The rest of the story

I loved Peter, Paul and Mary as a child.  I was especially fascinated with Puff the Magic Dragon.  Over and over I listened to that song and anytime we were at some sing along type occasion where someone had a guitar (this happened frequently; daughter of a friend), I always made her sing it.  

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Many, many years later, I was watching the documentary Refrigerator Mothers and one of the men in it, a severely affected autistic adult was shown watching that technicolor Puff the Magic Dragon movie while his mother was being interviewed. 

Jackie Draper, locked in his wordless body.  Jesus, how did I miss that? 

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I saw the movie at a film festival with my older sister, who was friends with the woman who had made it.  This was a long time ago.  Long before Max.  Autism was just a word, a concept back then.  

I asked the filmmaker if she knew early on with her son.  Was everything fine at first and then her son regressed, like some of the mothers in the film?  Or did she know from the beginning?

She knew from the beginning, she said.  Her son would tense up and then he would scream. 

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"He screams."

Those were the words I first used out loud, in fact, thinking back to that conversation.  It was Max's four month appointment and I was already worried about something being just not right, so I said it to the pediatrician who was filling in while our regular doctor was on vacation.  The doctor paused briefly, repeated it back to me, and then moved on.  Despite the fact the behavior continued for almost two years, I never discussed that, specifically, again.  It was more than two years before I got angry enough to insist on a complete evaluation. 

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A couple of weeks ago, Max came home in a foul mood.  After stomping around and screaming at his sister and I, I sent him to his room to quiet his brain and told him he could rejoin us when he could speak calmly again.  A few minutes later I was putting some clothes away in Julia's room when I heard Max in his room, sobbing like I have seldom heard him sob before. 

No punishment has ever gotten that reaction out of him, and I wasn't even punishing him, just trying to get him to settle.  He's never even cried like that over the deaths of one of the animals.  I went to him. 

He was teased at school. 

It was minor, really.  These are six year olds and it was something dumb, but the kid hurt his feelings and he did it on purpose.  Max didn't need more than a hug, a reassurance from me and it was all better. 

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At the last meeting I related this story to the rest of the group.  The Teacher sort of threw up her hands and clucked and shook her head at the thought of Max's feelings getting hurt.  Everyone else waited for my response. 

I don't like my kid getting hurt in any way, physically or emotionally.  But...

...isn't this kind of the goal?

It's not the first time another kid has said something unkind to Max.  It was the first time he responded appropriately to it.  And maybe it's totally conjecture on my part, but it seems to me that if he understands that his feelings are hurt when others are unkind to him, then he can understand that he is capable of hurting others.  It's a step towards the elusive emotional connections I have been so worried about.  More Jackie Paper, less Jackie Draper. 

If I thought growing up was hard the first time around, I was wrong.  It's so much more painful to guide your kids through it. 

Comments

[Jill]

I admit, I was kind of cheering that his feelings were hurt. Let's hope for lots of more feelings, including some good ones.