I mentioned, the following conversation took place about three years ago. It is entirely possible that the conversation took place on a sleepy afternoon (which makes the response by my wife even more impressive), on Christmas day. Regardless of the actual date, the conversation was about Santa and where he lives.
Apparently, Santa is now outsourcing his duties. Why wouldn't he? Really, if you think about it, he of all people should be outsourcing!
As you may know, my son is rather bright. His mind works in ways that few of us can comprehend, but the cool thing about that is, he asks some very important questions...some of which, we have no answers for. My wife is also very bright (which makes me the dimmest bulb in the bunch, I suppose...hmmm, I guess I didn't think that one through very well!), and she is able to think quickly...most of the time. Luckily, she thought very quickly and the result was the following conversation:
Son - Mom, Santa lives in the North Pole, right?
Mom - Yes, why?
Son - And Santa's elves make the toys he brings, right?
Mom - Yes, why?
Son - Then, why does this toy say "Made in China"?
Mom - (without hesitation and as deadpan as can be) You know how many kids Santa has to deliver to, right?
Son - Yeah...
Mom - Well, he has elves in every part of the world to help him on Christmas!
All I can say is, I am really happy she got that question and not me since I would have looked like a deer...uhhh, sorry, but I really must to go here...a reindeer caught in headlights. So, remember this, if your kid ever asks about Santa's elves in China, you now have a legitimate response and also know that Santa has elves everywhere which means Santa has eyes everywhere, too...so he really does know if you have been naughty or nice! Well, at least that is what we told our son...hehe.
Whatever special celebration you may have this time of year, I sincerely hope it is/was/will be the best yet but not as good as those to come.
Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!)
First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
All I want for Christmas...
I like Ferrari. Some may say I am obsessed with Ferrari, but I think it is more like a healthy love than anything more serious than that. If I remember correctly, I started loving these exotic super-cars when I was about the age my son is now, so it should be no surprise to me that exotic matchbox cars were on his Christmas wish list this year. Sweet...Santa is going to have it easy this year!
My son, unfortunately, likes Lamborghini, but he also has a healthy love for Ferrari as well. Methinks that is more because I love them and not so much because he likes them. He has also mentioned that he plans to buy me one when he is old enough to drive. I have not had the heart to tell him that most likely will not happen, so instead I thank him and go off dreaming about buying one myself one day.
Speaking of buying one, let me go on record by saying that I will own one before I die. Okay, maybe it will not be the Enzo ($1,000,000 - give or take a few hundred thousand) or the one that started it all for me, a 288 GTO (Bargain priced at $300,000 - give or take a hundred thousand), but I will own one, even if it means buying a used 308 (think Magnum PI), for under 20 grand. Yes, for that money it might...errr...will need some work, but as long as I can tag it, insure it, and drive it, I will be perfectly happy.
 |
| Ferrari Enzo |
 |
| Ferrari 288 GTO |
When I was a kid, the main idea behind Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars was to be able to fantasize about owning cars that were cool and probably out of reach for the middle class citizen. Cars like Ferrari, Lamborghini, Porsche, and hot rods like Chevy, Pontiac, and Oldsmobile outnumbered the silly cars like the panel truck and police cars (although, some of the cop cars were pretty cool). Today, I challenge you to try to find a Ferrari in the car section of your local Target or Toys R Us stores...ain't gonna be there...and that is a shame.
A Prius??? Really??? Come on, now, are you kidding me? Okay, granted, the Prius is a pretty significant car for today's world with its green soul and trendy status, but make a Hot Wheels/Matchbox car in its likeness? And the Insight? Gag me with a spoon! Maybe, just maybe, I can see a Prelude or even the Accord, but the Insight? wow...what were they thinking? I can see it now, a little seven year old talking to his dad, "Dad, when I grow up, I want to own a Prius!" huh? say what? Phbbttttt!!!
 |
| Really??? |
 |
| This is about 1/1000th of my collection |
No, this post is not really relevant to anything remotely related to Asperger's, except for the fact that my son's mind is set on receiving these exotic cars and will be crushed like a grape in France during wine season - thanks Matchbox and Hot Wheels for that, by the way. Instead, it is just a simple little rant about the ludicrousness of being politically correct in an area that is meant for fantasies and dreams. Don't get me wrong, political correctness is a necessity is some aspects of life, and if I have offended you in any way, shape, or form, please accept my...um...sincere apologies and know that I will promise to alter my personality for your benefit in the near future...but only after Matchbox and Hot Wheels start making cool cars again!
Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Great...what did he do now?
When we lived in Oklahoma, we tried to send our son to public school. Our reasoning was that he needed socialization skills and after many years of Montessori school we were looking forward to not having a tuition bill every month. The public school he would attend had a good reputation and everyone we talked to spoke very highly of the entire experience. So, needless to say, we were excited when second grade rolled around.
The excitement didn't last long. When my son acted up, we got a call from the school. From early on, I was receiving at least one call per week. Toward the end of the semester, I was receiving daily calls. The calls were from the teacher, the assistant, or the principal (or on a particularly bad day, all three) calling to let me know I had to either pick up my son from school early, or that we needed to have a meeting, or for some other reason that was behavioral related. Whenever the phone rang and the caller id said that it was the school calling, my automatic thought was, "Great...what did he do know?" Unfortunately, he was not being challenged enough, and as the saying goes, idle hands are the devil's playground.
By the end of the first semester, he was removed from the school. Honestly, I cannot remember if it was our choice or if the school politely and firmly "suggested" that we try a different system, but either way, in January, he was attending a different school...and the tuition payments resumed.
Our outlook was bleak, but some pretty heavy duty cosmic/karmic signs made us realize that the school we were looking at was the one for our son. For example, when my wife and I were checking out the campus, the second grade had only one spot open. That spot was in Mrs. "P.'s" class. When we entered the classroom, I noticed a map of Africa on the wall. The only part of the map that was written on was the area of Abidjan, Cote d'Ivoire. I asked the Admissions person about the...umm...writing on the wall; she was not sure of the reasoning, but she thought Mrs. P. may have taught in a school in Abidjan. I met my wife in Abidjan when we were not even teenagers yet. Both of our parents were stationed in Abidjan, and as most American kids of US Diplomats, we attended the same American school. The school we went to (in 1982), had a teacher there (in the lower grades) named...are you ready for this?...wait for it...Mrs. P. At first we figured it was just a coincidence, but after looking through our yearbook (yes, from 1982), we found two Mrs. P.'s that could possibly be a match. So, when we set up the parent-teacher meeting, we brought the yearbook.
Now, don't forget, at this time we are in Oklahoma...as in "Okla-out in the middle of nowhere-homa." The middle of the United States...the closest major city is three hours away. You can drive for hundreds of miles and still not get anywhere...Don't get me wrong, I loved it there, but to meet someone who lived in Maryland was a very rare occurrence...now, we are talking about a completely different continent! Anyway, we asked which Mrs. P she was, and the memories suddenly flowed out as she thumbed through the black and white photos of kids photocopied onto white pages and glued into something slightly resembling a book. Yes, Mrs. P taught at the very school that my wife and I attended, and during the same years we were there, when we were 11 and 12 years old...in West Africa. (And, it turns out her son and husband played softball on the same weekend leagues that my dad and I were playing on at that time....)
So, when a sign this big is in front of you, you read it and you pay attention. The following two years at this school were awesome. Our son never had any major issues, his abilities were challenged, he grew mentally, and he was successful. I did receive a call or two regarding his behavior, and I still responded with the thought of, "Great, what did he do now?" but those calls were few and far in between. This school was perfect for him and life was good.
Then, we took a few giant steps backward...
When we moved to North Carolina, we looked at a few private schools, and found that most were not accepting new students. Our third choice was a Montessori style school. We figured our son would be comfortable with the setting since that was how he spent his first few educational years. We failed to recognize the signs this time...
When the school takes two months to decide if they are going to admit your child, don't do it. That big flashing neon sign that is essentially saying "WE DON'T WANT TO ACCEPT YOUR CHILD!!!" is a sign that you need to pay attention to. We didn't. Sitting in the carpool line, waiting to pick up my son and seeing the teacher walk toward my car...getting a call from the teacher or principal saying I need to pick up my son early...wondering if I am going to get a random call...no, that is not my idea of a good time. As soon as the teacher took one step toward my car..."Great, what did he do now?" Three months after admission, we were looking for a new school after being asked to leave.
The next school was nice. It had a great campus, a good feel to it, and seemed like a great match...at first. Three weeks later (but no phone calls or walking up to the car), our son was dismissed, again. Great, what did he do now? But, the only answer we received was that he had two incidents of disruptive behavior. Hmm, why didn't we get a call about those?
So, with less than two months remaining in the school year, I took over and tried to teach him what I could. Trust me, neither of us (me or my son), found this to be the optimum choice! But, at least he didn't get dismissed from this school, and at least I didn't walk up to my car to tell myself what he did this time...
We started looking for other schools as soon as possible. Two of our choices were already full, so they put us on a waiting list. Obviously, we did not have time to wait. We found a local private school that is specifically for kids with Asperger's. Homerun, right? Nope. However, the admissions director was a huge help and a source of hope for us. I do not recall the last time I had so much hope after being rejected! She, the admissions director, suggested that we work on the emotional side of our son before attending the Aspie school. We had two possibilities left...take a chance on one other local private school that caters to kids with special needs and tailors the curriculum to the individual student...(but this came with a very high tuition cost and no financial aid) or, our other option was to send him to a camp that cost just as much but had a loan program, and it would mean he would be away from us for six to eight weeks at a minimum. Neither option was ideal, to say the least.
However, what we think is not ideal is sometimes the best option regardless of what possibilities there are or are not...
We opted for the local school. We had to dissolve a retirement account to fund the tuition, but we knew something like this would have to be done. We also knew that our son was not a problem child and the outbursts were simply his way of releasing his loneliness and frustrations related the the move to NC. We saw the drastic change before, but it went from being bored and being a troublemaker to being a straight A student and being excited to attend class. The change from public school to private school in Oklahoma happened almost overnight. The right teacher and setting made the biggest difference in the world. Holding on to hope with barely enough grip to keep it alive, we hoped the change would happen again with the new private school in NC.
Around the second week of school, I was waiting in the carpool line to pick up my son. The teacher, "Ms. H", started walking toward the car with her hand on my son's shoulder. "Great, what did he do this time?" I couldn't help it, it was something that became a bad habit and something I wished hadn't become a part of his schooling experience. I rolled down the window, afraid of what she was going to say. She wanted to tell me how well my son was doing in school and how well he was adapting. Huh? Come again...Did she just come to the car to tell me he was doing well? Through the puddling tears welling up in my eyes, I think I must have looked like she shot me with a stun gun because that is how I felt. She came out to the car to tell me good news! And the best part, it has happened a few more times since then.
Although it hurts every time I write the check, the tuition payment is a pill that is a heck of a lot easier to swallow knowing that my son is receiving the education that is needed for him. The relief of not having the school think my son is a problem child and that they see his potential and are able to teach accordingly is well worth the money. Once again, almost overnight, my son is excelling in school because we were fortunate enough to find the right school for where he is in his life at the moment. We recognize, too, that we are lucky to be able to find a way to make private education an option. BUT -- you don't have to be rich to make this happen. Scholarships, financial aid...and even some divine intervention. The right things come along when they are needed.
If you are reading this and are in the Charlotte, NC area, and want more information, please send me an e-mail and I will be happy to share what information I have. If you have a child who is being labeled as a problem, or may have issues with school, I encourage you to dig a little deeper to see if there is a school near you that will be a better fit. The difference is truly amazing and cannot be expressed in words.
Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!
The excitement didn't last long. When my son acted up, we got a call from the school. From early on, I was receiving at least one call per week. Toward the end of the semester, I was receiving daily calls. The calls were from the teacher, the assistant, or the principal (or on a particularly bad day, all three) calling to let me know I had to either pick up my son from school early, or that we needed to have a meeting, or for some other reason that was behavioral related. Whenever the phone rang and the caller id said that it was the school calling, my automatic thought was, "Great...what did he do know?" Unfortunately, he was not being challenged enough, and as the saying goes, idle hands are the devil's playground.
By the end of the first semester, he was removed from the school. Honestly, I cannot remember if it was our choice or if the school politely and firmly "suggested" that we try a different system, but either way, in January, he was attending a different school...and the tuition payments resumed.
Our outlook was bleak, but some pretty heavy duty cosmic/karmic signs made us realize that the school we were looking at was the one for our son. For example, when my wife and I were checking out the campus, the second grade had only one spot open. That spot was in Mrs. "P.'s" class. When we entered the classroom, I noticed a map of Africa on the wall. The only part of the map that was written on was the area of Abidjan, Cote d'Ivoire. I asked the Admissions person about the...umm...writing on the wall; she was not sure of the reasoning, but she thought Mrs. P. may have taught in a school in Abidjan. I met my wife in Abidjan when we were not even teenagers yet. Both of our parents were stationed in Abidjan, and as most American kids of US Diplomats, we attended the same American school. The school we went to (in 1982), had a teacher there (in the lower grades) named...are you ready for this?...wait for it...Mrs. P. At first we figured it was just a coincidence, but after looking through our yearbook (yes, from 1982), we found two Mrs. P.'s that could possibly be a match. So, when we set up the parent-teacher meeting, we brought the yearbook.
Now, don't forget, at this time we are in Oklahoma...as in "Okla-out in the middle of nowhere-homa." The middle of the United States...the closest major city is three hours away. You can drive for hundreds of miles and still not get anywhere...Don't get me wrong, I loved it there, but to meet someone who lived in Maryland was a very rare occurrence...now, we are talking about a completely different continent! Anyway, we asked which Mrs. P she was, and the memories suddenly flowed out as she thumbed through the black and white photos of kids photocopied onto white pages and glued into something slightly resembling a book. Yes, Mrs. P taught at the very school that my wife and I attended, and during the same years we were there, when we were 11 and 12 years old...in West Africa. (And, it turns out her son and husband played softball on the same weekend leagues that my dad and I were playing on at that time....)
So, when a sign this big is in front of you, you read it and you pay attention. The following two years at this school were awesome. Our son never had any major issues, his abilities were challenged, he grew mentally, and he was successful. I did receive a call or two regarding his behavior, and I still responded with the thought of, "Great, what did he do now?" but those calls were few and far in between. This school was perfect for him and life was good.
Then, we took a few giant steps backward...
When we moved to North Carolina, we looked at a few private schools, and found that most were not accepting new students. Our third choice was a Montessori style school. We figured our son would be comfortable with the setting since that was how he spent his first few educational years. We failed to recognize the signs this time...
When the school takes two months to decide if they are going to admit your child, don't do it. That big flashing neon sign that is essentially saying "WE DON'T WANT TO ACCEPT YOUR CHILD!!!" is a sign that you need to pay attention to. We didn't. Sitting in the carpool line, waiting to pick up my son and seeing the teacher walk toward my car...getting a call from the teacher or principal saying I need to pick up my son early...wondering if I am going to get a random call...no, that is not my idea of a good time. As soon as the teacher took one step toward my car..."Great, what did he do now?" Three months after admission, we were looking for a new school after being asked to leave.
The next school was nice. It had a great campus, a good feel to it, and seemed like a great match...at first. Three weeks later (but no phone calls or walking up to the car), our son was dismissed, again. Great, what did he do now? But, the only answer we received was that he had two incidents of disruptive behavior. Hmm, why didn't we get a call about those?
So, with less than two months remaining in the school year, I took over and tried to teach him what I could. Trust me, neither of us (me or my son), found this to be the optimum choice! But, at least he didn't get dismissed from this school, and at least I didn't walk up to my car to tell myself what he did this time...
We started looking for other schools as soon as possible. Two of our choices were already full, so they put us on a waiting list. Obviously, we did not have time to wait. We found a local private school that is specifically for kids with Asperger's. Homerun, right? Nope. However, the admissions director was a huge help and a source of hope for us. I do not recall the last time I had so much hope after being rejected! She, the admissions director, suggested that we work on the emotional side of our son before attending the Aspie school. We had two possibilities left...take a chance on one other local private school that caters to kids with special needs and tailors the curriculum to the individual student...(but this came with a very high tuition cost and no financial aid) or, our other option was to send him to a camp that cost just as much but had a loan program, and it would mean he would be away from us for six to eight weeks at a minimum. Neither option was ideal, to say the least.
However, what we think is not ideal is sometimes the best option regardless of what possibilities there are or are not...
We opted for the local school. We had to dissolve a retirement account to fund the tuition, but we knew something like this would have to be done. We also knew that our son was not a problem child and the outbursts were simply his way of releasing his loneliness and frustrations related the the move to NC. We saw the drastic change before, but it went from being bored and being a troublemaker to being a straight A student and being excited to attend class. The change from public school to private school in Oklahoma happened almost overnight. The right teacher and setting made the biggest difference in the world. Holding on to hope with barely enough grip to keep it alive, we hoped the change would happen again with the new private school in NC.
Around the second week of school, I was waiting in the carpool line to pick up my son. The teacher, "Ms. H", started walking toward the car with her hand on my son's shoulder. "Great, what did he do this time?" I couldn't help it, it was something that became a bad habit and something I wished hadn't become a part of his schooling experience. I rolled down the window, afraid of what she was going to say. She wanted to tell me how well my son was doing in school and how well he was adapting. Huh? Come again...Did she just come to the car to tell me he was doing well? Through the puddling tears welling up in my eyes, I think I must have looked like she shot me with a stun gun because that is how I felt. She came out to the car to tell me good news! And the best part, it has happened a few more times since then.
Although it hurts every time I write the check, the tuition payment is a pill that is a heck of a lot easier to swallow knowing that my son is receiving the education that is needed for him. The relief of not having the school think my son is a problem child and that they see his potential and are able to teach accordingly is well worth the money. Once again, almost overnight, my son is excelling in school because we were fortunate enough to find the right school for where he is in his life at the moment. We recognize, too, that we are lucky to be able to find a way to make private education an option. BUT -- you don't have to be rich to make this happen. Scholarships, financial aid...and even some divine intervention. The right things come along when they are needed.
If you are reading this and are in the Charlotte, NC area, and want more information, please send me an e-mail and I will be happy to share what information I have. If you have a child who is being labeled as a problem, or may have issues with school, I encourage you to dig a little deeper to see if there is a school near you that will be a better fit. The difference is truly amazing and cannot be expressed in words.
Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!
Monday, October 10, 2011
Pink underpants
per·ma·nent - [pur-muh-nuh
nt]
adjective
1.existing perpetually; everlasting, especially without significant change.
2.intended to exist or function for a long, indefinite period without regard to unforeseeable conditions: a permanent employee; the permanent headquarters of the United Nations.
3.long-lasting or nonfading: permanent pleating; permanent ink.
Before I get started, I want to know if I have a case against Sharpie Permanent Markers...apparently, they ain't so "permanent" after all...
Wow...where do I start? My ADD brain is working overtime right now. I have so many things I want to say, but my fingers cannot type fast enough to keep up with my brain, at the moment..."at the moment"? Who am I kidding? My fingers can NEVER keep up with my brain! Anyway, I will try to maintain a logical sequence of events for this one, but there is a very good chance I will stray somewhere along the story line. Wish me luck (and good luck sticking with me, to you).
As you saw, the title of this entry is "Pink underpants." I am 6'3" and I have never thought of wearing anything that slightly resembles pink underpants. Not to say there is anything wrong with that, if you choose to do so, but pink is just not my color. Apparently, my son likes the idea of pink clothing. Well, indirectly, perhaps, but if what he did this past weekend is any indication of things to come, he better get comfortable with pink garments of all sorts.
Let me give you a little bit of background information before we go too far...
As some of you may know, my son (and many Aspie kids) tends to hyper-focus on things that interest him; Star Wars, military, Legos, and most recently Formula 1 racing. On occasion, he will go back to the days of his youth and revisit his obsession with knights. A few weeks ago, he re-examined his desire to draw on clothes (no, not just any clothing...these are designated to be drawn upon) and created a knight's shirt complete with a big red cross on the chest and back. It was an impressive drawing; he stayed in the lines, filled all of the blank spots, and was accurate with the shape of the cross (it looked like a "t" and not a "+"). As with most of his other costumes, it disappeared under his bed, in his closet, or wherever else he decides to toss the things when he doesn't want me to gripe about cleaning up his room. Little did I know, me telling him he would have stairs if I saw any of his clothes on the floor, would lead to pink underwear.
This past weekend came and went, but on Sunday my son impressed me by sorting his clothes (that were all in the laundry basket and NOT on his floor!) without being asked. Nice, neat piles were waiting for me by the laundry machines. As I added my wife's and my clothes to the mounds, the cleansing commenced. I usually double check pockets and color matches, even though my son's sorting ability is normally fairly accurate. I believe I can trace back the timeline of events to this point as being the first bell of class...a lesson I chose to, unfortunately, skip this day.
As with most laundry days, other things kept me from completing that oh-so-fun task in one day. We do not have so much laundry that it would normally take a day or two, but when someone with ADD (me) is trying to finish, it is almost guaranteed to take multiple days...even with just three or four loads. Anyway, Monday (today) comes and everyone is out of the house...which gives me a chance to catch up on things I did not finish during the weekend. I move in to tackle the laundry, determined to get it done before my son came home from school (it didn't happen, by the way).
I opened the dryer, removed the warm and fresh smelling clothes, piled them on top of the bed and began separating the shirts, hoping to minimize the wrinkles. The less I have to iron, the better. When I finished the shirts, I let the rest wait until after I loaded the wet clothes into the dryer and could put a new load into the washer. But, someone had other plans...
I reached into the washer and pulled a few clothes out to throw into the dryer. My mind saw something strange, but could not wrap itself around the simple concept that was placed before my eyes. I continued the action of bending down, removing wet clothes and transferring them to the dryer while my mind continued to process what it was seeing. At first, I thought to myself, "When did I put the reds in the wash?" Then I realized the reds were still piled on the floor, waiting to be washed.
As furious as I was, I was still able to maintain my composure (mostly) and use my super-sleuthing skills to determine which items of garments did not belong in the whites. Needless to say, my son had included his dirty knight's shirt - the one with the permanent red marker - in with the other, all white, clothes. In his defense, the shirt was 90% white...thus his reasoning of it must go in the white pile. Once I found the now pink shirt with the expertly drawn crosses, I removed it rather quickly...okay, fine, I threw it in frustration, but quickly realized it was not the end of the world. Fortunately, only one good shirt was in the load, multiple pairs of socks, and a few underpants.
I stood there, dumbfounded, thinking to myself, "$#!%, what am I going to do now? Mom never told me what to do if something like this ever happened...great, now I have to think for myself...grrrrrr." Apparently, I'm smarter than the average bear...the whites are white again...and the knight's shirt is in a different pile.
--- Update: I guess I spoke too soon...I just took the "whites" out of the dryer...yeah, um, not so white after-all. So, if anybody knows how to get pink out of white and gray clothes, please let me know. Thanks in advance.
When I confronted my son about his error in judgement, he wondered how many steps he had...when I told him, none, because I believe he did not mean to do what he did, he said, "oh, okay, well, I don't mind wearing pink."
On a positive note, October is breast cancer awareness month, so I suppose I could say that we are showing our support to save the tatas. Hmmm...now that I think about it, last Friday my son's school had a breast cancer awareness day...maybe my son planned the pink load after all! Whatever the case, he now knows, and I now know to continue double checking pockets and piles!
Oh, and don't worry Sharpie, I still think you are the bee's knees...even if you really aren't what you say you are! No lawsuit needed...
Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!
Friday, September 16, 2011
The Dance
No, this entry is not about Garth Brooks' song, "The Dance", and, with any luck, the heart break won't be there either. But, this entry is about a dance, and it is about the way my son (my TEN year old son) asked a girl to go to a dance.
First, let me explain the situation/scene; my son's school does not have a large population of kids. In his class, there are five boys (including my son) and one girl. I feel sorry for the girl! There is one other class in his grade level that has mostly girls, but they are not important at this time...well, let me rephrase that, since every child is important...you knowing about that particular class is not important to understanding this story. There. Now that I have politically corrected myself, I can resume telling you what happened.
Two days ago, my son hopped into the car, after school, with enthusiasm. I asked how his day went and he immediately told me that his school was having a dance. I, of course, asked, "When?" He said he didn't know...but he was excited about it. So, I asked him if he wanted to ask someone to go to the dance with him. He shyly said yes. Who? I asked...having a pretty good feeling that it was one of the girl in his class...and no, I did not forget the "s" in girl...don't forget, I said there was only one to begin with...come on, stick with the group, here. Sheesh. Anyway, she was the one he wanted to ask, but he was not sure how he was going to do it.
Yesterday, when my son got in the car after I picked him up from school, his first word was "October." Of course, I asked, "What about October?" ... since 24 hours had passed and I had no clue what he was talking about. "The dance. The dance is in October." he said, as if I should have known that...which, I probably should have, and given a few minutes I may have been able to figure it out. But I'm a geezer, remember, and my memory ain't what it used to be. "Oh!" I replied. "What day in October?" "I dunno." he said. Hey, at least we narrowed it down to the month, right? Moving on...
Last night, my son asked me for advice; he wanted to know how he should ask his classmate to go with him to the dance. I told him he should ask her one on one, not with any of his or her friends around, and just say something like, " Hi (insert girl's name here). I was wondering if you were going to the dance with anyone and if not, would you like to go with me?" I figured, he's 10...he's got time to learn how to be more suave, so I gave him the basics. He then asked his mother, who said something girly like, "Write her a note with the question and a check-box so she can choose yes or no." (Note to self -- future blog on gender differences and the pain...I mean, FUN...they bring about.)
Well, apparently, my son is smarter than I look. He did both...sort of. This morning, when I came downstairs to check on him, he boldly told me he was writing "the girl" a poem. Hmmm...not bad. I silently thought, he's ten and already knows how to sweep them off their feet...and...oh boy, he's writing a poem...this isn't going to turn out good for anyone. Little did I know...
One good thing about Aspie kids is their social awkwardness does not let them feel fear to interact with whatever they want to say. Their actions might not always be appropriate at the time, but (at least in my son's case), they say what is on their mind and do not think about the consequences, which may be a blessing in disguise for situations like these. In this case, I was anticipating the worst. I was already preparing for the "so you had a crash-and-burn, now get back on your feet and try again" pep talk. All I could see was this adorable little girl suddenly running to her friends, note in hand, and telling them what just happened. My son, meanwhile, would be standing there, all alone, not knowing what sort of melee was about to rain down on him. At this point, I did not know what to do, so I took the blindfold off of my little eagle, and I let him fly. I hoped I would not have to pick up the pieces of his shattered ego in the afternoon.
When the time to pick up my son after school came around, I waited to see his expressions as he walked to the car. Fortunately, he did not look crushed. That was a positive sign. He got in the car, and I said, "Well? How did it go?" He said, "It went well. She said the teacher said that it is not that kind of a dance, that everyone just meets at the school." Wow...I was impressed. This little girl knew how to let him down easily. Very impressive, I must say. I wish the girls did that for me when I was his age! He was not disappointed, his ego was not shattered, and he was still looking forward to the dance. Sweet! No, "pick yourself up" pep talk needed!
My son then said, "She did say that she would dance with me, though." Cool beans! Woohoo! HA! Yeah, he's a stud. I must have taught him well...at least that is what I am telling myself. By the way, here's the poem/letter. Don't tell him I posted this...I'm thinking he wouldn't be too happy about it...but at least I deleted her name to avoid any paparazzi stalking her!
Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!
First, let me explain the situation/scene; my son's school does not have a large population of kids. In his class, there are five boys (including my son) and one girl. I feel sorry for the girl! There is one other class in his grade level that has mostly girls, but they are not important at this time...well, let me rephrase that, since every child is important...you knowing about that particular class is not important to understanding this story. There. Now that I have politically corrected myself, I can resume telling you what happened.
Two days ago, my son hopped into the car, after school, with enthusiasm. I asked how his day went and he immediately told me that his school was having a dance. I, of course, asked, "When?" He said he didn't know...but he was excited about it. So, I asked him if he wanted to ask someone to go to the dance with him. He shyly said yes. Who? I asked...having a pretty good feeling that it was one of the girl in his class...and no, I did not forget the "s" in girl...don't forget, I said there was only one to begin with...come on, stick with the group, here. Sheesh. Anyway, she was the one he wanted to ask, but he was not sure how he was going to do it.
Yesterday, when my son got in the car after I picked him up from school, his first word was "October." Of course, I asked, "What about October?" ... since 24 hours had passed and I had no clue what he was talking about. "The dance. The dance is in October." he said, as if I should have known that...which, I probably should have, and given a few minutes I may have been able to figure it out. But I'm a geezer, remember, and my memory ain't what it used to be. "Oh!" I replied. "What day in October?" "I dunno." he said. Hey, at least we narrowed it down to the month, right? Moving on...
Last night, my son asked me for advice; he wanted to know how he should ask his classmate to go with him to the dance. I told him he should ask her one on one, not with any of his or her friends around, and just say something like, " Hi (insert girl's name here). I was wondering if you were going to the dance with anyone and if not, would you like to go with me?" I figured, he's 10...he's got time to learn how to be more suave, so I gave him the basics. He then asked his mother, who said something girly like, "Write her a note with the question and a check-box so she can choose yes or no." (Note to self -- future blog on gender differences and the pain...I mean, FUN...they bring about.)
Well, apparently, my son is smarter than I look. He did both...sort of. This morning, when I came downstairs to check on him, he boldly told me he was writing "the girl" a poem. Hmmm...not bad. I silently thought, he's ten and already knows how to sweep them off their feet...and...oh boy, he's writing a poem...this isn't going to turn out good for anyone. Little did I know...
One good thing about Aspie kids is their social awkwardness does not let them feel fear to interact with whatever they want to say. Their actions might not always be appropriate at the time, but (at least in my son's case), they say what is on their mind and do not think about the consequences, which may be a blessing in disguise for situations like these. In this case, I was anticipating the worst. I was already preparing for the "so you had a crash-and-burn, now get back on your feet and try again" pep talk. All I could see was this adorable little girl suddenly running to her friends, note in hand, and telling them what just happened. My son, meanwhile, would be standing there, all alone, not knowing what sort of melee was about to rain down on him. At this point, I did not know what to do, so I took the blindfold off of my little eagle, and I let him fly. I hoped I would not have to pick up the pieces of his shattered ego in the afternoon.
When the time to pick up my son after school came around, I waited to see his expressions as he walked to the car. Fortunately, he did not look crushed. That was a positive sign. He got in the car, and I said, "Well? How did it go?" He said, "It went well. She said the teacher said that it is not that kind of a dance, that everyone just meets at the school." Wow...I was impressed. This little girl knew how to let him down easily. Very impressive, I must say. I wish the girls did that for me when I was his age! He was not disappointed, his ego was not shattered, and he was still looking forward to the dance. Sweet! No, "pick yourself up" pep talk needed!
My son then said, "She did say that she would dance with me, though." Cool beans! Woohoo! HA! Yeah, he's a stud. I must have taught him well...at least that is what I am telling myself. By the way, here's the poem/letter. Don't tell him I posted this...I'm thinking he wouldn't be too happy about it...but at least I deleted her name to avoid any paparazzi stalking her!
Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!
Friday, September 9, 2011
9/11 - The World As We Know It
First, yes, I am still here. The past few months have been filled with personal changes from dealing with a completely inept real estate agent selling our home in Oklahoma (I might have to write a book about that experience!), getting my son started in his new school, looking at many homes and bidding on one to start our anxious roots in our new state, and many other interesting events. In the coming months, we will be moving, starting a business, and trying to figure out how all of this will work...hopefully, a blog post or three will be thrown in there as well, but I make no promises. Without further delay, here's what I have to say today...
The World As We Know It
From time to time, something happens in the world that changes our lives forever. On a smaller scale, that "something" may be the day that you got half way to your best friend's house with the Rubik's Cube in the brown paper bag that I...errr....you...found impossible to solve and decided to take it apart to piece back together in the correct colored formation, only to run back home with tears in your eyes because you lied to your mother and wanted to come clean. That, of course, is just a hypothetical example and the only people who know otherwise are my mother and myself.
On a medium scale, the "something" that alters your life may be a lunatic and his young accomplice driving around in a modified vehicle, shooting people at random spots, all in the vicinity of where you work, live, and play. Unfortunately, that one is not "hypothetical" and has changed my life, and the lives of many people living in the D.C. Metro area, forever.
On a larger scale; September 11, 2001, December 7, 1941, July 20, 1969, July 4, 1776, and so on. Regardless of the outcome, positive or negative, these historical events change lives forever.
On a medium scale, the "something" that alters your life may be a lunatic and his young accomplice driving around in a modified vehicle, shooting people at random spots, all in the vicinity of where you work, live, and play. Unfortunately, that one is not "hypothetical" and has changed my life, and the lives of many people living in the D.C. Metro area, forever.
On a larger scale; September 11, 2001, December 7, 1941, July 20, 1969, July 4, 1776, and so on. Regardless of the outcome, positive or negative, these historical events change lives forever.
I remember a time when I would go to the airport an hour early to make sure I would have enough time to find a parking space, get my bags checked in, get something to drink, and maybe eat, and still have time left to make the flight with my loved ones walking me all the way to the gate. Today, if you do not allow two, or three hours in busier airports, you are pushing your luck, and you're lucky to get sixty seconds to say goodbye to someone at the curb of the airport before security intervenes. Forget air travel! Even the Moon is no longer a mystery; now we have people living in outer-space and we are exploring further out into the unknown. The Japanese are no longer our enemies after their attack on Pearl Harbor and their vehicles are among the most sold in the United States. Shift happens...good or bad.
With the 10 year anniversary of the September 11 attacks only days away, and the media coverage going into hyper-drive with all of the documentaries and special reports being aired, thus forcing us to re-live that day (for which, in my mind, the wounds are still healing and is too fresh in my mind to watch), it makes me wonder what my son's viewpoint will be on Sunday, and what events in the future will change his life, forever.
In the past 10 years, we have elected our first black president. Although this is a very significant date in American history, I do not believe this is one that will stand out in my son's memory banks. Don't get me wrong, the event is long overdue and momentous, but because he was so young when President Obama was elected, my son will not know the full impact of the change when it becomes his turn to vote. Regardless of your political affiliation or beliefs on President Obama's success or lack of, you should be aware that his time in office is a pivotal point in history, because if nothing else, he is our first black President. Perhaps the first female President will be elected and that may stick with my son throughout his years. Even that is a possibility that didn't easily exist prior to the Obama Administration. But my son won't remember a time when either option was not an option. The way he views the Presidency is not how you or I do, simply because change happened before he became aware.
My son, most likely, will not understand the full impact of September 11, 2001, because he was four months old when it happened. Just like I cannot fully understand the impact Vietnam had, my son is not aware of how life was before the event. My wife distinctly remembers watching the television and looking down at her innocent child. With tears clouding her vision, she wondered what kind of world she brought this child into. To him, life will always be the way it is today. That is, until a major event takes place again and alters his perspective of the world, just as 9/11 did for his mother and I.
I was living in Frederick, MD, in a townhouse that my ex-girlfriend and I bought together. I was working nights at a local restaurant and usually slept in because I could. I did not watch television during the day, but for some unexplained reason, I woke up early that day, walked downstairs and turned on the TV. Immediately, I was glued and called my girlfriend right away. As I was watching and listening to the news cast, I knew the tower was collapsing before the news people did. I could see it starting to crumble and I lost my breath for a moment. Speechless, all I could do was watch and cry. When the plane hit the Pentagon and when the other went down in Pennsylvania, I began to wonder what was next. Living less than a mile (as the crow flies) from Ft. Detrick (biological warfare research center...oh wait, no, they say it is a cancer research center now, wink, wink), I began to wonder if I would be able to hear the plane crash and how long it would take for me to feel the impact of the chemicals being released into the air. I hoped that it was quick and painless. Fortunately, Ft. Detrick was not part of the plan...but I did not know that at the time. I started to plan my escape route, but had nowhere to run. Clips of Patrick Swazye, C. Thomas Howell, and Charlie Sheen (before he went nuts) in Red Dawn kept playing in my mind. Yep, I even got my guns ready...just in case. Needless to say, I was a mess. At some point, I looked up to the soft blue sky and took note of the smattering of angelic white clouds. You never notice the amount of air traffic above your head, until there is none. Except for a few fighter jets passing by every hour, the skies were eerily quiet and free of any man-made object piercing the air above. It was disturbing. (And a great example of things that are normal in my world experience being so different from my grandparents' experience...)
 |
| Red Dawn, 1984 |
I wonder what events will change my son's life forever. Is it the time he did not use two hands (after I taught him over and over again to use two hands!) to catch a pop fly and the ball popped him in the mouth? The surprised look on his face and his mouth and cheek muscles keeping his eyes from watering followed by the look of anger because I said, "See? I told you so. I bet next time you will use two hands!"...those things tell me that might be one he remembers for a long time. Maybe not. Is it the time some insecure little brat bullied him at school a few years ago? Maybe. Maybe not. But these are all small scale items in the big picture. Here's what I hope he might experience of this world ...
1. An agreement between nations to work together for a better world, despite differences, that will be signed by every nation's leader in 2018...and it actually works.
2. The day that all extremists took it down a notch and realized that their way may not actually be the best way to live and decided to, peacefully, persuade others through the power of the pen, and not the sword.
3. The day that people look at each other as one race; the human race. That judgment occurs not by some shade of skin, religious beliefs, or political affiliation but based on personal actions.
4. The day that people become accountable for their own lives and actions and stop blaming other people for their shortcomings, attitudes, and general negativeness. Unfortunately, the ones who need to do this have no idea it is them who need to change.
Utopia? Yeah, I know, wishful thinking. But, I can dream, can't I? If I put it out in the universe, maybe someone else will see it, act upon it, and put it back out there for others to follow.
I hope my son's memories are filled with positive world events. I hope it does not take a major horrific event like 9/11 to change his world.
This Sunday, take a moment to remember. Take another moment to ponder what it is that you can change in yourself to help make the world a better place for everyone. The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.
Disclaimer...(Yes, it’s a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so it’s probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!
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