The mothers of damaged children

My daughter is autistic.

To be more specific, she has Asperger's Syndrome, a form of autism that some experts argue should not be called autism but instead given its own special category. Others say autism is autism, regardless of the degree to which it manifests.

Day to day, mothers like me don't really care. All we know is that our lives are different -- in some ways more lonely -- than those of our peers whose children are "normal."

My daughter has a brilliant mind. It's so brilliant, in fact, that it frustrates me endlessly because her ability to communicate and demonstrate what she really knows and can do is hog-tied by some sort of neurological glitch -- a barricade that prevents the "real" her from shining through.

I will probably never know exactly why my daughter has Asperger's. In my darker moments, I've struggled with the guilt that maybe I should have eaten something different during the pregnancy, taken my pre-natal vitamins more religiously (they made me nauseous so I sometimes skipped them), refused the epidural in the delivery room (did the drug they used cross the placenta and somehow damage the baby?), or just said "no" to the forceps the obstetrician used to pull her out when she got stuck halfway. Was it the Hepatitis B shot or the Vitamin K injection routinely given at birth? They both likely still had mercury preservatives in them the year my daughter was born. I've combed through my memories of relatives who had eccentric or weird behaviors -- was this genetic? And when no answers come, I agonize over what the future holds for a beautiful girl with such pronounced difficulties.

Asperger's primarily afflicts social skills -- reciprocal communication, turn-taking, staying on topic, reading others' body language, using humor or having tact at the right moments. All things neurotypical people take for granted.

What little is known about Asperger's is the same "little" that is known about autism in general. The primary differences between the two are that children like my daughter developed language on time, their intellect is not shadowed by hints of mental retardation, and they are generally very teachable both academically and practically.

It all sounds good, doesn't it?

The problem lies in the day-to-day training, teaching, reminding, re-training, re-teaching. It lies in the $120 per week social skills therapy sessions that our insurance will not cover because my daughter's problem was not caused by illness or injury that we can prove. It lies in the deep-seated fear that no matter how much money we spend, no matter how much time we take, the end result will be someone who can never live independently and may never fully understand why. Worse yet, they may not care.

In some ways, people with Asperger's have it tougher. Outwardly, they appear so normal. Sometimes, if the phase of the moon is just right and the stars are properly aligned, they say and do the socially acceptable thing at just the right moment. People who don't know them well are led to believe they're just "regular" people, too.

But like the guest at a party who starts out lively and likeable before drinking so much he becomes weird and off-putting, the Asperger's sneaks in and compels the person to say something out of context, off topic, or otherwise just plain awkward. That's when you can see the distancing that takes place as peers, adults, and even family members start to pull away.

They're uncomfortable. They know how to feel sympathy (or pity?) for someone in a wheelchair, someone obviously disabled. They don't quite know what to do with someone who looks so deceptively fine until that person opens their mouth.

But the mothers of children with Asperger's know all too well what to do. The routine is familiar by now and wearisome in its repetition. Take the child aside, remind them of the relevent trick or tip they've learned in therapy, reassure them everything is okay (even when you're not sure it is) and send them back into the group in a sort of desperate sink-or-swim maneuver.

Children with Asperger's usually get invited to parties. Once.
Same for playdates.

Usually, the only thing that saves them is if they have siblings who are not autistic. Then, they get to tag along because the neurotypical sibling has been invited and parents feel bad about excluding anyone. Playdates work because their siblings do all the interacting and playing, so visiting kids don't mind coming over now and then, although they learn pretty quickly to avoid the child with Asperger's.

As I sit in the waiting room of the speech center where my daughter goes for social skills therapy, I watch the other mothers of children who come there in search of their own magic bullet. Some of the kids are deaf, some have Down Syndrome, some are severely autistic with language that consists of little more than grunts and shrieks, and some are like my child -- developmentally delayed just enough to need intervention.

As I watch these other mothers struggle with their writhing, screaming, crying, grunting, socially challenged children, I wonder at their capacity to love. I marvel at their ability to cajole and corral. And I realize all over again that I am one of them, the mother of a child the world says is damaged and who must be fixed.

And once again I debate whether I have the luxury of time to cry and pity myself or whether just like every other day for the past nine years I must summon the courage to plow ahead.

The tears last for a few minutes. The plowing, for the rest of my life.

Educated and STILL ignorant

"People of different heritage, people of different culture, tolerance, group problem-solving, making friends, losing friends — all of the things that come with a public school education."

Yes, yes. This is a direct quote from a news story carried by Fox about a case in New Hampshire that involves a 10 year-old girl who is homeschooled.

The child's parents are divorced, and awhile back a court ordered the girl back into public school because she too vigorously defended her religious beliefs during a court-ordered counseling session. The girl's parents are divorced and the above quote is from the father's attorney.

The argument here is that the father is concerned his daughter -- who by all accounts is likable, sociable and, yes, academically on par or advanced relative to her peers -- is not getting everything she needs because she is, gasp, being taught at home.

Sadly, we assume our attorneys are well educated. After all, they are supposed to be able to argue from standpoints of logic, reason, precedence, cultural relevance, the Constitution, right?

All the things that ostensibly come with a public school education CAN come with a homeschool education, too. It just takes pulling one's head out of dark environs to see this.

We should heed William Bradford's warning

Since Thanksgiving is nearly upon us, it seems appropriate to quote from the tombstone of William Bradford.

Bradford, governor of the Plymouth Colony on numerous occasions and author of the history of the Pilgrims' search for a place to practice their religion freely, was a smart man.

He had the good sense to write down the story of the English Separatists and their trials and travels. He also apparently sensed the fragility of his newly adopted way of life.

At the age of 67, Bradford died and is buried at Plymouth Burial Hill. His tombstone reads:

"Qua patres difficillime adepti sunt nolite turpiter relinquere."

“What our forefathers with so much difficulty secured, do not basely relinquish.”

What a pity this tidbit of near-prescient common sense is absent from so much of our national dialogue these days. Certainly you won't find it in any public school textbook.

With the exception of the brave men and women of the U.S. military who hourly give of their time and risk their lives on behalf of our country, we as a people sit idly by while our president traverses the globe, bowing, apologizing and, in some cases, kowtowing as he goes. We are slowly but surely "basely" relinquishing our national identity, our heritage, and even our history itself -- all in the name of progress, tolerance or diversity.

This Thanksgiving, read an account of Bradford's life. Read HIS account of the Pilgrims' struggles. Contemplate his remarks and observations in light of what we are today.

Then take a good look at what we have become and see if we haven't in fact fallen far short of the mark of excellence Bradford and his kind established nearly 400 years ago.

It's worse than embarrassing. It's a sin and a shame.

The shocking truth about Thanksgiving

Hold on to your hats, your cats, your kids and any preconceived notions about what Thanksgiving is and why we celebrate it nearly 400 years later.

Ready?

Religious freedom.

I'll wait while those of you who have been brainwashed, er, taught to believe the Pilgrims risked their lives on a three-month trip across the Atlantic because they wanted to, they were bored, or they were eager to see what another continent looked like gather yourselves together and attempt to process this startling, yet true, information.

Let me know when you've caught your breath again and your eyes have ceased to bulge from your head. . .

Sarcasm aside, I've had it with the dumbing down (deliberate deception?) of the origins of Thanksgiving. No doubt I'm gonna piss off the ACLU with this post -- since anything that defends religion or religious freedom tends to make those morons come unglued -- but I can't let another Thanksgiving go by without speaking up.

Last year, it was a coloring book I'd bought for my daughters to use along with a study of the origins of the Thanksgiving holiday itself. The book, purchased through a well-known supplier of materials for homeschoolers, was supposed to tell the story of the Pilgrims' voyage as it presented pictures for kids to color. Its opening line? "The Pilgraims were a group of people who came to America from England."

Oh? Why?

The question is never answered. I relegated the book to the mishmash of our playtime puzzle and coloring books. It wasn't worthy of a place on the shelves where we house our serious academic materials.

This year, it's me trying to put together materials for my son (the one who managed to cancel his own birthday party -- see previous post --) to make a simple unit study about the Pilgrims and the whole Thanksgiving gig.

Hunting across the internet for freebies to print out for his folder, I came across a little printable book that purports to tell the story of Thanksgiving.

Its opening line? "In the year 1620, the Pilgrims sailed from England to look for the New World on a ship called the Mayflower."

Seriously? To look for the New World?

What was there to look for? The colony at Jamestown had already been settled and abandoned by the time the Pilgrims set sail. Before that, Spanish explorers had canvassed much of the southern and western parts of the country, and Columbus had pretty much nailed down the West Indies and their neighbors before that!

I think the New World had already been found by 1620, don't you? The Pilgrims weren't needed for that particular job.

No, the Pilgrims (the name of which even means a person who travels for RELIGIOUS reasons) came to the New World TO LOOK FOR FREEDOM FROM RELIGIOUS PERSECUTION.

Don't believe me, read it for yourself in William Bradford's journal. Bradford, the first governor of the colony at Plymouth, tells the story like no one else can and he pulls no punches.

Bradford writes about the persecution of the Separatists in England (later called Pilgrims) and how no amount of influence or intervention on their behalf relieved the pressure to conform to King James' state church: "They proceeded by all means to disturb the peace of this poor persecuted church, even so far as to charge some of their chief opposers with rebellion and high treason against the Emperor (King James) and other such crimes."

Then Bradford goes on to describe the Separatists' decision to flee to Holland in search of religious freedom: "Being thus constrained to leave their native soil and country, their lands and their livings, and all their friends and familiar acquaintance, it was much, and thought marvelous by many. . . It was by many thought an adventure almost desperate, a case intolerable, and a misery worse than death. . . But these things did not dismay them (thought they did sometimes trouble them) for their desires were set on the ways of God and to enjoy his ordinances. But they rested on his providence and knew whom they had believed."

Bradford then carefully lays out the arguments for and against going to America, including the acknowledgement that the Separatists would face hardships at sea, "savage" Indians once they landed, a different environment altogether, and possible death. He discusses the other options available to the Pilgrims at that point including Virginia, where English were already settled.

He explains why the Separatists decided NOT to head for Virginia: "If they lived among the English which were there planted, or so near them as to be under their government, they should be in as great a danger to be troubled and persecuted for the cause of religion, as if they lived in England, and it might be worse."

I ask you, dear readers, DOES THIS SOUND LIKE THE DELIBERATION OF A PEOPLE WHO JUST WANTED A JOYRIDE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC FOR A GOOD LOOK AT AMERICA?????????

The next time the child in your life brings home a book about the Pilgrims and the first Thanksgiving or you consider buying said child a coloring book, puzzle book or other so-called educational resource that purports to discuss this historic time in American history, read through it first, will you?

If you do not see the words, "religious freedom" somewhere in the text, put it down or send it back. It is not factual, it is not correct, and it is not the truth!

Without the truth, we perish as a people and as a nation.

What a shame it would be, considering the sincerity with which our Pilgrim fathers and mothers established the colony at Plymouth so long ago and the tremendous sacrifices they made.

Is this what God does?

I'm not pretentious enough to claim to know the mind of God so what follows is purely speculation in the name of good, clean philosophizing.

My son, soon to be five, has had his birthday party cancelled and the presents returned to the store. A decidedly unfestive air hangs over our house as we approach what should typically be a monumental day in any kid's life.

You're probably asking yourself what happened. I can sum it up in two words -- bad behavior.

My children live comfortable lives and want for nothing. They have all the basic needs -- food, shelter and clothing -- fully met as well as a boatload of "wants" -- toys, books, activities, education.

We've done our dead-level best as parents to cover all the bases in the hopes our kids will grow up to be the productive members of society so desperately lacking in some quarters rather than the shiftless pieces of crap that haunt the halls of places like Congress or the insurance giant AIG.

But even the best-intentioned parents make mistakes and I can only conclude we've made a big one. We haven't let our kids suffer enough consequences for rotten behaviors. Oh sure, we issue time-outs, removal of privileges, etc. but we seldom bring the hammer down with memorable consequences.

Only evil parents do that, right?

I'm not so sure.

Before I finish the story of my badly-behaved son, I am reminded of an incident a few years back in which a father, disgusted by his sons' obnoxious actions, auctioned off that year's highly coveted video game system on eBay. He reasoned that his sons had done nothing to deserve the expensive toy, explaining that their behavior as Christmas approached got worse and worse.

So to teach them a lesson in the pitfalls of ingratitude, he sold their super-fabulous gaming system.

Public opinion was sharply divided, much to my dismay. Where was the unanimous support for a parent standing up to rotten behavior? Had society given up on the possibility that horsey kids can and SHOULD be corralled?

Apparently some did because the father was publicly castigated for his cruel and unusual punishment. To his credit, he stood his ground and the boys did not get their game.

I supported that dad and filed away his story for future reference and inspiration.

Today I dug it out of deep memory as I pronounced my son's fifth birthday party cancelled.

So what did happen to cause this extreme shift in my intentions? Namely, that from the minute my son woke up this morning he complained -- about the clothes he'd been given to wear to church, about the way I brushed his hair (the same way I've always brushed it), about the fact I wanted him to eat breakfast, about the family's tradition of going to church on Sundays, about something I said to him, and finally about not making his breakfast after he refused to eat anything I suggested.

In a split second it came to me: This child is ungrateful and does not deserve a party or presents or accolades in the wake of such utterly obnoxious behavior. If he doesn't appreciate on some basic kid-level what he already has, why would he care about anything else he might get?

Now I know some of you are going to say, "But he's ONLY four years old going on five. How much gratitude should you realistically expect from someone that age?"

By the time a child is old enough to understand reciprocity -- the giving and taking inherent in all social relationships -- he or she is old enough to understand that if you take and take without ever giving, you will get little to nothing in return.

The same naysayer argument could be used to justify the bad behaviors of the guys at AIG and Enron or Bernie Madoff. "Hey, they're just human/in their 50s,/depressed/etc. How much integrity should we realistically expect from someone like that?"

See how ridiculous it gets when taken just a bit further?

The fact is that personal responsibility has to be learned and it starts as soon as children are old enough to argue, to reason, to observe and comment on what they see. It starts as soon as they're old enough to engage in a conversation about things like the Ten Commandments, the notion of right and wrong (moral relativism aside), and the importance of character.

My son is there. He can articulate right from wrong, give examples of both, and understands the concept of consequences.

If we don't teach him now that repeated bad behavior will bring no blessing, only cursing, exactly when will we teach it? How will he learn it if his own family doesn't summon the courage to set boundaries?

I'll tell you how. He'll learn it when he's 18 or 19 and out on his own and the world kicks back hard against his unruly ways. The world will not love him enough to care where he ends up or what trouble he finds himself in. The world will build him up just to tear him down.

Our job as parents is to build discipline, character and integrity into our children so that they will escape the worst of what the world has to offer.

To do anything less is to essentially do nothing at all.

If there are any hand-wringers reading this, don't lose sleep. The birthday cake was bought before the party was axed, so on my son's actual birthday we'll gather as a family, put a candle on it, sing and eat. There's one present I can't send back so he'll still get that, too.

But the party, the big coveted chance to be a star? That's gone, and no doubt my son will ask again what happened and why. When he does, we'll have the opportunity to tell him how much we love him and why that love means we simply cannot reward bad behavior.

What the world doesn't love him enough to say, we will.

And that, in my opinion, is what parenting is really all about.

I have to wonder if this is what God does sometimes, too. What if, when we turn from Him, he continues to love us and doesn't punish us per se but simply withholds whatever blessing He had next in the pipeline for us?

What if the secret to receiving more is to first give thanks and appreciate what we already have and to live it like we mean it?

Reciprocity. Could it be a universal law after all?

Justice for Riley Sawyer

Riley Ann Sawyer was just two years old when the pieces of crap that passed for her mother and stepfather decided she needed to be disciplined for not consistently saying "please" and "thank you."

Because Riley, like most two-year-olds, was not performing to this ridiculous standard, her mother (and I use that word loosely and with the greatest contempt) and stepfather beat her, dunked her under water, and eventually threw her so hard onto a tile floor that she died of her injuries.

Then they stuffed the body in a plastic bin and dumped it out to sea.

God has a way of bringing the truth to light and a fisherman found the bin washed up on an island in Galveston Bay.

Today, stepfather Royce Ziegler was convicted of capital murder and sentenced to life in prison with no parole. Riley's mother, Kimberly Trenor, was convicted earlier this year and is also serving a life sentence.

Normally, I would advocate the death penalty for these two but in retrospect I think they've been dealt a far worse hand. Ms. Trenor will have to live with the horror of her actions for the rest of her life. She's young, not yet 30, so that's a long time to be locked away in physical and mental hell.

Fine by me.

The stepfather will have his own row to hoe, as we say in Texas. It's common knowledge that convicted felons, no matter their own crimes, reserve a special sort of hatred for their criminal brethren who have committed crimes against children.

None of this brings little Riley Sawyer back, but at least justice has been served.

Halloween and why we don't bother

An old friend of my mother's from college recently lambasted our family's choice to not celebrate Halloween.

What business it is of his remains a mystery, but I'm never one to shy away from answering the hard questions.

So here's why we've always found something else to do come Oct. 31.

1. It poses a conflict for us from a religious standpoint. As followers of the Bible (yeah, yeah, that pesky old tome responsible for the death of more "fun" than anything else in the world), we take seriously the observation that Christians are the children of light and not of the darkness. Halloween has morphed into the darkest of traditions -- death imagery takes up far more space in the costume aisles of Walmart and the front law decor of my neighbors than do the bats, pumpkins, and smiling witches on broomsticks of yore.

2. It poses a conflict for us from a dental hygiene standpoint. We have crappy dental insurance and usually have to pay out of pocket for our kids to receive good care. Most of the candy they'd get going door to door is junk -- not even the good stuff like Hershey bars -- and I don't want them going into corn syrup/artificial coloring/artificial flavoring overload, nor do I want the cavities from the Skittle or gummy bear that got missed by the dental floss.

3. It poses a conflict for us from a financial standpoint. Why do I want to buy candy for a bunch of kids I don't know and who probably don't even live in my neighborhood?

4. It poses a problem for us from a personal safety standpoint. My husband and I are old enough to remember the infamous case in Pasadena, TX back in the 1970s when a guy who came to be known as the "Man Who Killed Halloween" substituted cyanide power (rat poison) for powdered candy in a Pixie Stix and killed his little boy to inherit a life insurance payout. Ronald O'Bryan was eventually executed for the crime, but not before putting a damper on the holiday that lasted well beyond my highschool years. Now some 35 years later, the internet has given rise to even more ghoulish, depraved and dangerous ideas. Who knows who knows what or wants to try it out on little kids going door to door for candy? It's a risk I'm just not willing to take.

So, my mom's friend thinks we're raising our kids in a bubble, unequipped and uneducated enough to deal with the "real world." Somehow, he transitioned his Halloween gripe into a scathing (albeit ignorant) attack on homeschooling in general, but I won't bore you with that nonsense here.

Suffice to say, for anyone worried about whether my children know a ghost from a vampire, a trick from a treat, a tombstone from a flagstone, let me put your worried minds at ease. They do, and they don't care. And my heart sings to know that this little slice of cultural crap registers as merely a blip on their radar screens right alongside Hannah Montana and High School Musical.

May it always be thus.