B is for Brave

The cold sweats. You know, the sweaty, clammy, chilled feeling you get when you are about ready to "toss your cookies", give a speech in front of your classmates or colleagues on a topic you really know nothing about, hear the door slam on Disney's Mission Space ride and wonder why, when you suffer from claustrophobia, you Fast Passed in the first place, or send your son off to middle school with a project he completed that you feel certain will irrevocably impact the rest of his middle school career. Yeah, that kind of sweat. I didn't have the stomach bug, I wasn't giving a speech and I wasn't standing in a hideous line at Disney World, so that leaves one cold sweat producing option.

I broke out in a full fledged, panicky, clammy, cold sweat as I waited in car line at middle school a few weeks ago. As my heart raced, and a bead of sweat began forming on my brow, I sat behind the wheel of my mini van wishing I was on Mission Space and all I needed to do was frantically scream that I wanted out and some nice Floridian teeny bopper would roll her eyes at my pathetic self and open the door to end my torture. Ryan was unaware of my near hysterical state as he sat next to me happily humming the theme song to Total Drama Revenge of the Island. In Ryan's hand, THE Project, an acrostic poem he had created on poster board, quite proudly, on his own. For those of you who had to Google "acrostic poem", like I did when Ryan received the assignment, an "acrostic" is a poem or other form of writing in which the first letter in the text spells out a word or phrase. In this assignment, Ryan had to use the title of a book he read, and each letter in the title had to relate to something that happened in the story. Easy breezy, right? Well, sort of, if you don't have a whacko for a mother.

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The book for the project was titled, "Anything, but Typical", by Nora Raleigh Baskin. I picked this book up at an autism conference. I believed Ryan would enjoy it. I told Ryan he should read it for his book report. I felt certain in doing all of the above, that I just sent my son to the gallows. "Anything, but Typical" is a fictional story about a boy with an ASD. When I turned to the first page and read the main character's abhorrent description of art class, I thought, "Well, that sounds like someone else I know.", so I was hopeful Ryan would see past the words, past the laborious task of (shudder) reading, and see a little bit of himself. Ryan HATES reading, especially fiction because in Ryan's mind, fiction is a waste of time and "utterly ridiculous". If it's not true, or real, why bother? What good could come from such a big waste of time? So, needless to say, when my boy read the book and said he "loved" it, I gave myself a huge pat on the back!
 
I asked Ryan, "Did you like the book because you saw a little of yourself in the main character?". Clearly, I forgot who I was speaking to, "No, I'm not like that boy at all because my name is Ryan, his name is Jason. I live in Pennsylvania and he lives in another state. I hate writing, and he loves writing." Ok, ok, so for a minute, I thought maybe Ryan could see past the black and white print and "read between the lines" to find the gray. It wasn't until Ryan finished his acrostic poem that I realized that even though Ryan may not "see" the similarities in himself and Jason, he clearly felt them. Once I read Ryan's words, I no longer was patting myself on the back, I was kicking myself in the a**, terrified that my book choice for Ryan and this project, would not only have a deep and lasting impact on his middle school years, but, this poster, this "acrostic poem", may possibly have negative consequences that could potentially reverberate throughout the halls of high school too.

For those of you over 40 and who need to hold anything you read at arms length because you refuse to buy reading glasses at CVS, I will write out Ryan's acrostic poem in case the words aren't legible in the photo above.

Autistic
Neurotypical
Yearn to feel normal
Therapist help
Hawthorne is Jason's art teacher
Insecure
Nervous about new experiences
Gifted with the English language

Bennu is a dwarf in Jason's story
Unusual behavior/habits    QUIRKY
Trouble always searches for Jason

Talking was difficult
Yelling is what people did to Jason when he had no response
Phys Ed is what he hated the most
Isolated
Clay caused Jason to flip and turned him into a laughing stock
Art is one subject Jason really hates
Loves to write

As I read Ryan's words, I felt an all out war begin in my brain. I can't even begin to describe the pride I felt in the work that Ryan had done, the words that he often is unable to say, but was clearly able to write down. However, if I'm being AWEnest, I also felt a panic rising in my chest. What if Ryan's classmates made the connection between Ryan's acrostic poem and Ryan? What if words like "autisitic", "unusual behaviors", "quirky", "isolated", "laughing stock" and "insecure" all pertained to Ryan and not Jason, the main character in the book? What if after years of believing Ryan was "odd", "weird", or "nerdy", Ryan's classmates recognize that Ryan's differences go much deeper than that, deep enough to make his differences worthy of the label "autistic"? What if after all my soap box preaching, all my "look beyond the label" regurgitation, I actually do prefer "quirky" or "weird" over that heartbreaking A Word. What if I'm a fake, a phony, a horrible mother?

What, if, what if, what if?!! The panic was close to overflowing, so close that I almost screamed for Ryan and dragged him and his poster back in the car. I considered bribing Ryan with a donut and taking him back home and putting him in the bubble I often longed for, where I knew Ryan would be safe from prejudice, ignorance, bullies and a certifiably crazy mother. My hands were gripping the steering wheel so hard, my knuckles were white and I no longer could think straight. The other parents in car line, whose kids walked care free into school with no acrostic poem that linked a label to their kid, were angrily beeping their horns at me. The death grip I had on the steering wheel loosened enough that one particular finger was almost ready to shoot up in the air as I slowly pulled away. What could I do now? Ryan was walking happily through those middle school doors with none of the fear or the backlash that had me close to puking. I drove home with panic in my heart, regret in my mind, and Denial chatting annoyingly next to me.

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I frantically raced into the house to share my breakdown with Dan (poor Dan, he has had to talk me off my cliff so many times I stopped counting...he probably hasn't). As I rambled through my lists of fears, some completely irrational ("What if they call him Rainman?", like these kids watch anything other than YouTube and Vine videos) and some more rational ("What if the other kids do read between the lines and this discovery "Isolates" Ryan further, making him Yearn even more to "feel normal"?), Dan stood calmly and listened. When I finally exhausted my neurotic list of whys....Why did I buy him that book?....Why did I let him expose his vulnerabilities?....Why didn't I homeschool him?....Why wasn't Dan trembling in a cold sweat and racing to the school to rescue Ryan from the injustices and bullies of middle school?....my emotionally spent, and highly adrenaline filled brain collapsed in a heap on the couch. Dan looked at me, calmly and without so much as a bead of sweat or a tiny tremble and said, "I think it was brave." My gosh how I wanted to kick him. If my body hadn't been transformed into a wet noodle, I surely would have given him just one quick shot to the knees. This glass half full, annoying husband of mine, whom without I would have long since been institutionalized, was so right, so spot on, and I kind of despised him for it. Just because Dan has never committed me against my will (aka, a "302") for a much needed "rest", doesn't mean I have to love when he is right. Obviously, it kills me when Dan is right, especially when he is so calm about it. But what grinds that knife just a little bit deeper, is when I have been so very, very wrong. 

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As much as Denial tried to help me wrestle Ryan and his poem back in the car that morning, I knew that Dan was right (dammit). Ryan was brave. Ryan is brave. Even though Ryan and the main character, Jason, had some differences in Ryan's black and white brain, Ryan wrote down words that he understood, that he related to, that he himself has felt. Words like "isolated", "unusual behaviors", "prefers to be alone", and yes, even The A Word, "autism". Whether or not Ryan gave a moment's thought to his fellow classmates recognizing those same traits in him, I AWEnestly can't say. Maybe Ryan thought about it and didn't care, or maybe it never even crossed his mind. We neurotypicals get so caught up in worrying about what others think, say, or do, that we lose a little bit of who we really are. Other people's perceptions have so much weight in our lives, that sometimes we lose sight in who we really want to be....who we are really meant to be. Ryan spends very little time concerning himself about other people's perceptions which gives him the freedom and the bravery to just be. Exposing your differences is brave. Not hiding who you are is brave. Being unashamed of who that is, is brave. Keeping Denial on speed dial and calling her every time life gets scary, is not.

The definition of brave is "to face or endure with courage". When we think of bravery, we envision fireman running into a burning building while others run out. We picture police officers in a firefight, bravely protecting their community. We see soldiers putting themselves in harms way, to protect innocent civilians and to protect our freedom. All perfect scenarios of bravery, and of course, such bravery should be exemplified and celebrated, however, bravery has many faces. There are other brave heroes who "face or endure with courage" very different battles. The bravery of a child who sits for a haircut when each snip of the scissors feels like a thousand needles in his head. A child who wears scratchy, hard jeans when every fiber in his being is screaming for those pants to come off. A child who spends his time at recess alone, preferring the solitude to a social mishap on a playground filled with social cues he can't begin to understand. The teenager who bravely walks into a crowded, noisy lunchroom where the noise, the smells and the chaos are like walking onto a battlefield, but in this battle, he is alone, with no flak jacket, no protective gear, and no back up.

Bravery takes various forms. In order to be brave, one doesn't have to put out a blazing fire, learn how to fire a semi-automatic handgun or drive a humvee. Sometimes, being brave means finding the right words in an acrostic poem and proudly sharing those words, with little to no fear, and the only back up being a hot mess of a mother curled up in the fetal position a mile down the road. Even though it kills me to say it again, Dan was right (ugh). All my worrying, sweating, and panicking was for nothing. Ryan's teacher said, Ryan "rocked" his presentation! Ryan said what he wanted to say, got all the words out, and not a "Rainman" was mumbled in the class. For a boy who often says so little, who often struggles to find his words, when Ryan does say something, it certainly is worth listening to.

Maybe that day Ryan taught his classmates what it is to be brave. Maybe, brave has a new face. Or maybe, middle school kids are just too young to "see it", so consumed with fitting in and being just like everyone else, brave doesn't matter. One thing is for certain, my brave boy and kids like him, are proving to anyone who is fortunate enough to read between the lines, that there is so much more to these kids than words in a psych report, words in an IEP, words in a book, or words in an acrostic poem. The day Ryan shared his words, he was, indeed, brave. Every day Ryan walks out the door into a confusing world that doesn't understand him, and rarely tries to, he is brave. Every sensory sensation that Ryan tolerates and doesn't run from, he is brave. Every social blunder Ryan survives and social cue he misses, yet keeps on going, he is brave. Accepting his differences and being just who he is meant to be, may not make the nightly news, but Ryan's bravery, his courage in the face of adversity, makes him an ally worth having on any battlefield. Dr. Robert Anthony, author and self-help guru said, "The opposite of bravery is not cowardice, but conformity." My courageous, handsome, little non-conformist, might just be the bravest kid I know.

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